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kaiyunsim · 2 days ago

Text

sk8er boi —

pairing : skater boy!taesan x academic gn!reader

summary : taesan, the well known skater, slacker, and band member of boynextdoor, catches the eye of one of the top students in school which leads to a flurry of complications.

warnings : a.n.g.s.t, fluff, band au, woonahk + leehan are wingmen, LOTS of insecurities and insecurites, featuring sung hanbin from zb1 and leeseo from ive as the readers friends.

a/n : IT FINALLY DROPPED !! i've been too obsessed with this song i think i might die. taesan was soooooo sk8er boi coded so like yk i had to.

— wc : 11.6k — not proof read —

the first time you really see han taesan, it’s not at school. it’s not in the hallways where he leans against lockers, talking lazily to his friends, or in the cafeteria where he slouches in a chair, kicking his feet up on the table while jaehyun smacks them off. it’s not even in the skatepark where he spends most of his free time.

it’s in the library.

it’s late. later than you usually stay, but leeseo convinced you to help her cram for an upcoming quiz, and sung hanbin, the responsible one, promised to treat you both to coffee afterward. the library is quieter than usual, the overhead lights buzzing softly as the three of you sit in one of the far corners.

“if i fail this,” leeseo groans, pressing her forehead against the table, “i’m going to cry. like, actual tears.”

“you won’t fail,” hanbin reassures her, flipping through his neatly highlighted notes. “just focus. here, try this question—”

but leeseo isn’t listening anymore. her eyes widen as she nudges you, not-so-subtly gesturing toward the entrance. “look who just walked in.”

you glance up, expecting a teacher or maybe some last-minute studier like yourselves. leeseo has been mentioning a teacher she found cute but you had to cut her out of her delusions.

instead, you see him. han taesan, pushing open the library door with one hand while holding his skateboard in the other. he doesn’t belong here. not in this quiet, studious atmosphere. and yet, here he is, wearing a black hoodie over a band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same scuffed sneakers he always wears.

behind him, the rest of boynextdoor trails in. sungho looks bored, running a hand through his hair as he scans the room. riwoo has his headphones on, already bopping his head to whatever he’s listening to. jaehyun is carrying a backpack, which means someone is actually planning to study. leehan is whispering something to woonhak, who nods before laughing under his breath.

they stand out in every way possible. loud personalities forced into a silent space.

“what are they doing here?” leeseo mutters, wrinkling her nose.

“probably failing their classes,” hanbin says, not unkindly but matter-of-fact. “jaehyun’s the only one who actually studies, i think.”

“doesn’t matter,” you say, turning your attention back to your notes. or at least, you try to. but as you read the same sentence over and over, you can’t help but be aware of taesan.

he moves differently from the others. while the rest of his friends slink toward an empty table, he pauses by the bookshelf near yours, scanning the spines of the books with mild interest. it’s weird. you’ve never seen him hold a book before, let alone look for one.

you try not to stare, but then his fingers brush against a book, flipping it open casually. for a moment, he looks genuinely focused, eyes scanning the page like he’s actually reading. but then he shuts it just as quickly, sighing before shoving it back onto the shelf.

“he’s so full of himself,” leeseo says under her breath, watching as taesan finally joins his group. “have you seen the way he acts? like he doesn’t care about anything.”

“he doesn’t care about anything,” hanbin corrects. “except skating. and his band.”

“oh, right, his band,” leeseo scoffs, making air quotes. “like that’s gonna get him anywhere.”

you don’t say anything. it’s not like you disagree after all. taesan’s reputation is as solid as stone. he’s the guy who barely passes his classes, who gets detention for skipping, who spends more time perfecting a kickflip than doing actual homework. your friends see him as a lost cause, and you’ve never had a reason to question that.

but then, as if he can feel you thinking about him, taesan glances up.

your eyes meet for a split second.

it’s nothing. it’s barely anything.

but instead of looking away, he holds your gaze. and then, he smirks. just the slightest twitch of his lips, like he knows something you don’t.

you snap your head down, suddenly very interested in your notes. re-reading the same word again.

“gross,” leeseo mutters. “he’s so arrogant.”

“he really is,” hanbin agrees. “come on, let’s focus. we need to finish this before the library closes.”

you nod, forcing yourself to concentrate, but your mind keeps drifting back to that one moment. his gaze, his smirk, the way he seemed completely unbothered by everything around him.

it was nothing.

but for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way.

you tell yourself it was nothing. a look. a stupid, meaningless look in the middle of the library, a place han taesan doesn’t even belong in. you convince yourself it wasn’t directed at you. maybe he was looking at something behind you. maybe he smirked because of something his friend said.

maybe you’re just imagining things.

but the problem is now you notice him.

it’s not on purpose. it’s not like you want to be aware of him. but suddenly, han taesan is everywhere.

in the mornings, when you walk into school, he’s there in the courtyard with his skateboard, practicing tricks while his friends watch. sungho claps him on the back when he lands a difficult one, and riwoo films clips for their social media. sometimes he messes up, but he never looks embarrassed, he just laughs, shakes out his legs, and tries again.

in the halls, you catch glimpses of him leaning against lockers, chatting with jaehyun or leehan about something you don’t understand. his hoodie is always slightly oversized, his hands tucked into the front pocket like he has nowhere important to be.

in class, he’s not as disruptive as people make him out to be. sure, he zones out, tapping his fingers against his desk like he’s drumming to a song in his head, but he isn’t rude. he doesn’t talk over the teacher or make a big scene. sometimes, you even catch him sketching in his notebook, half-finished designs of skateboards, little doodles in the margins of his notes, messy but interesting. even some lyrics he thinks about while bored.

you don’t realize you’re staring until hanbin nudges you.

“earth to y/n. you okay?”

you blink, tearing your gaze away from where taesan is sitting a few rows ahead. he’s slouched in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, not paying attention to the lesson at all.

“yeah,” you say quickly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “just zoning out.”

hanbin raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it.

but it doesn’t stop there.

one afternoon, on your way home, you take a shortcut through the park. it’s quiet, with only a few people scattered around, mostly kids playing or joggers passing by. but then, near the skatepark, you hear music.

you pause.

it’s a song you don’t recognize, but it’s good. raw, unpolished, but good. you follow the sound until you spot them. boynextdoor, huddled together on a set of stairs near the skate ramps. sungho has a guitar in his lap, strumming casually. jaehyun is humming along while woonhak taps out a beat on his knee. riwoo is messing with his phone, recording bits of their practice.

and then there’s taesan.

he’s sitting on his skateboard, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted back as he listens. his dark hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“again,” he says after a moment. “start from the top.”

sungho rolls his eyes but starts playing again, and this time, taesan sings.

you freeze.

you’ve never heard him sing before. you know his band performs at underground gigs, but you’ve never gone. you’ve never had a reason to.

but his voice. his voice is rough around the edges, not perfect, but there’s something real about it. something honest.

you don’t mean to linger, but before you can move, taesan’s eyes flicker toward you.

your breath catches.

for a second, neither of you move.

then, instead of looking away, he lifts his hand in a lazy wave, like he’s not surprised to see you there at all.

panic jolts through you, and you do the first thing that comes to mind. you turn around and walk away.

fast.

you don’t stop until you’re a safe distance from the park, heart hammering in your chest.

why are you acting like this? why does it feel like you just got caught doing something you shouldn’t?

it’s not a big deal. it’s not.

except now, han taesan knows you were watching.

and the next day, he makes sure you know he knows.

it happens between classes. you’re at your locker, organizing your books, when a shadow falls over you.

“did you like the song?”

you nearly drop your notebook.

slowly, you turn your head, and there he is. the han taesan, standing next to you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. he smells faintly like cologne and something else, something warm, like sun on pavement.

you open your mouth, then close it.

“what?”

“the song,” he repeats, tilting his head. “you heard it yesterday, right?”

your throat is dry. “i was just passing by.”

he hums, unconvinced. “sure.”

you grip your notebook tighter. “why are you even talking to me?”

taesan shrugs, the corner of his mouth tugging up just slightly. “dunno. you’re interesting.”

your brain short-circuits.

you? interesting?

before you can process that, leeseo’s voice calls out from behind you.

“y/n ! come on, we’re gonna be late!”

taesan steps back, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“see you around, genius.”

and then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd like he didn’t just completely ruin your entire day.

leeseo and hanbin catch up to you, and leeseo frowns. “what did he want?”

“nothing,” you say quickly. too quickly.

hanbin eyes you but doesn’t press.

still, as you walk to class, you can’t stop replaying his words in your head.

“you’re interesting.”

this is bad.

this is really bad.

the worst part is that taesan doesn’t even try to prove your friends wrong.

after that weird conversation at your locker, you expect him to keep bothering you, to tease you every time he sees you. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t go out of his way to talk to you. he doesn’t change anything about the way he acts.

he just keeps being himself. skating in the mornings, goofing off with his band during breaks, sketching in his notebook when he’s bored in class.

but the damage is already done. because now, whenever he walks past, your stomach tightens. when he laughs with his friends, you find yourself looking before you can stop yourself. and when he catches you and smirks, like he knows you’re paying attention, you have to force yourself to look away.

your friends notice, of course.

“you’re acting weird,” leeseo says one afternoon as the three of you sit in the cafeteria. “ever since he started talking to you.”

“i’m not acting weird,” you say. too quickly.

“you so are,” she insists. “right, hanbin?”

hanbin sighs, poking at his food. “it’s not weird, it’s just… unexpected. taesan’s not exactly the type to take interest in school stuff.”

“yeah, which is why y/n needs to be careful,” leeseo says. “guys like him? they’re fun to look at but nothing else.”

you don’t say anything.

they aren’t wrong. han taesan isn’t like you. he’s a skater, a musician, the kind of guy who doesn’t think too far ahead. and yet…

“maybe he’s not that bad,” you mumble before you can stop yourself.

leeseo stares. “excuse me?”

“i just mean—” you hesitate. “i don’t know. he’s not rude or anything. he’s just… himself.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” she argues. “he doesn’t care about anything. he’s never going to take life seriously.”

you want to disagree. but you don’t.

because if you defend him too much, they’ll know.

they’ll know about the way your heart jumps when he looks at you. the way your brain replays his stupid voice saying see you around, genius.

so you stay quiet.

and you try to push it all away.

but then there’s woonhak.

you don’t know much about him aside from the fact that he’s the youngest in taesan’s group. he’s always laughing, always cracking jokes, always the most energetic of the bunch.

so it catches you off guard when, one day after school, he falls into step beside you as you’re walking out.

“hey,” he says cheerfully.

you blink. “uh… hey?”

“you’re y/n, right?”

“…yeah?”

he grins, nodding. “thought so. you know, taesan’s been talking about you.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

woonhak laughs at your expression. “not in a weird way! just, like—he thinks you’re cool.”

you stare at him.

taesan thinks you’re… cool?

“why are you telling me this?” you ask suspiciously.

woonhak shrugs. “dunno. you seem chill. also, i figured you should hear something about us that isn’t from your friends.”

you tense. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he gives you a knowing look. “we know how people see us. dumb kids who don’t care about school, right?”

you shift uncomfortably. “i mean—”

“you don’t have to lie,” he says, still smiling. “i get it. we mess around a lot, and taesan’s got his whole too cool for everything vibe, but…” he pauses, tilting his head. “you ever actually talked to him? like, really talked to him?”

you don’t answer.

because the truth is… you haven’t.

taesan has spoken to you, sure. teased you, smirked at you, made your heart do all sorts of annoying things. but you’ve never sat down and had a real conversation. never actually asked him about his music, his art, his life.

“he works harder than people think,” woonhak continues. “he just doesn’t show it in the same way you do. and he really does like you, you know.”

your breath catches. “what?”

“not, like, in a romantic way,” woonhak clarifies quickly, though his grin suggests otherwise. “he just thinks you’re interesting.”

there it is again. interesting.

you don’t know what to do with that.

so you do what you always do.

you ignore it.

“cool,” you say, trying to sound unaffected.

woonhak doesn’t look convinced, but he just chuckles. “anyway, just thought i’d say hi. see you around, y/n.”

and with that, he jogs off, leaving you standing there, brain spinning.

you should just let this go. you should listen to your friends, stick to your world, and forget about taesan entirely.

but as you watch woonhak disappear down the street, you feel something shift inside you.

something that tells you, this situation isn’t going away anytime soon.

—

you try your best to forget about han taesan.

after woonhak’s little chat, you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. what he said. ‘he really does like you, you know’ was probably just him messing around. taesan barely even talks to you. he’s just being his usual, reckless self, getting involved where he doesn’t belong.

but no matter how much you try to ignore it, you keep running into him.

and each time, it gets harder to pretend that something isn’t pulling you closer.

the library incident happens on a tuesday.

it’s supposed to be a peaceful afternoon. you’re at your usual table, buried in your notes, trying to focus on your upcoming exams. hanbin and leeseo sit across from you, whispering about something that isn’t school-related.

everything is normal. until the door swings open.

“i cannot believe you actually dragged me here,” taesan groans, his voice breaking the quiet.

you stiffen.

you don’t even have to look to know it’s him. but, unfortunately, you do look—because his voice is impossible to ignore, because your brain is stupid and wants to confirm that, yes, han taesan is standing in the library, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

sungho and jaehyun flank him on either side, looking much more comfortable than he does.

“we dragged you here because you’re failing, dumbass,” jaehyun mutters, shoving him forward.

“i am not failing,” taesan protests. “i’m just… struggling.”

“struggling to even open your textbook,” sungho deadpans, leading him toward a table.

leeseo makes a noise of disapproval. “ugh. them?”

“just ignore them,” hanbin says, flipping a page in his notebook. “not our problem.”

but it is a problem. because now, taesan is sitting just a few tables away from you, slumped over his books, looking absolutely miserable.

you try to focus.

you really, really try.

but then—

“psst. genius.”

your pen stills against your notebook.

you don’t have to turn around to know it’s taesan.

you turn around anyway.

he’s leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking right at you.

“how do you do this?” he asks, pushing a book toward you like it personally offended him.

“do what?” you say flatly.

“study,” he groans. “it’s so boring.”

jaehyun smacks him upside the head. “shut up and focus.”

you should turn back to your work. you should.

but instead, you sigh. “maybe if you actually read instead of whining, it wouldn’t be so hard.”

sungho snorts. “finally, someone who says it straight.”

taesan huffs. “wow, okay. you could just offer to tutor me.”

“not happening,” you say immediately.

he grins, like he expected that answer. “worth a shot.”

you roll your eyes and go back to your notes. but even as you pretend to ignore him, you can still feel his eyes on you, like he’s waiting for you to slip up and react.

and the worst part?

you kind of want to.

the next time you see him, it’s at the skatepark.

you don’t mean to go there. you’re just walking home, taking a longer route because the weather is nice. and somehow, your feet lead you to the park, where you hear laughter and the familiar sound of wheels against concrete.

you could leave.

you should leave.

but instead, you linger at the edge, watching.

taesan is mid-trick, flipping his board with practiced ease. he lands smoothly, a smug grin spreading across his face as riwoo claps.

“finally,” riwoo says. “took you long enough.”

“shut up,” taesan laughs, grabbing his board.

you don’t realize you’re staring until woonhak pops up beside you.

“you so have a crush.”

you nearly jump out of your skin. “what—“

woonhak just grins. “don’t even try to deny it. i see you.”

“i don’t have a crush,” you say quickly. too quickly.

“uh-huh,” he hums, clearly unconvinced.

before you can argue, someone else joins you—leehan, quieter than woonhak but just as observant.

“are you coming to the show?” he asks casually.

you blink. “what show?”

“we’re playing this weekend,” he explains. “you should come.”

“i don’t think—”

“taesan would love it if you did,” woonhak says, grinning.

you freeze.

leehan elbows him. “stop making it weird.”

“what? i’m just saying.”

“you’re implying things,” leehan mutters. then he turns back to you. “seriously, though. you should come. it’ll be fun.”

you hesitate.

your friends would definitely disapprove.

but then you glance back at taesan, who’s laughing at something sungho said, looking so effortlessly cool, so different from the type of people you usually surround yourself with.

and before you can stop yourself, you say—

“okay. maybe.”

woonhak cheers, clapping you on the back. “knew you had it in you!”

you shake your head, already regretting it.

but deep down, a part of you is excited.

the night of the concert comes faster than expected.

you almost don’t go.

hanbin and leeseo invite you to study, and for a second, you consider it… going back to your routine, pretending like han taesan doesn’t exist.

but something stops you.

something pulls you there.

so now, you’re standing in the middle of a dimly lit venue, surrounded by people who actually belong in this crowd. the air buzzes with energy, anticipation thick as the stage lights flicker.

and then the band steps on stage.

and then he steps on stage.

han taesan doesn’t hesitate. doesn’t falter.

he owns it.

he grabs his mic, runs a hand through his hair, and smirks at the crowd like he knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

the music starts, loud and raw and alive.

and then he’s singing.

his voice isn’t perfect. it’s a little rough, a little unpolished, but it fits. it’s real. it’s him.

and then, in the middle of the song, his eyes scan the crowd...

and lock onto yours.

your breath catches. for a second, the world tilts.

he doesn’t look away.

neither do you.

and in that moment, with music thrumming through your veins and taesan’s voice filling the air, you realize

you’re completely screwed.

you can’t breathe.

not because the room is stuffy, or because the music is loud, or because the crowd is pushing in from all sides.

but because han taesan is looking right at you.

the stage lights flicker, flashing over his face, highlighting the smirk curling at his lips. the microphone is gripped loosely in his hand, the strap of his guitar slung over his shoulder. he sings like the stage belongs to him, like the music was made for him, and yet...

his eyes don’t stray from yours.

you feel rooted to the floor, like if you move, you’ll break whatever invisible thread is keeping the two of you connected.

and you hate it. you hate how much your heart reacts to him, how your stomach tightens every time his voice rasps into the mic.

this is bad.

this is really bad.

and it only gets worse when, from the corner of your eye, you see woonhak grinning at you from across the room.

he’s standing near the side of the stage, watching the exchange like he’s witnessing the most entertaining thing in the world.

and then, because he’s the absolute worst, taesan winks at you.

you snap your gaze away, face burning.

but the damage is already done.

because now, you can’t not notice taesan.

the way his fingers glide over the guitar strings so effortlessly. the way his hair falls into his eyes when he tilts his head. the way he smirks between lyrics, like he’s enjoying this.

like he knows what he’s doing to you.

this was a mistake and you shouldn’t have come. but god, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

because even though everything inside you is screaming that this is dangerous, that getting involved with him will only make things complicated.

but still. you don’t want to look away.

not now. not ever.

when the set finally ends, the room erupts into cheers. people push forward, clapping, whistling, shouting their names.

you try to steady yourself, try to ignore the way your pulse is racing, hand gripping your shirt for stabilty, but you feel a graze on your shoulder.

woonhak appears at your side.

“so,” he says, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “you’re definitely in trouble.”

you glare at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he snorts. “oh, please. i saw that whole thing. he saw that whole thing.”

“he was just looking at the crowd,” you say, even though you know it’s a lie.

“right. because taesan always makes intense eye contact with random people while singing,” he deadpans.

you groan, rubbing your face. “i hate you.”

“nah, you love me,” he grins. “but not as much as you love him.”

“woonhak—”

“i’m just saying,” he singsongs. “you might wanna start being honest with yourself. and maybe with him, too.”

you don’t dignify that with a response.

but as you glance toward the stage, where taesan is still lingering, laughing at something jaehyun said—

you know woonhak is right.

and that terrifies you more than anything.

—

taesan doesn’t come to practice.

he never skips practice.

it’s something you hear from sungho after school, when he finds you by the front gates, watching the sky darken as you wait for your usual bus. you’re trying really hard not to think about what happened earlier. about the way taesan looked at you before walking away, about the heavy silence he left behind. but sungho showing up with that look on his face makes it impossible to ignore.

“he didn’t show up,” he says, standing next to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you glance at him. “who didn’t?”

sungho gives you a flat look. “you know who.”

your stomach twists, but you force a shrug. “maybe he had something else to do.”

“he never skips,” sungho repeats, more firmly this time.

you don’t answer.

because what are you supposed to say? 'yeah, it’s probably my fault. i didn’t defend him when i should have, and now he’s upset. i didn’t mean to hurt him, but i still did.'

sungho sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“what happened?”

you swallow. “nothing...”

“don’t lie.”

“i’m not lying.”

he levels you with a stare, unimpressed. “you totally are.”

you exhale sharply, looking away.

“look,” he says, voice softer now, “he’s been acting weird all day. he barely talked during lunch, barely even looked at his board, and now he’s skipping practice? that’s not taesan.”

“i don’t know,” you mumble.

sungho raises a brow. “don’t know, or don’t want to say?”

you press your lips together, gripping the straps of your bag.

because the truth is...

you do know.

and you hate yourself for it.

it started during lunch.

your friends were scrolling through their phones, passing around a video of boynextdoor performing.

“god,” leeseo groaned, wrinkling her nose. “he’s so obnoxious.”

“who?” hanbin asked, leaning over to look.

“han taesan.” she jabbed a finger at the screen. “look at him. he acts like he’s a rockstar or something.”

your grip tightened around your drink.

“he is in a band,” hanbin pointed out.

“yeah, but he takes it so seriously. it’s kinda embarrassing.”

they laughed.

but you didn’t. and you didn't say anything either

you just sat there, staring at the table, pretending like the words didn’t make something in your chest ache.

but just then.

taesan walked by.

he wasn’t close enough to hear everything, but he did hear enough. his steps faltered just slightly, his easygoing expression slipping for just a second before he schooled his face back into something unreadable.

and then his eyes met yours. not angry. not annoyed.

just… disappointed.

like he expected this... like he expected you to be different.

but you weren’t.

you didn’t speak up. you didn’t say anything.

so he walked away.

and now, he’s gone.

—

sungho watches you carefully, waiting.

when you still don’t answer, he tilts his head. “so… it was you.”

“i didn’t do anything,” you say quickly.

“exactly.”

you flinch.

sungho sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“look,” he says, “i don’t know what’s going on between you two, but if this is about your friends—”

“it’s not,” you cut in.

his brows lift. “isn’t it?”

you exhale sharply, looking away.

because it is.

and it always has been.

from the moment you met taesan, you knew your friends wouldn’t approve. you knew they’d see him as reckless, as trouble, as someone you shouldn’t be around.

so you held back.

you pretended you didn’t care, pretended that the way he looked at you didn’t make your heart race, that his stupid grin and sharp comebacks didn’t make you want to keep talking to him.

but you do care. you care too much. and now, it’s hurting him.

“you know he likes you, right?” sungho says, breaking the silence.

your breath catches. “what?”

sungho gives you a look. “don’t play dumb. it’s so obvious.”

you open your mouth, then close it again.

“you like him too, don’t you?”

your heart pounds. “i—”

“you do.”

he says it like it’s a fact. like it’s undeniable.

you swallow, gripping your bag tighter.

“so what are you so afraid of?”

you inhale sharply because the answer is simple.

you’re afraid of what people will say. afraid of how things will change. afraid of being wrong about him.

but most of all...

you’re afraid of how much you want this. how much you want him.

sungho watches as the realization washes over your face.

then, after a beat, he sighs.

“look,” he says, voice gentler now, “i’m not telling you what to do. but if you don’t talk to him soon, you’re gonna lose him.”

the words hit harder than you expect.

“i just want my friend back to normal so just… think about it, yeah?"

you don’t respond... but you don’t need to.

because the moment sungho walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you already know.

you have to fix this.

before it’s too late.

—

days pass, and taesan doesn’t talk to you.

he doesn’t show up at school, and every time you hear the familiar buzz of a new notification, you convince yourself it’s not boynextdoor. not that you’d check it, anyway. not that you’re even tempted.

except you are.

the silence is suffocating.

the whole thing has weighed on you. his disappointment, your hesitation, the stupid comment from leeseo and hanbin earlier, everything. the guilt keeps clawing at you from the inside. and each time you see a new picture of taesan or one of his bandmates posted online, each time you hear about them playing a new show, you feel like you’re suffocating in your own indecision.

but you don’t do anything about it.

because you’re scared.

scared of what your friends will think. scared of what your whole reputation means, scared of breaking the illusion that you’ve built up for all these years. you’ve worked so hard to maintain this image, to fit in with the people you’ve always been around, the friends you’ve known for years. how can you just throw that all away for some guy you barely know?

for taesan?

no.

it’s safer to stay where you are.

so you do what you’ve always done. keep your distance. make yourself busy. keep your head down. you don’t need to deal with whatever feelings you’ve got swirling in your chest. you don’t need to question everything.

but when you hear the news about BOYNEXTDOOR performing at an underground gig that weekend, something in you snaps.

it’s all too much.

you can’t just keep pretending.

you can’t keep telling yourself that everything’s fine when you know it isn’t.

you’re standing in the middle of the hallway when the poster catches your eye. the colors are bright, the date is bold. BOYNEXTDOOR. their name plastered across the top in big letters, their faces a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

the gig is that Saturday.

you don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the poster, feeling the weight of your own indecision. your heart is hammering in your chest, a familiar sense of unease gnawing at your insides.

but this time, you don’t look away.

this time, you’re not running from it.

you don’t tell anyone about it. not leeseo, not hanbin. not even sungho. you don’t need their opinions right now. you’ve heard enough of them. you just… need to make a decision. your own decision.

when the night of the gig arrives, you feel sick to your stomach.

your heart thuds against your ribcage, the adrenaline buzzing through your veins like you’re about to jump off a cliff. you’re standing outside the venue, the doors just up ahead, with a small crowd already lining up in front of you. the building’s dark, unmarked by anything other than the small neon sign above the entrance. the thumping music from inside pulses through the walls, and for a second, you think about turning around, walking away.

but you don’t. you walk forward.

because for the first time in ages, you don’t care about what anyone thinks.

and you want to see taesan.

you want to see him so badly that it almost hurts.

you missed him. his smirk, his teases, his presence.

the crowd outside is packed with people, but you push through, feeling the warmth of the others as they chat amongst themselves, their energy high. you walk in, and the moment you do, the music hits you. the bass reverberates in your chest, and for a split second, you forget everything.

until you see them.

you see BOYNEXTDOOR on the stage, taesan right at the front, his guitar slung across his shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd. when they meet yours, something shifts in his expression. he doesn’t smile, but there’s something there, something that makes you freeze in place.

but he doesn’t come over.

he doesn’t even move.

and you don’t know if that’s worse. if you should be relieved, or if you should be disappointed that he’s not even trying anymore.

you’re frozen, staring, and then you feel a tap on your shoulder.

woonhak.

he grins, the usual playful glint in his eyes. “hey, didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

you swallow, blinking, trying to force your heart to calm down. “yeah. well… i guess i changed my mind.”

woonhak studies you for a second, his smirk softening into something that’s just a little too knowing for your liking. “you’re here for taesan, huh?”

“i—” you start, but you can’t finish the sentence. because it’s true. you are here for him.

woonhak laughs, nudging you with his elbow. “you’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

you look away, not answering.

he doesn’t press. instead, he just leads you to a spot near the front, a little closer to the stage. you can see the others now: jaehyun, riwoo, leehan, sungho. all of them lost in the music. and then you see taesan again, this time a little closer, his fingers moving across the strings of his guitar as if nothing in the world matters but the rhythm.

it’s intoxicating.

and, as you stand there, all you can think about is how badly you want to be a part of his world.

you glance at woonhak, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes, like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. he catches your gaze and gives you a little nudge with his shoulder. “maybe you should talk to him after the set,” he says, his voice light, teasing.

you bite your lip. you want to say something, anything, but instead you just nod.

because the truth is, you’re terrified.

you’re terrified of what taesan might say. terrified of what might happen if you admit how you feel, how wrong everything has felt without him around, how much you’ve been hurting without the chance to make things right.

the set continues, and you find yourself caught in the music, in the connection between the band and the crowd. for the first time in forever, you feel like you belong. you feel like you could belong.

and when the music finally dies down and the crowd goes wild, cheering for an encore, you glance over at woonhak. he looks at you, then at taesan, and then back at you, his knowing grin widening.

“he’s waiting for you,” he says quietly.

you can’t breathe for a second, your heart thudding louder than the sound of the crowd.

you finally nod, the decision clear now, undeniable.

you’ve kept up appearances for too long. it’s time to stop running.

you push your way through the crowd, heading straight for the backstage area. you don’t look back. you don’t care who sees.

because, finally, you’re choosing him.

you can feel woonhak and leehan’s eyes on you as you make your way through the crowd. it’s like the air is thicker, charged with anticipation, but you don’t stop. your feet move on their own, pulling you toward the backstage area where the rest of BOYNEXTDOOR is winding down after the set.

the music fades behind you, but the echo of the bass still thrums in your chest. every step feels heavier than the last, but somehow, you don’t want to turn back. you’ve already made the decision, and now all that’s left is to face him.

taesan.

the backstage area feels quieter now that the excitement of the performance has died down. the crowd’s energy is still buzzing in the air, but it’s starting to feel distant, like an echo that doesn’t quite reach the calm of the space you’re standing in.

taesan’s there, still leaning against the wall with his guitar case by his side, but now there’s an air of distance about him. he barely looks at you when you enter. his attention drifts elsewhere, to the other band members, to anything but you.

your heart sinks at the coldness, the disappointment you see reflected in his posture. you want to go to him, to explain everything, to make it right, but you can’t. something’s stopping you. he’s clearly upset, maybe even mad, and you’re not sure how to fix it.

woonhak, the youngest, is still grinning over the fact that you’ve come here tonight. leehan, always the one to watch everything unfold with an amused look, exchanges a knowing glance with him. both of them seem to be aware of something that you aren’t yet, but you can’t quite place what.

the tension in the air is thick, and for a moment, you almost wish you hadn’t walked in here at all.

then, jaehyun breaks the silence.

“isn’t that y/n?”

he’s pointing at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly surprised to see you standing there. taesan’s wiping his face off with a towel, but his gaze never leaves you.

you freeze, a bit caught off guard by the attention. jaehyun, always so direct, seems more curious than anything. but his question lingers in the air, and all eyes are now on you.

you glance at taesan, but his expression is unreadable. his gaze is fixed on the ground, his body language telling you all you need to know: he’s not ready to engage, not yet.

“yeah,” leehan says, his tone teasing. “didn’t expect to see you here, y/n.”

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i wanted to see the performance,” you say, voice quiet, but clear. “i told you i would.”

you can’t tell if they believe you or not.

woonhak’s grin is still there, his eyes glinting with mischief. he looks between you and taesan, sensing the tension before anyone else. “yeah, sure,” he says, as if he knows something you don’t. “we all know how much taesan cares about you coming to the show.”

taesan doesn’t react, but you can feel his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. it’s impossible to ignore.

there’s a long pause, and in that moment, you wonder if you’ve made the wrong choice. if you shouldn’t have come, if you shouldn’t have tried to make things right, because it feels like taesan is shutting you out more with every passing second.

but then, just as you’re about to leave, something unexpected happens.

taesan looks up. just a glance, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. you meet his gaze, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the room.

then, without a word, taesan walks past you, ignoring you as if you’re not even there. you can feel the sting of it, the weight of the unspoken disappointment in his actions. your chest tightens, and for a second, it feels like your feet are stuck in place.

you want to call out to him, to stop him, but you’re frozen. you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to make this right.

woonhak watches you, his grin still there but a little less playful now. he gives you a knowing look. it’s like he’s aware of the struggle inside you, aware of the way taesan is pulling away even though he knows you’re standing there

“he’s not mad at you,” woonhak says softly, catching your eye. “he’s just… not sure how to act around you, y/n.”

you don’t reply at first, still processing the way taesan ignored you, the way his distance felt like a rejection. but woonhak’s words sink in.

“he likes you,” leehan adds, his tone more serious now. “but he’s not good at showing it.”

the words hit you harder than you expect. they settle in your chest, a mix of confusion and longing. taesan likes you? it doesn’t feel like it, not when he won’t even look at you.

“why doesn’t he just... say it then?” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

woonhak shrugs. “he’s still trying to figure it out, y/n. he doesn’t want to mess things up, especially when you’ve got so much going on with your friends and everything.”

you stare at him, your heart beating faster. you can’t deny it now. it’s clear that something is there between you and taesan. something you haven’t been able to admit to yourself until now.

and yet, despite everything, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re caught between two worlds. your friends, your reputation, and then taesan, someone you never expected to feel this strongly about.

“he’s scared, y/n,” leehan says, his voice quieter now. “he doesn’t want to be the reason you ruin your life.”

you look at taesan again, still standing off to the side, conversing with jaehyun, his face unreadable. his posture is stiff, almost like he’s bracing for something. maybe he’s bracing for you to walk away, for you to choose the people you’ve always been with instead of him.

you feel the weight of it all. the pull of your friends, the pressure of their expectations. and then there’s taesan, standing there, vulnerable in his own way, waiting for you to decide.

the silence between you two feels like it could last forever, and yet, it’s the moment you need to make the choice.

but you’re scared.

you don’t want to lose your friends, don’t want to mess up everything you’ve worked so hard for. but you also don’t want to lose taesan.

the choice weighs heavy on your chest, but you can’t stay frozen forever. you can’t keep ignoring what you feel.

and, maybe for the first time, you finally make a decision.

time to come clean.

the quiet hum of the room feels more suffocating than peaceful. you’re sitting on the edge of one of the couches backstage, fiddling with your phone aimlessly. it’s been a few minutes since taesan walked away, and you’re still left with this gnawing feeling that you could have done something different.

the members of BOYNEXTDOOR are scattered around the area, some talking amongst themselves, others sitting with instruments or music sheets in hand. it’s almost like nothing happened. but you know that’s not true. you can feel the weight of the tension hanging in the air, especially when you catch woonhak’s gaze across the room. he’s giving you a sympathetic smile, though it doesn’t make you feel much better.

you want to walk up to taesan, to explain everything, but you can’t. he’s still standing there, staring off into the distance, his arms crossed.

instead, you settle for hanging out with riwoo.

“you okay?” he asks, sitting next to you with a curious look. his voice is light, but there’s an edge of concern in it.

you nod, offering a tight smile. “yeah, just…” you trail off, unsure of how to explain what just happened. you don’t want to sound like you’re complaining about taesan. it’s not like you’re angry with him. in fact, you can’t even be angry with him when you’re just as confused.

“he’s hard to read, huh?” riwoo says, his voice calm but knowing. it’s like he’s read your mind.

you glance at him, surprised. “yeah. i don’t know what’s going on with him. it’s like, one minute, he’s all… well, taesan, and then the next, he’s distant. it’s frustrating.”

riwoo leans back on the couch, resting his head against the backrest as he watches the others in the room. “taesan’s always been like that. he’s not great with… emotions, you know?”

you blink at him, unsure where this conversation is headed. “so what, he just shuts people out?”

“basically,” riwoo says with a slight shrug. “he’s not really used to being honest about how he feels. but I think he does like you, y/n. he just doesn’t know how to show it without pushing you away.”

the words hit you like a freight train. taesan likes you? all this time, you’ve been so unsure of what he wanted, what he needed, and now it feels like it’s been right in front of you.

“but he’s been ignoring me…” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

“he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that you’re... well, you’re you,” riwoo adds, his tone light but thoughtful. “you’ve got your own friends, your own reputation. taesan doesn’t want to mess that up for you. he’s scared of it, y’know?”

that was the second time it's come across you. taesan cares about your reputation, maybe more than you.

the pieces start to click together. you’ve been dancing around your feelings for taesan, unsure whether to admit them or not, and now it seems like he’s been doing the same thing. the difference is, you’ve been letting the fear of judgment hold you back. taesan’s fear is different. he’s afraid of losing you.

the realization makes you uneasy, but in a good way. there’s something so real about the way riwoo describes taesan, and for once, you can’t help but want to believe it.

just as you’re about to respond to riwoo's comment, woonhak appears, practically bouncing into the room. his eyes are wide, and there’s a mischievous grin on his face.

“you should go talk to taesan,” he says, the grin never leaving his face. “he’s still being stubborn, but I think he’s ready to listen.”

you frown. “how do you know?”

“because,” woonhak says with an exaggerated shrug, “he’s been pacing around like a lost puppy ever since you saw eachother.” he looks between you and riwoo. “and leehan’s not much better. he’s the one who convinced him to talk, so… yeah. go talk to him. he’ll listen... eventually.”

you want to tell woonhak you’re not ready, that you don’t know how to fix things with taesan, but something in the way woonhak says it makes you feel like you have to.

“just go for it,” riwoo says, giving you an encouraging nod. “you’ve got nothing to lose.”

you nod, though your heart is pounding in your chest. you stand up slowly, feeling a little out of place in the midst of all the quiet chaos around you. taesan’s still by the wall, his posture tense. you can tell he’s trying to convince himself that it’s fine, that everything is fine, convincing himself you’re just here for the music, just like the others.

but you know that’s not true.

he knows that's not true.

as you approach him, you hesitate for a second, unsure of what to say. but before you can even open your mouth, taesan speaks first, his voice low and a little defensive.

“you didn’t have to come, you know,” he says, not looking at you. his voice is almost too casual, as if he’s trying to brush off the seriousness of the moment. “I mean, this isn’t really your kind of music.”

you bite your lip, fighting the urge to just walk away. his words sting, but you know he’s just trying to protect himself.

“I came because I wanted to see you,” you say, your voice steady even though you’re terrified of how it sounds. “I didn’t come for the music, taesan. I came for you.”

there’s a long pause, and for a moment, you think you’ve said the wrong thing. but then taesan finally looks up at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place.

“you don’t have to pretend for me, y/n,” he says, his voice quieter now. “you don’t need to act like you like this stuff just to be around me. I get it.”

you shake your head, your heart racing. “I’m not pretending. I… I like you, taesan.”

taesan freezes, his expression softening slightly. he opens his mouth to say something, but the words get caught in his throat. instead, he exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“you’re not just saying that because you’re here, right?” he asks, his voice uncertain.

“no,” you reply, taking a step closer. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I like you, taesan. I’ve liked you since you looked at me in the library, and I’m sorry I was too scared to admit it before.”

there’s a brief silence, and then taesan finally lets out a breath he seems to have been holding for a long time. his lips curl into a small, almost shy smile.

“you’ve always liked me?” he asks, his voice soft with a hint of disbelief.

“yeah,” you whisper. “I just… I was worried about what people would think. about what my friends would think.”

taesan’s expression softens even more, and he steps a little closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t have to choose, y/n. I never wanted you to. I just wanted you to be honest with yourself.”

you blink, surprised at how easy it is for him to say that. “honest with myself?”

“yeah,” he says, his voice low and steady now. “I just needed you to admit that you feel the same way about me. I didn’t want you to choose between me and your friends.”

you stare at him, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. it’s like a weight lifting off your shoulders, the tension you’ve carried with you for so long melting away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, stepping closer. “I was scared.”

“it’s okay,” taesan says softly, his hand reaching for yours. “you don’t have to be anymore.”

and for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything’s finally making sense.

the moments following your confession feel like the longest stretch of time. taesan is standing in front of you, his presence almost suffocating, and for a split second, you’re unsure if he believes you. it’s the kind of silence that hangs in the air, thick and heavy, like it’s too much to fill with anything but the things unsaid.

taesan takes a step back, running a hand through his messy hair, his eyes not quite meeting yours. it’s clear he’s thinking hard about something, but what? you can’t tell. your heart is pounding in your chest, and a part of you is terrified you’ve said too much, too soon, but another part is relieved. you’ve finally admitted it. finally let the truth out into the open.

and then taesan looks at you, his gaze softer now, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. “you really do like me?” he asks, his voice still unsure but laced with something else. maybe hope? maybe fear?

you nod, your breath catching in your throat. “yeah. I do.”

there’s a long pause, and you watch him carefully. his hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, his lips pressed together as though he’s trying to figure out what to do next. you’re not sure if he’s angry, confused, or just processing everything, but you wait, giving him space to think it over.

“you should’ve told me sooner,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “I’ve been waiting for you to admit it. but I guess I didn’t want to push you.”

you take a step closer, your heart fluttering nervously. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I didn’t want to mess things up with my friends, you know? I’ve had this group for years, and I didn’t want to seem like I was changing everything just because of you.”

taesan’s eyes soften as he watches you, and he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to wrap his head around what you’re saying. “I get it,” he says quietly.

his words settle into you, and you realize for the first time that maybe taesan’s always understood more than you gave him credit for. he’s not asking you to give up your friends, and he’s not trying to pull you away from the life you’ve built.

“so… what happens now?” you ask, a little unsure of where to go from here.

taesan shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, almost playful smile. “we figure it out. I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

you breathe a sigh of relief, the weight on your shoulders finally lifting. you’ve said what needed to be said, and taesan isn’t pulling away. instead, he’s looking at you with a new understanding, and it makes your heart feel lighter than it has in a long time.

just then, you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to see woonhak and leehan walking toward you, both of them wearing knowing grins. leehan gives you a teasing wink, while woonhak’s grin is a little wider, almost smug.

“well, well,” woonhak says, his voice loud enough for taesan to hear, “looks like someone’s finally come clean.”

you feel your face heat up, and taesan groans softly, running a hand through his hair again in that familiar frustrated gesture. “don’t start,” he mutters under his breath.

leehan raises an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let taesan off the hook. “we saw the whole thing. looks like y/n’s got the guts after all.”

you glance over at taesan, who’s still avoiding eye contact, and let out a soft laugh. “it wasn’t exactly how I planned it.”

“hey,” woonhak says, his tone suddenly much more serious. “we’re not here to mess with you two. but, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you told him.”

taesan looks up at him, his expression softening, though he still doesn’t seem to know how to react. “you guys were waiting for this to happen?”

“obviously,” leehan replies, flashing a grin at you. “we could see it coming from a mile away. it was just a matter of time.”

woonhak chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “honestly, I’m just glad y/n showed up at the concert. I knew you’d figure it out.” he looks at you with a smile that feels almost reassuring. “you were meant to be here, y/n. not just for the music.”

you can’t help but smile, feeling the warmth in woonhak’s words. it’s as if, for the first time, you realize that taesan and his friends aren’t the strangers you’ve built them up to be in your head. they’re people you can trust. and taesan… well, taesan is someone who’s been waiting for you to figure out what your heart really wants.

taesan doesn’t say anything right away. instead, he just looks at you, his gaze softening. there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes that you haven’t noticed before. he’s not the tough, unapproachable guy you assumed him to be. he’s someone who just needed you to meet him halfway.

“I guess it’s about time I stopped running from it,” taesan finally says, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s admitting something to himself. “I don’t want to lose you, y/n.”

you step closer, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your chest. for the first time in a long time, the uncertainty you’ve carried around fades, and you can finally breathe easy.

“I don’t want to lose you either, taesan,” you say, your voice steady.

taesan looks at you, and for a brief moment, there’s this look of understanding that passes between the two of you. he doesn’t need you to make a choice between him and your friends. he just needs you to be true to yourself.

“so,” leehan starts, breaking the silence with a grin. “what now? you two gonna kiss, or what?”

you and taesan both freeze, the air suddenly feeling thicker than ever. taesan blushes, his face turning a shade of red that matches yours, while woonhak laughs loudly, clearly amused by the awkwardness he’s just created.

“shut up, leehan,” taesan mutters, clearly embarrassed but secretly relieved.

you chuckle softly, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you. it’s a different kind of silence this time. comfortable. familiar.

“you know,” you say after a beat, your voice teasing, “I think we’ll figure it out.”

taesan looks at you, his smile finally breaking through the tension. “yeah. we will.”

and for the first time, you realize that maybe the hardest part wasn’t admitting your feelings. maybe the hardest part was just letting yourself be honest.

—

the weeks following your confession feel like an endless rollercoaster, full of highs and lows. at first, your friends, especially leeseo and hanbin, don’t take the news as well as you’d hoped. you knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you didn’t expect it to hit this hard.

when you first told them about taesan, about how you felt, the reactions were... well, less than ideal. leeseo had stared at you like you’d just announced you were leaving the country, and hanbin had seemed more confused than upset. but the hardest part was seeing the disappointment in their eyes.

it wasn’t that they didn’t care about you. in fact, it was the complete opposite. they cared about you so much that it was more that they couldn’t understand why you would want to throw away years of reputation you built up, for someone who, to them, was nothing more than a rebellious skater.

"are you really sure about this?" leeseo had asked, her voice quieter than usual, her expression tight with worry. "taesan… he’s not like us. he’s part of a different world. why risk it?"

hanbin hadn’t said much at first, just quietly watching, as if waiting for you to change your mind. but the uncertainty was there, hanging between you all, heavy and uncomfortable.

you had tried to explain it to them, tried to make them understand that this wasn’t just some fleeting crush or an act of rebellion. it was real. but they just couldn’t see it. not at first, anyway.

it hurt more than you cared to admit, seeing their disapproval. these were your friends. the people you’d known since childhood. and suddenly, it felt like you were standing on the edge of something, unsure whether to jump or pull back. the fear of losing them, of being alone in your decision, gnawed at you, but something deep inside you knew that you couldn’t keep pretending. you couldn’t keep hiding how you felt.

you just had to trust that the people who truly mattered would eventually see the truth in your actions. that they would come around and accept you for who you were becoming.

and in the end, they did.

it wasn’t immediate, but as time passed, leeseo and hanbin began to understand. it wasn’t about taesan being a skater or part of a different crowd. it wasn’t about the fact that he was in a band or that he lived a life they didn’t understand. it was about the way he made you feel seen, understood, and for the first time in a long time, happy.

"so, when are you bringing him to hang out?" leeseo had asked one afternoon, her voice teasing but genuine. "I want to see what the big deal is with this guy."

hanbin had smiled too, though there was still a hint of hesitation in his eyes. "yeah, he’s got to be something special for you to stick with it this long."

and that was when you realized they weren’t just accepting your decision. they were supporting it. and that, more than anything, was all you needed.

taesan, for his part, had been more than understanding. he’d known how hard it had been for you to get to this point, to finally let go of the mask you’d been wearing, the one that kept you safe in the comfort of your old life. but he never judged you for it.

he made sure you never regretted your decision, pulling you into his world with open arms.

he showed you his music, the songs that were both raw and beautiful, filled with emotions he couldn’t always express in words. you’d always been the academic type, focused on grades and assignments, but now you found yourself getting lost in the music, in the way taesan played his guitar with such passion, as if the notes were extensions of his very soul.

late-night skating became a regular part of your life, too. at first, you were hesitant, worried you’d embarrass yourself or make a fool of yourself in front of his friends. but taesan had a way of making you feel like you belonged. the others, woohak, leehan, riwoo, and jaehyun, had all accepted you with open arms. they didn’t care that you didn’t have the same history with skating that they did. they just cared that you were there, trying something new.

taesan would always smile, his gaze softening as he watched you push yourself, getting better each time. "you're doing great," he’d say, always encouraging, never dismissive. "just keep at it."

and the laughter, oh, the laughter. you had never known what it was like to be this carefree, to just let go and enjoy the moment. taesan had a way of pulling you into his world of easy-going fun, where everything seemed light and full of possibility. the worries that had once weighed you down melted away whenever you were with him.

one evening, after a long session of skating under the city lights, you sat together on the rooftop of a building, the wind blowing softly through your hair. taesan leaned back, his head resting on the edge of the roof, looking up at the stars.

"you know," he said, voice low and casual, "I never thought I’d find someone who’d get me this way."

you glance at him, feeling a smile tug at your lips. "what, you’re not that hard to get."

taesan laughs softly, turning his head to meet your gaze. "you’d be surprised. i mean, maybe when you're not putting up a front it might be different," he jokes,

you nod, understanding more than you ever had before. "yeah, I get that."

he smiles, that real smile of his that always makes your heart skip a beat.

it’s in moments like these that you realize just how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve grown since you met him. you stop worrying about what others think, stop pretending to be someone you’re not. the people who truly matter, the ones who care about you for who you really are, will always be there for you. and those are the people you need to focus on.

you’ve stopped hiding. you’ve stopped pretending. and now, with taesan by your side, you feel like you can face the world as yourself. no masks, no fear. just you and him, and whatever the future holds.

—

it’s been a few months since you stopped hiding, since you started living life as yourself, unashamed, and unafraid. taesan’s world has become your world, and yours became his. BOYNEXTDOOR has started gaining more traction, the band’s energy electrifying, pulling in more fans with every performance. it’s not just the music that’s drawing people in, though. it’s the rawness. the authenticity that the group radiates. and as they grow, so does your connection with them.

sungho, riwoo, jaehyun, leehan, and woonhak. each of them has become an important part of your life. you’ve spent so many late nights with them now, at shows and skateparks, in studios and cafés, and each moment feels more natural than the last. the guys have all grown to appreciate your company, your unguarded nature, your willingness to let go of the walls you once had up.

woonhak’s grin is constant whenever you’re around, and he’s never shy about throwing playful remarks your way. “you know, if you hang out with us more often, you might start getting better at skating. or maybe you’ll just get really good at cheering us on,” he teases, elbowing you gently as you both watch taesan show off his latest tricks at the skatepark.

you laugh, shaking your head. “I think I’m good with cheering for now.”

“yeah, yeah,” he says with a wink. “we’ll see.”

leehan, quieter than the others but equally as kind, has begun to open up to you more too. you find yourself in deep conversations with him after practice, talking about everything from music to fish, which makes you wonder why he has a huge interest in fish. he’s got a way of listening that makes you feel heard, truly heard, and it’s something you’ve come to value in a way you didn’t expect.

“you know,” leehan says one night as you sit beside him on the band’s tour bus, “sometimes, I think you understand us more than we give you credit for.”

you smile softly, a little surprised. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, staring out of the window. “well, it’s just… you fit in, y’know? and I don’t think you’ve ever tried to be anything other than who you are. it’s refreshing.”

the compliment hits you harder than you expected, and you realize just how far you’ve come since that first day of being unsure about yourself, hiding in plain sight.

jaehyun, the loud and often mischievous member, is always up for a laugh. he’s started making jokes about you and taesan, though it’s never mean-spirited. “so, you two are still doing that whole ‘silent romance’ thing, huh?” he teases one afternoon as the band gathers for a quick break before the next performance.

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “we’re not silent, jaehyun. we just don’t broadcast everything.”

he raises an eyebrow, his grin mischievous. “uh-huh, sure. whatever you say.”

taesan, of course, just watches the back-and-forth with a small smile, his gaze soft. you’re starting to learn how to read him, how his eyes light up with affection and pride when he looks at you, even when he tries to hide it.

“you’re in trouble now,” riwoo adds from the side, glancing between you and taesan.

but there’s something deeper there in the way the group interacts now. it’s not just about the music or the laughs. they’ve truly embraced you as one of their own. you’re no longer just the outsider; you’re part of their family.

and you realize, as the weeks go by, that taesan’s music is beginning to reflect the change you’ve both undergone. he’s been writing more, pouring his heart into the lyrics, and it’s clear from the way he talks about the process that it’s more than just songs to him. it’s his way of expressing everything he’s ever wanted to say, but never could.

one day, as you sit in the studio, scribbling down some notes for your own personal project, taesan walks in, his usual calm demeanor now mixed with a hint of excitement.

“I finished something new,” he says, looking at you. “I want you to hear it.”

you raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “what’s it called?”

“it’s… well, it’s about us,” he explains, shifting a little nervously. “about how I felt when you finally stopped pretending you didn’t care.”

your heart skips a beat as you look up at him, but you don’t say anything. you just follow him to the music setup, where he starts fiddling with his guitar.

he strums the first few chords, and instantly, you know it’s something different. it’s raw and honest, with a touch of rebellion, the sound of someone finally coming into their own after fighting their own doubts.

(listen to sk8er boi during this part guys !!)

when the final chord rings out, the room is silent. you’re sitting there, stunned, unable to process the feelings swirling inside you. it’s a song about you, about how taesan has always been there, quietly waiting for you to see him for who he truly is

he looks at you, his expression soft, almost unsure. “do you like it?”

you can’t say anything at first. your throat feels tight, and there’s a lump in your chest that you can’t shake. finally, you nod. “taesan… it’s perfect.”

he smiles, though it’s shy, as if he’s relieved. “I’m glad.”

later that evening, you’re in the crowd at one of BOYNEXTDOOR’s shows, feeling the energy buzz around you. the crowd is loud, excited, the air electric with anticipation. the lights dim, and the first notes of a familiar tune fill the air.

you recognize the song immediately. it’s the one taesan wrote. and as he steps forward, microphone in hand, he scans the crowd, his gaze lingering on you for a brief moment. there’s no hiding the way his eyes soften when he spots you.

you stand there, in the middle of the crowd, heart racing, as taesan sings the song he wrote for you. the lyrics are even more powerful live, the music thrumming through your body.

woonhak, stands beside you after the set, noticing the way you were both looking at each other. he grins, making eye contact with leehan, who’s watching from the side. they share a knowing look, as if they’ve been expecting this moment all along.

“hey,” woonhak says quietly, elbowing you. “looks like someone’s got the spotlight.”

you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. you’re finally here, in this moment, with taesan. no more hiding, no more pretending.

and as the final chords ring out, you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

— ty for reading pookies :) —

~ fic taglist - @the0p

~ bnd taglist - @bxnedo

~ perm taglist - @s0shroe

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frownyalfred · 2 days ago

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Unmasking regular Batman bc of Arkham Prince Bruce is so juicy but I’ve honestly been thinking that the whole AP!JL would spend five minutes in Batman’s presence and put together calculated intelligence + martial arts master + angry Gothamite with a really nice jawline and figure it out. Like Clark and Barry investigate things for a living, J’onn’s telepathic (he recognizes the Inner Bat-Turmoil from fifty meters), and the rest of them are hardly stupid! But that creates so much potential, because how do you tell the elseworld version of your team that one of their founding members is criminally insane in your world?

Maybe Bruce isn’t even with them on this mission, and the AP!League just has to awkwardly operate around their missing strategist without letting on to the regular League that their extra member is alternate maskless Batman. Especially without revealing that alternate maskless Batman is currently in Arkham Asylum getting electroshock therapy from Hugo Strange. I think Prince Bruce would want to play that card himself after a couple extremely intense staring contests with Batman

Though I also feel, as has been mentioned before, that Batman himself is the least disturbed of the whole bog standard Justice League. Something about seeing such a naked version of himself in a mirror, the darkness he could have given into, the violence and anger and pain that he still lives with every moment of every day. At the end of the day, Bruce is Bruce is Bruce. Batman’s made choices he can’t take back; so has the Arkham Prince. And they both have regrets, in the end.

He’d be far more disturbed by what becomes of his Robins with a (mostly) unapologetic murderer as their father, though I also think a part of him couldn’t help but be envious of Bruce’s freedom to act in their defense. How far would Batman have gone for his children if he wasn’t chained by his code in the way Arkham Prince Bruce isn’t? Maybe he would have killed the Joker for Jason. Maybe he would have used a Lazarus Pit to resurrect him. It’s not like he can honestly claim he never thought about it! Batman’s not perfect. Of all the points of divergence between Batman and the AP, some of them are differences in philosophy and some of them are pure circumstance

Yes, yes, yes, all of this. You’re dead on anon.

#batman #bruce wayne #dc #asks #anon #fic ideas #Arkham prince #Arkham prince au #jl #justice league #to add to master list

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sl-vega · 3 days ago

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[🫧] - SWEET REFUGE - hiori yo

✮⋆˙ hiori likes to rebel in any sense he can from his parents. maybe it's staying out a little after curfew, spending ridiculous amounts of his allowance on steam rather than something more practical. and his favourite of course, lying about 'extra training with karasu' which is really just code for 'doing anything BUT training with karasu' or in more recent events, fooling around with you, his friend who he 'just messes around with' and totally doesn't have major feelings for

cw/additional notes; potentially ooc, gn! reader, angst(?),manga spoilers/spoilers for hiori's backstory and mild spoilers to one of the light novels, mild suggestive content (it's just kissing nothing nsfw), vee's poor attempt at writing a makeout scene and physical intimacy beyond hand holding, i wanted to try my hand at writing a different characterization of hiori because i feel like my prev mini series of him was very fluffy and i wanted to branch out a bit!

divider creds to @junabuggy and @aquazero <3

Hiori Yo was absolutely gorgeous

This was a sentiment you often found yourself having time and time again. No matter how often, how obvious is was, Hiori was beautiful.

He had long luscious lashes, baby blue locks and the biggest most adorable cyan coloured doe eyes ever. He was prettier than most girls in your class, and yet he still had a slight bit of masculinity to him that made him so handsome.

And yet, contrary to his appearance, he wasn't soft nor pliant and sweet. His hands were calloused and rough. He didn't feel soft when he tried to find refuge in your arms, he felt slender and toned, presumably from all the training he underwent.

He wasn't some perfect boy you could always find comfort in, not some unattainable ideal that could be ripped straight from a swoon worthy rom com, he harbored so many intense feelings, so many things that he kept underneath that same facade of innocence and compliance he kept up with everyone.

When he kissed you it wasn't gentle or slow like a blooming flower or a child's first love. It was rough, insistent, demanding. Like a scared soul, desperately trying to find refuge.

He wasn't the perfect boyfriend. He wasn't even your boyfriend. Just a boy in your class who you would fool around with to escape reality.

And yet you loved him so.

So here you were, pressed up against him in some secluded area of your school courtyard his tongue practically shoved down your throat with the same demanding force he always used. And no matter how many times you experienced it, you could never quite brace yourself.

Hiori's kisses always caught you off guard. There were never any gentle touches or tender teasing to preface the intimacy, no soft whispers of love and devotion, there was never any hesitation, never a moment to think. Just his soft pillowy lips pressed against your's in a constant wave of urgency and desperation, almost pleading to just let him have you like this, even for a little bit.

You gently pulled away for a moment, almost having to hold the other boy down to prevent him from pouncing on you yet again, a thick string of saliva connected your equally bruised lips, you flicked your gaze up to meet his own.

Thin frost rings of cyan were barely visible as his pupils were so blown wide open with lust, he chased your lips, as if parting from you for even a moment would kill him then and there, but you pressed a splayed hand over his mouth as you continued your staggered breathing.

"H-hey...God, you're gonna suffocate me at this rate..."

Hiori huffed for a second, grabbing your wrist and holding it down so he could press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips without resistance. "I don't fuckin' care..." He mumbled as he trailed more soft, open mouthed kisses down your jawline and across your neck. Hearing Hiori curse was like hearing an angel commit a heresy-it wasn't impossible, but it felt so out of place-and yet the words seemed to fall so easily from his lips, so naturally.

It made you remember just how little you really knew about him on a personal level.

It would be a completely different story if you were talking about your physical relationship with him, but you weren't, and you most definitely didn't want to because you would trade all these clandestine meetings if it meant you had a chance at getting to know Hiori properly.

You would give up this excuse of a relationship with him in a heartbeat if he would just open up his own heart to you. If he could just let you see what he really needed to use you as an escape from, even for a moment.

Out of nowhere, you felt a sudden absence of warmth. Pulling you from your thoughts you were met with the sight of Hiori drawing himself back for a moment.

"Yer' distracted."

He said bluntly, he looked annoyed, his eyes briefly flickered back and forth between your lips and your eyes. Hiori wrapped his hands around your wrists and guided them to his lower abdomen, those same doe eyes burning into your soul with a hunger that you had grown all to familiar with.

"I don't mind if ya' touch me more..."

He leaned his forehead against your's, his own lips trying to coax another kiss from you. Your hands, clammy and shaking slightly, moved to cup his face and push him down once more. This time, he looked perplexed rather than annoyed.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"No...I'm just not in the mood right now."

Lies.

Lying to Hiori felt so strange. You knew that he was the one who kept more secrets than you did. Yet even that knowledge didn't stop the feeling of your heart dropping with guilt as you noticed he looked almost hurt at your blatant fabrication.

This time you had to force yourself to pull away, you truly didn't want to, but you desperately needed time gather your own thoughts. Your hands flew to your collar to readjust your uniform's top and tie.

You were about to stand up and mutter a quick goodbye to Hiori-giving him a proper one would only make you want to stay back more-before you suddenly felt his hand on your sleeve, tugging you back down.

"Stay. Please? I-"

His words seemed to get caught in his throat, his eyes looked like they were pleading with you, "Just stay for the rest of lunch."

He was almost begging at this point, icy blue eyes staring into your's, almost shaking with something akin to fear. He looked almost vulnerable.

"I need you."

You hated how those three simple words made your face flush bright red, how they made your heart stop for just a moment. You hated how easy it was for him to make you swoon.

You hated how much you loved Hiori Yo.

He pulled you down into an uncharacteristically warm embrace, burying his head into the crook of you neck, you could feel his soft, short, hair tickled your neck and jaw. He let out a heavy sigh, and you couldn't bring yourself to resist him.

"So much has just been going on. School, soccer, my parents. God I hate them so much...It's just...A lot you know?"

He craned his head up so he could look at you, brushing some stray strands of hair out of your face so he could properly look at you.

"And...you've helped take my mind off things. I guess that's why I like you so much."

You cupped his face for real this time, cradling his head in your hands. It really didn't take much for him to have you wrapped around his finger. Always at his beck and call.

You savored the tender softness for all that you could. It left as quick as you came, and as soon as Hiori knew he could have you again, he took you.

When you were together, Hiori Yo could pretend everything was okay.

And when he found refuge in your arms, you could pretend that he was your's.

tagging: @shrii-kk

#hiori x reader #hiori yo x reader #hiori x you #hiori yo x you #yo hiori x reader #hiori #hiori yo #yo hiori #bluelock #bluelock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock manga #bllk manga #bluelock x you #blue lock x you

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dynamo-of-fake-twin-brother-fame · 2 days ago

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So my brain doesn't make the chemical that gets you to SIT STILL while asleep. Or at least.... It does make it, but not nearly enough. So while some people with the same sleep issues as me need railings to keep them from rolling out of bed, I just kinda... Wiggle. Rotate like a rotisserie chicken. Burrito myself. Un rotisserie chicken. Un burrito. Wiggle. End up (sometimes) with my feet up where my head is supposed to be. This is why I tend to collect a lot of stuff down around the foot of my bed. Boxes of magic cards, clothes I've only worn once so far, for an hour, so they're still clean, extra blankets and coats, boxes of mtg cards, journals.... They trick my brain into not flipping around the wrong way when I'm sleeping. I'll still curl and uncurl like a demonic pill bug, but I don't end up with my feet on my pillow.

And for the longest time, I didn't know that was a thing. I just thought that's how people slept. Evolution's way of keeping us safe at our most vulnerable. Cuz if you keep moving around when you sleep, things that want to eat prey in it's sleep will think we aren't. It wasn't until I went on a trip with a young girls group back when I was still in it and we shared beds in the hotel that my bedmate (I think her name was Angela. Or Amelia? I can distinctly remember her face and the dress she wore for meetings) mentioned I 'moved around a lot in my sleep'. Like, I noticed she DIDN'T move around a lot, and I thought that was something humans tried to do when they shared a bed (I'd never had to share a bed with anyone before, that I can remember, outside of maybe sleeping with my parents when I was really small and had a nightmare) so I did try to stay... More still. Until I fell asleep properly and lost control of the unconscious urge to spin.

I'm wiggly when I sleep. I wobble. I spin. I rotate like a jpeg in a PowerPoint presentation animation. And this means that during the time your brain is supposed to be recharging... Mine just kinda half-asses it. Like a charging cable that's old and bent so you gotta hold your phone *juuuuuuuust* right to charge it. And I have found out (with some outside help) that the anxiety (that crazy anxiety that's so bad I have to medicate) makes it worse. If I'm anxious, I'm more wiggly than usual. If I'm calm, I'm less wiggly. I also find I'm less wiggly in the cold months when I've got eighteen pounds of blanketry on me.

(I do think it's kinda funny that the original state of our brains is WIGGLE. Like, our brains evolved to produce a chemical that stops WIGGLE, but if you've had a traumatic brain injury or your brain just doesn't produce that chemical, it'll reset to WIGGLE MODE. And WIGGLE MODE is the less optimal setting. Humans were badly designed in a high school engineering class, and the four students keep having to fuck with the code to fix things, but every change to the code fucks up something else.)

But all this to say -- there are some days I wake up, and I'm just bone-tired. I want to immediately go back to bed. Because the wiggles were with me the night before. It sounds funnier talking about it like it's some sort of old-timey affliction like Victorian wasting sickness rather than saying my brain is more caveman-y than normal. Because that's... Kinda what's going on. The original, caveman brain had WIGGLE MODE ACTIVE. And it's exhausting. So it's understandable why life expectancy wasn't as long back then. Our bodies just... Ran outta juice faster back then.

Whenever I take a long car ride I end up exhausted afterwards, and I’m always like “why am I so tired? I was just sitting around doing nothing all day.”

But the answer, it turns out, is I was doing something. Riding in a car jars your body in many directions and requires constant microadjustments of your muscles just to stay in place and hold your normal posture. Because you’re inside the car, inside the situation, it’s easy not to notice all the extra work you’re doing just to maintain the status quo.

There’s all sorts of type of work that we think of as “free” that require spending energy: concentrating, making decisions, managing anxiety, maintaining hypervigilance in an unfriendly environment, dealing with stereotype threat, processing a lot of sensory input, repairing skin cells damaged sun exposure, trying to stay warm in a cold room.

The next time you think you’re tired from “nothing”, consider instead that you’re probably in situation where you’re doing a lot of unnoticed extra work just to stay in place.

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mrsfancyferrari · 3 hours ago

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24 Hours Without You

Summary: A dare from Lando led to Oscar not having any contact from you for 24 hours. Well he tried to.

Song: Love Drought · Beyoncé

Author’s note: Happy Valentines day to all couples and all singles (like me 🥲), either I hope you have a good day! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The lights of the McLaren production studio flickered with anticipation, the hum of laughter from the crew blending into the casual camaraderie surrounding Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris.

The two drivers, known not only for their prowess on the Formula 1 tracks but also for their undeniable charisma off of it, sat on plush bean bags before a camera.

Today’s content was light-hearted—an episode of "Truth or Dare," where playful banter was the currency of the moment.

In the midst of the gleeful chaos, Lando held up a hand, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Truth or dare?” he shot at Oscar, who had his fingers nervously tapping on the surface of his knee.

Oscar, who had been bracing for this exact moment, hesitated. He’d opted for “truth” in virtually every previous round, hoping to avoid anything too embarrassing.

But the staff behind the camera were practically pleading with him to choose “dare”—for the sake of content, of course.

“Dare,” he finally relented, a playful smirk hiding the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. He expected something innocuous, maybe a challenge to show off an embarrassing childhood photograph or to tweet an old picture of himself wearing an awkward haircut.

But Lando’s grin widened unnaturally as he clapped his hands together. “I dare you to spend 24 hours away from your girlfriend and document it to show the fans how needy you are for her!”

Oscar blinked. “Wait, what?” It was more of a stutter than a question.

Lando, brimming with enthusiasm, leaned into the camera with an exaggerated expression. “You heard me! No calls, no texts, and definitely no see-you-later kisses! We want to see how long it takes for you to break.”

Oscar felt his cheeks flush. This wasn’t just some off-the-cuff banter in the drivers' room. This was being filmed. This was going to be on YouTube. This was going to be everywhere.

He glanced around, hoping for a lifeline from even a vaguely sympathetic face from his engineer. He found none. They were all either strategically avoiding eye contact or subtly smirking.

"What if I say no?" Oscar asked, the words laced with a desperate hope that this whole thing was a joke, a prank that had gone too far.

He’d already planned on going to your house later that day for a quiet movie night and homemade pasta, a tradition they’d started a few years after they’d started dating.

The thought of not seeing you, not hearing your voice, for an unknown amount of time… it felt like a physical ache.

Lando’s grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Then you have to let me pass in the next 3 races if you're in the lead,” he said, the words dripping with smug confidence.

He knew Oscar was fiercely competitive. He knew this would sting.

Oscar groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Why are you so against me, mate?” He couldn't fathom Lando's sudden, intense interest in his love life, or rather, in trying to sabotage it.

"I just want to show the world how much of a simp you are," Lando replied, his tone teasing, but with an underlying edge that Oscar couldn’t quite decipher.

“Is this even allowed?” Oscar asked, appealing to the staff, hoping someone would intervene, would point out the absurdity of the situation. This had to be a breach of some sort of code of conduct, right?

"Of course, it is!" Lando declared, throwing his arms wide. "It's content! Think of the views!"

Oscar knew, deep down, that the team probably did see it as ‘content.’

In the cutthroat world of Formula 1, where every millisecond and every marketing opportunity mattered, this ridiculous challenge probably seemed like a stroke of genius.

He looked back at Lando, his friend's face alight with mischievous glee. He looked at the cameras, the expectant faces of the crew.

He looked at the faces of the team, already calculating potential audience engagement.

“Fine,” he said, the word feeling like a lead weight in his mouth. “But you owe me big time for this, Lando.”

Lando whooped, jumping off the toolbox and slapping Oscar on the back. “That’s the spirit! Challenge accepted! And don’t worry, the world will thank me for this entertainment!”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a familiar gesture when frustration gnawed at him. He fished his phone out of his pocket, the bright screen momentarily blinding in the dim light of the hallway.

There they were, a string of messages from you, each one a little more frantic than the last.

“Hey, everything okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“Oscar? You haven’t even seen my meme! It’s hilarious, you HAVE to see it.”

“Seriously, starting to worry. Call me when you get a chance.”

And finally, a more plaintive, “I miss you. Hope you’re okay.”

He cursed under his breath, a sharp, involuntary sound. Lando. It was always Lando. This stupid dare, this ridiculous game, had ripped a hole in his day, a hole that was shaped exactly like you.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, the cool glass a constant reminder of the connection he was deliberately severing.

“See you guys,” he mumbled to the departing camera crew, offering a weak wave.

He then turned to Lando, delivered a playful, but firm, punch to his shoulder, and escaped to the sanctuary of his apartment.

He knew, logically, that it was just 24 hours. A single day. But the thought of willingly ignoring you felt like a betrayal, a small chink in the fortress of their relationship.

He cherished your texts, your calls, the small everyday interactions that stitched together the tapestry of their lives. Being without them, even for a fleeting moment, felt… wrong.

He threw himself onto the couch, intending to relax, maybe watch some mindless TV. But your voice echoed in his head, replaying snippets of conversations, silly jokes, and whispered sweet nothings.

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure your face, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the soft curve of your smile. He needed to hear your voice, desperately.

He got up, restless, and paced the small apartment. He considered calling Lando, admitting defeat, throwing in the towel. But pride, that stubborn, annoying companion, held him back.

He’d made a commitment, however foolish, and he intended to see it through.

Sleep evaded him. He tossed and turned, the silence amplifying the absence of your goodnight text, your usual, comforting presence. He got up, made himself a cup of tea, and stared out the window at the twinkling city lights.

Each light, he imagined, represented a connection, a conversation, a life unfolding. And he was deliberately cutting himself off from one of the most important ones.

Finally, exhaustion claimed him, but it was a restless, fractured sleep, filled with snippets of dreams where he was chasing you through crowded streets, always just out of reach.

The next morning dawned gray and overcast, mirroring his mood. He dragged himself out of bed, the weight of fatigue heavy on his shoulders.

Today was qualifying, a crucial part of the race weekend, and he needed to be sharp, focused. This was not the condition that he wants to be in.

He arrived at the track, the buzz of activity usually energizing, today felt like a dull hum. He went through the motions, the familiar routines a small comfort in the unsettling void.

Lando found him in the McLaren garage, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Hey mate, have you given up yet?” he asked, slapping Oscar’s shoulder a little too hard.

Oscar winced, both from the physical blow and the reminder of the dare. “Nope,” he mumbled, the word devoid of any real conviction. He was tired, irritable, and more than anything, he missed you.

The thought of the next few hours stretching out before him, devoid of your presence, felt unbearable.

“Don’t worry, Osc,” Lando teased, oblivious to the genuine discomfort he was causing. “Just a few hours left. Think of the gloating rights!”

Oscar just glared at him, the playful banter lost on his weary mind. He wanted to tell Lando how much this stupid dare was affecting him, how much he relied on your support, your laughter, your simple, unwavering belief in him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to articulate it. It felt too vulnerable, too personal.

The day dragged on, each minute a tiny eternity. He went through the qualifying rounds, his performance adequate, but lacking the spark he usually possessed.

He could feel the absence of your encouragement, the subtle confidence boost he always got from knowing you were watching, cheering him on.

Between sessions, he retreated to his driver’s room, fighting the urge to reach for his phone. He scrolled through news articles, read through performance data, anything to distract himself from the aching void that was growing larger with each passing second.

Then, during the buildup to Q3, he was sat in the car and ready to go when his engineer, Tom, spoke over the radio. "Okay Oscar, you're up next, are you ready?"

Oscar gripped the wheel a little tighter, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Yeah I'm ready, is there any changes?"

Tom paused for moment and Oscar thought he hadn't head him. "No changes, but your girlfriend wanted me to pass on a message, she said good luck and she misses you, now go show them what you are capable of."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know you had talked to his engineer, but the small gesture warmed him from the inside.

It was exactly the kind of thing you would do, finding a way to break through his self-imposed barrier without directly contacting him.

The message worked. Oscar's spirits lifted and he felt a fresh surge of determination coursing through him.

He took off onto the track and delivered a blistering lap, securing a strong position on the starting grid.

He should be celebrating with the team, analysing telemetry, strategizing for tomorrow's race. But all he could think about was you. All because of Lando's stupid dare.

The qualifying result helped, but it didn't fill the void. After the debrief, he couldn't take it anymore. He muttered a quick goodbye to the team, ignoring their puzzled looks, and practically sprinted to his car.

He drove to your house, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his heart pounding in his chest.

He parked the car, took a deep breath, and walked up to your front door. He had a key, a privilege he still cherished. He unlocked the door and let himself in.

“Hello?” he heard you say from inside, his footsteps louder than usual in the silence of the house.

He couldn’t speak. He stood frozen in the hallway, suddenly feeling ashamed and foolish.

How could he have ignored you because of a stupid dare?

He’d prioritized a silly game over your feelings, over his own need to be with you. The reality of his actions hit him like a punch to the gut.

You appeared in the doorway, your eyes widening in surprise. You were wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your hair pulled back in a messy bun. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Oscar? What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t quite decipher. He swallowed hard but found the words stuck somewhere deep in his throat.

“I…um…” He was fumbling, just like the first time he’d ever tried to ask you out. He felt like he was letting a ridiculous dare take precedence over something–over someone–he truly cared about.

"You weren't answering my messages, I thought I did something wrong," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he blurted out, finally finding his voice. “It’s just… it was a stupid dare. From Lando. He dared me not to contact you for 24 hours.”

He cringed at the sound of his own explanation. It sounded pathetic, even to him.

He could practically see the disbelief forming in your eyes, the flicker of hurt morphing into something colder, something more distant.

He’d hoped to mitigate the damage, but he suspected he’d only made things worse. The dare, the explanation, the whole situation… it all felt utterly ridiculous and deeply, deeply wrong.

The silence descended again, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, you muttered, the words barely audible, “Am I just a dare to you?” The question hit him like a physical blow, a sharp, searing pain that ripped through his chest.

The accusation, even whispered, was devastating. It was the very antithesis of everything he felt, everything he wanted you to believe.

The thought that you could even consider him capable of such callousness was unbearable. He had to convince you, he had to erase any doubt that lingered in your mind, or he risked losing you forever.

“No!” It burst from him, a desperate plea laced with raw emotion, desperation threading his tone. "I love you more than that," he continued, his voice cracking with the intensity of his feelings.

He reached out, instinctively wanting to touch you, to reassure you, but hesitated, unsure if you'd welcome the gesture.

You paused, your gaze intense, scanning his face for any sign of deception. He met your eyes, unflinchingly, letting his own reflect the truth of his words.

He knew he had to be an open book, to let you see the regret, the love, the sheer desperation that consumed him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you scrutinized him, searching for any flicker of falsehood.

Each passing second felt like an eternity, the silence amplifying the pounding of his heart in his ears. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly.

"Well then, why?" you asked, your voice softer now, but still tinged with hurt. The question hung in the air, demanding an explanation, a justification for his inexplicable actions.

It was a reasonable question, one he knew he deserved. But the truth was, he didn’t have a good answer.

He shuffled his feet, avoiding your gaze. The usually confident Oscar Piastri, the Formula 1 sensation, looked like a scolded puppy.

"I… I don't know why I agreed to it, but I knew I regretted it as soon as I said yes. I couldn't concentrate at all today or sleep without your voice. The only reason I didn't crash out of tiredness was because of your message that Tom gave me," he ranted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He was scared. You could see it in the way his hands trembled slightly, the way his eyes darted around the room, anywhere but at you. This was the only real relationship he'd ever been in, the only one that felt… right.

He loved you, a dizzying, heart-wrenching, terrifying kind of love that had taken root ever since he saw you in that crowded lecture hall, your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop screen.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He waited for you to speak, to yell, to do anything. But you didn't. He panicked more.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. You could see the desperation etched on his face, the genuine remorse in his eyes. It was hard being mad at him, especially knowing how much he hated being apart from you.

Finally, you sighed, a weary sound that seemed to deflate him even further. You pushed aside your anger, the petty hurt that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the past day.

You knew how easily Lando could goad him into things, how Oscar, despite his steely determination on the track, could be surprisingly susceptible to peer pressure.

You moved forward, closing the distance between you. He flinched slightly, bracing himself for… what, you didn't know.

Instead, you went on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne – something uniquely Oscar.

You missed it, even though you were with him just two days ago.

Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. He gradually relaxed, melting into your embrace, his own arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He missed you too. More than you knew.

"You're lucky Lando told me about it and bribed me with pictures of you looking depressed to not get mad at you," you muttered into his shoulder, your voice muffled.

He chuckled weakly, a sound that vibrated against you. "He what?"

"He’s been sending me pictures all day," you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "Apparently, you kept staring at your phone with this forlorn expression. Lando said it was hilarious, but also that he felt bad for you."

Oscar groaned, burying his face in your hair. "I'm going to kill him."

"He did say he'd run if he saw you coming," you said with a small smile. "And, you know, it worked. I was going to give you the silent treatment for a week."

He pulled back, his eyes wide with mock horror. "A week? That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

"You deserve it," you retorted, but the threat lacked teeth. "Now, tell me everything. How awful was it? Did you actually cry?"

He grinned, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I did not cry. I may have considered it, though."

You laughed, relieved that the tension had dissipated. "So, what exactly did Lando dare you to do?"

"He said I couldn't contact you in any way, shape, or form for twenty-four hours. No calls, no texts, no social media. Nothing," Oscar explained. "He said it would be a 'fun challenge' and that I needed to 'toughen up' or something ridiculous like that."

"And you agreed?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grimaced. "I don't know what I was thinking. I think I wanted to prove I could do it, that I wasn't… overly reliant on you."

"And how did that work out for you?" you teased.

He sighed dramatically. "Terribly. Absolutely terribly. I spent the entire day pacing around, checking my phone every five minutes. I couldn't focus on anything. Even driving felt more dangerous than usual."

"That's because you were thinking about me," you said, a smug smile playing on your lips.

"Of course I was," he said, cupping your face in his hands. "You're all I ever think about."

You blushed, but your heart swelled at his words. "So, lesson learned?"

"Lesson learned," he confirmed, leaning in to kiss you. "I'm never agreeing to anything Lando says ever again."

The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with the unspoken relief of being together again. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

"You know," you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Lando also dared me to ignore you for the next twenty-four hours. But he didn't bribe me with pictures of you looking miserable."

Oscar’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t!"

You just smiled, a silent promise of playful revenge hanging in the air. He knew you wouldn’t actually follow through, not completely.

But the thought of it, the tiny seed of uncertainty, was enough to make him cling to you even tighter.

"Don’t you dare," he whispered, burying his face in your hair again. "Please. I can’t handle another day like today."

You laughed, a warm, happy sound that echoed through the room. He was an idiot, a lovable, racing-obsessed idiot, and you wouldn't trade him for the world.

"Okay, okay," you relented. "I'll spare you… this time. But you owe me big time. And you're buying me dinner. Somewhere expensive."

"Anything," he said, pulling back to look at you, his eyes filled with genuine affection. "Anything for you."

And you knew he meant it. The dare had been stupid, a momentary lapse in judgment fueled by Lando’s mischievous influence. But it had also served as a reminder, a stark glimpse of what life would be like without each other. And neither of you wanted to ever experience that again.

You were connected, intertwined, and the thought of being apart, even for a day, was unbearable.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapped securely around you. The storm had passed, leaving behind a quiet calm. And in the comfort of his embrace, you knew that everything was going to be okay.

As long as you had each other, you could face anything. Even Lando’s ridiculous dares. . . .

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siro-cyll · 3 days ago

Text

The Uncharted Mansion

Transcript:

Once again, Gravity Falls has contradicted my ability to predict its unstable weather patterns. While cataloging several anomalies in the woods miles from my cabin, I became lost in a freak blizzard that I was gravely unprepared for. I had no choice but to seek refuge in the nearest cave and light a fire for warmth. As I tried to stave off the cold, I realized the cave was not made of stone but dense trees frozen in an arch, creating a dark tunnel that stretched beyond the firelight. With the storm raging behind me and my curiosity piqued, I ventured forth to get my mind off the storm. To my astonishment, the long tunnel yawned wide into an extravagant courtyard surrounding a massive decadent mansion that rivals the one owned by the Northwest, only more overgrown. It seems I have stumbled upon: The Uncharted Mansion My amazement at the unmarked domicile aside, I decided I had to take shelter inside until the storm passed. I'm sure whoever resides here wouldn't mind, given the circumstances. I gained entry through a cellar door at the back, and as the exterior suggested, the interior had not been touched for some time. A quick sweep of the place told me I was alone. Each room was fully furnished with furniture covered in dust-covered sheets. Given the eerie yet enchanting atmosphere, I half-expected something to come alive to talk to me as some beast-like prince resident to make himself known. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Chilled to the bone, I lit the hearth in a lavish parlor using some dried wood nearby and settled onto one of the covered fainted couches to take in my surroundings. My mind tumbled with what secrets this place could hold as my excitement grew. I had not found any records of this mansion in my research, but it looked as old as the one owned by Northwest. Surprising no one, my first thought was that this place had to be haunted. Also surprising no one, I had brought my emergency ghost-hunting kit with me. While I has unprepared for such a drastic change in the weather, I'm always prepared for an impromptu ghost hunt! A somber portrait above the hearth caught my eyes as I set up my gear. The profile of a pale young woman with long dark hair holding a barn owl with a bowtie stood out against the black background framed in gold. Engraved at the bottom were the initials "B.B.B." Her initials? Her manner of dress was reminiscent of nobility during the pioneer days. The longer I gazed at her, the more my face warmed at the possibility of making contact with her. Would that count as a girl talking to me if she responded? Ghost girls are still girls, right? Then it occured to me that I had no clue what to say to her. "How's death treating you?" would probably get me slapped. I spent an hour rehearsing and trying to be as charming as possible before starting. After hours of trying to detect any paranormal activity, I concluded that I was getting the literal cold shoulder from "BBB", which was likely given my track record with women, or this place was not haunted despite its atmosphere. Pity. I was hoping I would be able to talk to someone tonight. This place had become quite lonesome once the excitement wore off.

For years now I've wanted to make lost journal pages for Journal 1 and 2, and I've finally started! With @lord-rosenth0rne's help, we've started here, at Thorne's mansion! We had a lot of fun with this, messing with codes, and even throwing in a cameo of my oc, Riddell.

We want to keep exploring Ford's journals, along with my Tumble in Time continuity. Thorne is a fruit bat vampire who ends up being roommates with Orion, and these pages happen before Orion comes crashing into Ford's life.

If you want to take a blacklight to it, check out the read more~

No Ford blacklight commentary here, it's all Bill for some reason...

#long post #thorne #ford pines #bill cipher #tumble in time #lost journal pages #riddell #cookie for anyone that wants to actually decode the stuff #especially thorne's true name which is a riot #gravity falls

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hsjazebel · 5 hours ago

Text

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry��

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

#harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles blog #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #college au

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