#my favourite fated lovers

[survivingoffpoetry]

I was sitting thinking about Art heist baby (as one does), and I had this idea for a fic.

The main body of the fanfic could be about Achilles and Patroclus and would follow their story and ultimate tragedy (bear with me here). It would all be sad and depressing, all the good stuff, and it will end on a line like

‘will you look for me in every universe?’

‘Every universe my love. I will find you in every single one.’

It seems like this is the end, perhaps it is even Patroclus who dies (who cares about canon), except there’s more!

It will then skip to Neil and Todd in 1959 at Walton academy, New England. It will start on the part when they are first being introduced and find out they are roommates.

‘Neil, Neil Perry, it’s nice to meet you…?’

‘Todd Anderson.’

*they shake hands*

‘Have we met before? It’s only you seem familiar?’

Todd squints and thinks for a second. The spark that lit up in his hand is still fizzling beneath his fingers and as he looks into his new friends eyes, he is suddenly filled with a sense of familiarity that he can’t quite place.

‘Perhaps.’

The two Greek heroes have been reunited once more, before the timeline jumps again.

This time it is 1971 and we are in hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. James has bumped into regulus as he enters the great hall for the first time.

*The two boys stare at each other momentarily before James sticks out his hand, broad smile on his face. Regulus shakes it tentatively, unsure of what to say. The two continue to stare at each other as the second pass. There is a weight in the room - not smothering, rather more comfortable and familiar, hanging loose in the air like a faint memory neither recognise.*

‘James.’ He says, still smiling.

‘Regulus.’ The other says, his initial wariness beginning to ease. He’s only known James for barely a minute but he feels warm in his presence, like he’s been here before many times in different lives, different places, different souls.

He feels safe. He feels like he’s home.

Achilles and Patroclus meet for the last time in the fic, but certainly not forever. Achilles has found him in every universe, just like he promised all those years ago in Greece. The two will meet again, their story is not over.

I’m not even sure if this sounds like a good fic, and I realise it is not very developed, but I thought it was cool :). I don’t have time to write it at the moment, if ever, but i thought I’d share. Anyways, hope this idea made some sort of sense, I know it’s more of a song of Achilles fic, but it’s just an idea. :)

[gingermintpepper]

Hello! I want to know... Besides Hyacinthus, who is your fav Apollo's lover (male or female)? I really love Cyrene 🤭

Oho, thank you so much for the ask!

There are a couple candidates that immediately come to mind tbh. I'm not the sort that has a strict OTP sense when it comes to Apollo because I imagine there's importance in each of the affairs of the gods that are written about - there must be some reason that we remember their names and stories even now, y'know?

Ultimately, I have a brief selection of the lovers of Apollo whose stories I have personal and vested interest in with no particular preference except maybe for Evadne who, if I were forced to give only one additional favourite besides Hyacinthus, I would probably say it's her.

As for why I prefer Evadne over all the great and powerful romances Apollo has had; maybe it's just because I'm a sucker for the ooey-gooey romances but there's something so sweet about Evadne and Apollo's relationship and the consequent relationship Apollo has with Iamus, his and Evadne's son. I also love the subtle politics of such a relationship - from Evadne's side, yes she's a princess but more importantly, she's one of Poseidon's inhuman daughters - a child between Poseidon and a nymph - and the child between her and Apollo - a son of Zeus - goes on to become the father of a long line of famous prophets for the King of the Gods himself. That makes Iamus one of those rare children of a major god who is not divine but certainly not human either, something that is further exacerbated by the fact that for the first five days of his life, Iamus is cared for by his father who ensures that the baby is fed not milk but honey from the fangs of a snake.

All in all, it's not a very remarkable story in the grand scheme of things. There's no big drama like with Admetus and there's no great tragedy like with Coronis or Melia. Apollo doesn't act particularly noteworthy in either Pindar or Hyginus' account of the tale like he does for Cyrene or Branchus and the end result is a line of prophets sacred to Zeus and the Olympia oracle - a classic example of Apollo in his role as father to the great prophets and wisemen and yet something about the gentleness of Apollo in his affair with Evadne has always captivated me.

Evadne, who so feared her father that she would abandon her newborn child just to spare herself his anger, was able to trust and love Apollo. Likewise, Apollo did not once abandon her, sending the most blessed of attendants to help in her birthing and automatically stepping in to make sure Iamus was fed, clothed and warm until his mother returned for him. It's something about a young Iamus going into the River Alpheus - an ancient stream - and calling out for his purpose from his father and grandfather. It's something about Apollo's immediate and calm response and the way he leads the youth to the temple that will be his destiny and personally educates him in the ways of divination.

It's just one of those stories that always sticks out to me for the portrait of a father and lover it sketches of Apollo, even in a seemingly innocuous myth such as this one.

[mistyycowoa]

FUCK IT WHATEVER

CLEMENT ASHKETTLE MY BELOVED

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 23

Yaaaaayyyy! I'm back. I'm so sorry for the inconsistent scheduling! I promise I'm not going to abandon this story until it's over. You can trust me to hold to my word. I'm just as desperate to see our boys together and happy as you are.

But until then....we gotta cause as much angst as possible.

So without further ado, please enjoy. :)

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21 Content Warnings: mention of mating, homophobia, fantasy racism. All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

I barely had a chance to catch my breath before I was suddenly pulled from the horse and dragged through the cold, wet caverns and up and up until I was brought into a large, expansive room with wooden beams as columns holding up a great, massive room. 

No one spoke to me, no one offered me clothing. No one looked at me. My eyes wandered to every corner and shadow, hoping to spot Drunrag close by. He had to be alive. He had to be there.

“There you are!” I heard the voice of my father exclaim and I whirled around to see him rushing towards me. “You’re safe!”

I jerked back nervously at his reach. “Don’t touch me.” I started to say, but my father’s hands were on me before I could say the words. 

“What did that beast do to you?” He jerked me around and his eyes were locked on my bare, exposed legs and the wrinkled oversized shirt. “What did he do?”

I shook my head. “That’s far from the truth, father.” I attempted to pull back from him, but his grip was strong and I was caught in his intense stare, but I felt like he was looking at all of me, but never met my returning gaze. “Where is he?” I asked.

“Where he will never hurt you again.” He said. “I will see him punished for his crime. No monster who touched my son this way will be treated lightly.”

“No, please, listen to me, father.” I pleaded. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything to me. He’s innocent. You have to let him go.”

“No, you’re mistaken, son.” My father said gravely. “I have realized what has happened. He has charmed you. He has made you believe that you love him, but it is a lie. That is the only logical explanation for why my son would ever willingly involve himself with the enemy.”

I was stunned and I looked up at him with a newfound fear. He wasn’t just determined and spiteful, he was delusional. “You really believe that?” I asked breathlessly.

He looked at me with such intensity. “You have not been my son since you left home. I can only be led to believe he has done something to you.” His hands were on my arms and he jerked me back to study me further. “I should have realized sooner that he had done this to you.” He jerked to a stop and his eyes narrowed. “What is this round your neck?”

I snatched it before he could grab it. “It is mine.”

He shook his head. “This must be how he has charmed you. Give it to me.”

I pulled myself as hard as I could back from him and stumbled free from him, my hand went to the vial and, gasping, I looked hard into my father’s crazed gaze. “I said don’t touch me. You don’t have any power over me anymore. You never did.”

“Son,” he started.

“My name is Altan!” I shouted. “I have a name! I have an identity!” 

“A…Altan.” he corrected, his voice soft. But it was already too late to stop what had been waiting to be released for so long.

“Hate me for all I care but you will not call me crazy or charmed or anything. Look at me and see me. This is who I am. It won’t change even when you remove that charm. You can’t fix this.” I pounded my hand against my chest. “I am Altan and I can’t be what you want me to be and nothing has made my life more miserable than knowing you hate what I am; but please don’t make me into someone I can never be. I would rather die than deny who I am any more. You can hate me. You can hate what I do. You don’t have to like me. But do not change me more than I have tried to do for you and for gods’ sake you will not hurt those I love any longer. I will not shrink to be what you want and if you so much as dare to try again, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

The words surprised even me as they came out. Kill? Did I truly mean it?

My father’s face was vacant of emotion, but his eyes never strayed from mine.

“Altan.” He repeated, slowly. “I hear everything you speak.” He placed his hands together and breathed in deeply, summoning his thoughts. “Perhaps…perhaps it’s time we have a conversation like men instead of like father and son.”

I took a step back. “I’m not interested in that. I want you to give me Drunrag and let me leave this place with him.”

He shook his head. “Son, you know I cannot do that. He is the enemy.”

I sighed exasperated. “He owns a forge on the Sword Coast. He has never once accosted Berdusk or any of its citizens. You forget that the contention between orc and man ended hundreds of years ago. We weren’t even alive. We no longer need to fear them or continue feeding into that rhetoric.” 

“What would you have me do? Open the doors and let anyone into our town? Risk the safety of our land and people for the sake of making friends with strangers?” He sighed. “This is why I’m concerned about you. You are so naive to what is really happening outside your home. You think you understand this world after you ran away, but you know so little, son. You have to understand that I have only meant to protect you.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t believe that for a moment. After mother died, you didn’t speak to myself or my brothers for days. You left us to grieve alone while you invited diplomats to a feast the next day to arrange trades. You don’t really have any concern for me or my brothers. You only care about yourself and how you appear to others.”

His jaw tightened and I caught a glint of fire in his eyes. I realized how similar to my own it was. Were we truly so similar? “You accuse me of not caring?”

“I accuse you of caring about other things more. Money. Status. Vanity.” I explained. 

“Do you see nothing good in me?” He asked.

I shook my head. “Tell me you never hated me and I might consider kind words.”

His head drooped and another sigh escaped his lips. “Altan…”

I lowered my gaze to the ground. “I think we understand ourselves better now. I’m not really interested in fixing what’s happened between us. Take me to Drunrag and we will make our leave.”

His hands tightened to balls. “You may believe differently than me, but I cannot let him go.”

“Why?”

“Because…I need you.”

I did not expect those words to come from his mouth. “What?”

“I need you, Altan. I have made promises to people more powerful than me that involve you.”

“You what?” I asked.

He had the decency to look ashamed as he explained. “I’ve kept this from you and your brothers, but we…we are in debt to many people. I’ve done my best to pay things back, but…certain deals had to be made in order to reduce the debt.”

“The Lady Triel?” I asked. “Is she one of them?” 

He nodded. “You are promised to the Lady Allara of Triel. I cannot undo that.”

“And if I refuse, what then?” I asked, my heart was pounding loudly inside me, “What happens if our debts can’t be paid?”

“I do not know…but I fear for your brothers.” 

“So…my future is no longer my own.” The words came out flat, not a question.

“Sometimes, one must sacrifice to ensure a better future for the ones that follow.” My father said. “As the eldest, that is your expectation and your honor. I had to make a similar choice when I was your age. I chose your mother over what I wanted to ensure a better future for our people, for you. You wouldn’t abandon this family to fend for themselves, would you?”

“I swear to the gods if you are lying to me…” I seethed.

“There is no lie, Altan.” He gestured to a desk behind him, stacked with papers. “Look for yourself.”

“But…how?” I asked.

He did not meet my eyes as he answered. “If it is any consolation, this is the debt of your grandfather, passed on to me. I have had to make deals with the most unsavory people to pay off what I could. This arranged marriage could be the last deal I have to make to save us from further shame.”

“Does Allara know that I am sworn to her purely for your convenience?”

“It is kept only between her father and myself.”

“And what of me? Does she know I will never love her?”

“That will be your responsibility to share.”

I closed my eyes. My heart was breaking. My head was torn between the choices before me. My brothers’ faces haunted the back of my mind. Drunrag’s too. I needed one while the others needed me. 

“If you do this, I promise you I will not harm the orc.” He said. “I will let him go…perhaps when things settle, we can find a way for the two of you to meet again someday.”

“Someday?” I asked. My hand was clasping my chest, trying to claw to my heart. 

“By marriage, you will inherit all of Triel family’s inheritance as he bore no sons. You will be the one who rules by her side in Triel and you will be quite busy. Busier than even I am, as Triel is larger than Berdusk. I have tried for many years to prepare you for this day and I pray to the Gods you hold yourself honorable during that time.”

“So…Drunrag must go.” I breathed aloud.

Why did the gods hate me so? All I had ever wanted was the freedom to go where I choose and love freely. Yet somehow I was now seeing a future where I would never leave beyond Triel, nor love the person I would wake up to every morning. 

“This is truly the last debt that must be paid?” I asked.

He nodded. “The final debt to save us all.”

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@eltrolodecadadia

@sizzlinghideoutcoffee

@carjis

[notlongtolove]

like a lover

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at you again. he just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. by the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: student!reader gets drunk after a brutal final and spencer is beyond mad. very brief mention of abduction. lowkey spencer is in the right bc #safety but he made reader cry n for that he is found #guilty!!!

word count: 3.1k

note: based off this ask! random fact the last line of this fic was the inspiration for empty my soul but idk why i just couldnt fit it in there, anyways i hope you guys like it! (pls tell me if u do i was struggling with a resolution for this)

a line: Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again.

I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. - carol ann duffy

You probably should’ve stopped five drinks ago—maybe four if you were feeling merciful. That last Vodka cran? A spectacularly bad idea. But whatever. You earned this. You’re young, you’re fun, you look good, and for the first time in weeks, you have no deadlines clawing at you. The final had been a nightmare. You knew your fate was sealed the second you flipped to question three. What the hell is textual and symbolic environmentalisation? But it’s over now. That’s all that matters.

The wind bites at your bare legs as you stand by the curb, aimlessly kicking a pebble. You hug your arms close, fighting off the chill. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Spencer had suggested it, but you’d waved him off. He’s usually right.

You frown, glancing up at the street sign. He said he’d be here. Right? Your phone’s dying battery blinks at you in its final moments, mocking you before shutting off completely. Definitely should’ve taken his offer of a portable charger, too. You sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

A man stumbles by, reeking of booze. You don’t need to look to know.

"Hey," he calls out, voice slurred and gravelly.

You keep your eyes down, pretending not to hear.

“Hey,” he says again, louder this time.

Where the hell is Spencer?

"D’you know when the bus starts running again?"

You hesitate, half-relieved that he’s asking something semi-coherent. "I—I’m sorry, I’m not sure."

He nods to himself, swaying on his feet. 

"I told you to wait by the bodega on 3rd," a familiar voice mutters. Spencer’s hand closes around your arm, already steering you away.

"Oh, hey," you say softly, relief washing over you. "Is this not—" You glance at the street sign overhead—4 Maple Drive. Shit. "I—sorry, I thought—"

"It’s fine," he says, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you it’s not.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent. When he pulls open the passenger door for you, there’s no trace of his usual warmth. No soft smile, no gentle tease about your perpetually dead phone. Just a click of the door and the quiet thud of it shutting behind you.

You hate this. Hate the tension humming between you, the way his jaw is set tight as he drives. He was so different this afternoon, greeting you after your final with those cupcakes he knows you love from the bakery on the other side of town, his lips brushing yours in endless, giddy kisses. This Spencer is nothing like that. 

"They played ‘Dancing Queen’ tonight," you venture, voice tentative. He knows it’s your favourite. Knows it always pulls you to the dance floor, no matter how tired or tipsy you are. "It was so funny—some guy bought us a round of shots—"

"And you drank it?"

The question lands heavy. His first words to you since he’d started driving. 

"Well... yeah?"

"What else did you drink?"

"Not a lot," you say quickly, tripping over your words. "Just vodka, tequila, a bit of wine—"

"You mixed?" 

The way he says it makes you bristle. There’s a hint of disbelief, maybe even disappointment. 

"Spence," you say softly. "I’m not that drunk, I promise."

Nothing.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The silence in the air is almost tangible, a crackling, oppressive thing. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t move to open your door. He always does that. But not tonight. 

You’re pretty sure he’s mad at you, though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not like you go out that often, and you can’t even remember the last time you let yourself get this drunk. Tonight was an exception, a celebration. He understands, doesn’t he?

You follow him inside, trailing behind like a shadow. He doesn’t head to the kitchen like he does after you get back from a night out—no tea, no toast, no quiet ritual of making sure you’re okay. Instead, he walks straight into the study, his back to you. Yeah, he’s definitely mad. 

"You’re mad at me," you say, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t answer. His hands grip the back of his chair, his head bowed like he’s trying to gather himself. You’re not one to push, usually giving him the space he needs when he gets all broody like this, but the alcohol that’s running through your system is making it hard to practice patience. 

"Why are you mad at me?"

Still nothing. 

When he finally moves, it’s only to brush past you, heading for the bedroom without so much as a glance. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow," he says, his tone flat, clipped. "I can’t talk to you when you’re like this."

This. The word hits like a slap, sharp and dismissive. It irks you. 

"If you didn’t want to come, then you shouldn’t have come," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I could’ve gotten a ride—"

"You were slurring on the phone." He stops in the hallway, turning just enough for you to see the tight set of his jaw. 

"Yeah, no shit, Spencer. People slur when they drink," you fire back a little too harshly, the alcohol fueling your irritation as you cross your arms defensively.

"Don’t," he warns, his voice low, dangerous in a way that makes your chest tighten.

​​You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. "Don’t what? Don’t point out how ridiculous you’re being right now?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at you again. He just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. By the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. Fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

You head to the bathroom without a word, your movements jerky as you swipe at the remnants of your makeup. You grab your moisturizer, fingers fumbling with the cap. A sharp tug and it goes flying out of your hands, clattering to the floor. 

"Fuck," you mutter, bracing yourself for a bout of instability as you bend down to retrieve it.

Before you can grab it, Spencer moves. He scoops it up, straightening with an ease that feels almost mocking. When you meet his eyes, they’re unfamiliar. It’s not the Spencer you know. Not the Spencer who covers your eyes during scary movies or kisses your forehead when you’re half-asleep. No, this Spencer feels distant, cold. 

"And I’m supposed to believe you’re not that drunk," he says flatly. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as heat flushes your face. He offers a hand as you steady yourself, trying to rise to your feet, but you brush him off, snatching the bottle from his grip with a bitterness you don’t try to mask. 

"What the hell is your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" he repeats, incredulous. "I’m not the one blackout drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I’m not—"

"Would you—would you just stop!" he barks, the words sharp enough to make you flinch. "You’re slurring your words. You got the streets wrong. You couldn’t even get the damn moisturizer open," he snaps, gesturing toward you harshly with a mixture of frustration and exasperation.

Your knuckles whiten as you cling to the edge of the sink, unsure if you’re holding on for balance or just to keep from breaking. You spin back toward the mirror willing yourself not to cry. The frustration, the confusion, the ache in your chest—everything wells up at once.

"God, you’re being so—"

"So what?" he interrupts, his voice rising as he steps closer. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to say it. "So concerned? So worried? So—"

"So fucking mean!"

The silence that follows deafening. For a moment, he freezes, the hard edges of his expression softening into something else—shock, regret, guilt—but it’s fleeting.

"So what if I’m drunk?" Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, your frustration too overwhelming to contain. "And yeah, maybe—" You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glare at him, "Maybe I’m slurring a little but forgive me for wanting a drink after the final I’ve been stressing over all fucking month."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "It’s not about you having a drink. It’s about you not knowing your limits—"

"Oh, for fucks sake," you interrupt, throwing your hands up. The movement makes you sway slightly, and you hate how it only seems to prove his point. "Newsflash, Spencer, I’m a university student. Sometimes we get drunk. You don’t get to make me feel like shit just because you don’t drink.”

You push past him, your shoulder grazing his as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and you grip the edge, willing the room to stop spinning.

"You were being reckless," he bites back, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You don’t see what I see. You’re out alone, you don’t—"

"I wasn’t alone," you say, your voice rising to meet his. "I had friends—"

"Yeah, friends who left you alone on a curb at 3am," he shoots back, cutting you off. The words land with precision, a calculated jab, but you refuse to flinch.

"Because you said you were on the way!" you fire back.

His voice is cold now, practically seething. "And what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you just as that guy was coming on to you?"

"He was asking for the bus!" you shoot back, the words ringing out louder than you intended. You hate everything about this fight. You hate how unfamiliar he feels, hate the part of you that wonders if you’re the one who brought this out of him. "Nothing would’ve—"

Spencer’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. "Nothing?" He scoffs. "Tell that to Nina Radha. To Caroline Wrenley. To Mindy Denver. They were all ‘just waiting for a ride home’ last week. And now? All abducted. All dead." 

The room goes silent. Your chest tightens, and the fight drains out of you as his meaning sinks in. 

"You’re being cruel," your words are barely audible, trembling on the edge of your lips. The tears come faster now, streaking your face, but you don’t bother wiping them away. "Why—" you whisper, weak and watery, "Why are you being like this?" 

When Spencer finally turns to look at you, the sight of your tears stops him cold. They streak your face in uneven paths, and he feels something inside him splinter. Spencer never likes seeing you cry—he hates it, actually. It’s not just discomfort or unease; it’s a literal, physical ache. But knowing he’s the reason for your tears tonight? That’s pain in its most visceral form. It’s failure in its purest state.

"I—" he starts, his voice faltering. It cracks mid-sentence, and he stops, swallowing hard. His breath shudders as he exhales, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a quiet, broken, "I was scared." 

Your tears have momentarily slowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. The anger in his voice has faded, replaced by something softer, something raw—fear, tangled with guilt, with regret. He takes a tentative step closer, then hesitates, unsure of what to do. 

"I thought that… something could’ve happened to you, and I—I didn’t know how to handle it." 

After a moment, he lowers himself to your level, crouching in front of you. He lifts his hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that stain your face. But the instant his fingers near you, you flinch, turning your head to avoid his touch. The movement is small, but Spencer’s heart shatters at the rejection all the same. He hates that he’s made you cry, hates that you won’t let him near you, hates that you won’t even look at him.

"I’m sorry," he says, the words low and weighted with sincerity. He knows it’s not enough, but it’s all he has left to give. 

Your tears fall, dripping onto your hands that rest limply in your lap. You shake your head, your shoulders tense, refusing to meet his eyes. The rejection stings, sharper than he expected, but he doesn’t blame you. He knows he deserves this. The room is still except for the sound of your quiet sniffles. 

Spencer tries again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "I just—" His breath catches as he exhales, his hand running through his hair in agitation, the movement more to calm himself than anything else. "When I saw you standing there alone—alone and with that man, I got scared. And I lashed out. I shouldn’t have. You didn’t— you didn’t deserve that."

The silence that follows is thick, but finally, you break it. Your voice is quiet, bitter. 

"I’m not them."

You’re still not meeting his eyes, still keeping that distance, but at least it’s something. 

"Those girls… I’m not them, Spencer."

"I know, I know. I was—", his voice is low, the regret weighing heavily on every syllable.

​​"That case was tough on you, I know it was," you interrupt, "And what happened to those girls, it was horrible. But I'm not them, Spence. I'm not…" Spencer watches helplessly as you furiously wipe away a tear from your cheek. 

"I'm not dead. I'm here."

“I was projecting, I—” His voice catches, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he admits quietly. You nod, grimly. Another single, heavy tear slips down your cheek and Spencer feels his heart break all over again. 

"I know you’re scared. How do you think I feel every time you go out into the field?" You take a deep breath, and say bitterly, "I get it." 

Each word is a struggle, but you say it with conviction. He can see how much you’re holding in, the effort it takes for you to keep your voice from cracking. 

You pause, swallowing hard as you steady yourself, "But you—You don’t get to talk to me like that." When your eyes meet his, they flash with both anger and sadness. "You don’t get to take that out on me." 

"I know, I—That was—I was being horrible, I was an ass," Spencer admits, his voice small. "You didn’t deserve that, honey. God, I’m just—I’m so, so, sorry." 

You look at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he’s being sincere. All you see is regret, raw and heavy. And something else, something softer. Love. He reaches out, and this time you don’t pull away. Just getting to touch you is a brief, bittersweet, blinding relief. Spencer lets his fingers graze your cheek as he wipes away your tears gently, his thumb brushing over the wet path they’ve left behind. 

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. "An ass is putting it lightly." 

Spencer’s chest tightens, a small breath of relief escaping him, though it’s quickly replaced with guilt. "M’so sorry sweetheart," he breathes out, comforted by the familiar bite in your tone. It lightens the air between you, just a little.

He shifts to sit next to you on the bed. "I didn’t—I really didn’t mean to," he says quietly. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. Spencer gently takes your hands, cradling them in his. 

"I—I never want to hurt you, never want to make you cry. Ever." Spencer's voice cracks slightly as he talks, fingers tracing your palm. "You know that, right?"

You nod, your voice small but steady. "I know."

Shifting, you tuck your legs beneath you, turning to face him fully. Your hands lift to cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. The touch is tender, almost protective, as you guide his face to meet yours. His eyes can’t hold your gaze for long, shame clearly written across them.

"I was just—I was—" He stumbles over his words.

"Scared," you finish softly, filling the silence for him. 

"I—I’m sorry," Spencer’s voice falters, "I’m really sorry honey, I should’ve never—That was—"

Your hands guide his face back toward yours, coaxing him to meet your eyes. This time, he doesn’t resist, his breath shaky as he clings to the comfort you offer. "S’okay, baby. M’not mad anymore," you murmur.

"Sad?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say.

"No," you smile faintly, shaking your head, "Not sad, baby," you whisper, leaning closer. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheek in silent reassurance. His shoulders relax just a little. "I just—" you sigh as you let out one last, quiet sniffle, "I really hate fighting." 

Carefully, he coaxes you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. "Me too, honey," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he shifts closer. You don’t resist, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"S’not nice," you murmur against him, your words muffled.

"I know, I know," Spencer whispers, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. You let out a shaky sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Was awful, wasn’t it?” he says, quietly.

"Mhm," you mumble quietly, your voice soft but pointed as you lean into his touch. "Made me cry," you say, looking at him through wet lashes to prove your point. Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again. After a beat of quiet, he tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

"I love you, you know that?" 

You hum softly, nuzzling your face into his neck with a contented sigh, "Love you too."

"Love you so much, sweet girl," he says again, quieter this time, like it’s a truth meant only for you.

"Sap," you tease, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

Spencer grins, soft and boyish. "Always for you," he mumbles fondly, and before you can respond, he leans forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

You stick your tongue out at him in mock protest, but he’s already chasing the moment. A kiss lands on your cheek. Then another on the other side. Each one dripping with easy affection. 

"Spence—" you laugh, the sound bubbling up. It spreads a warmth through Spencer’s chest. 

"My sweet girl," he says quietly, almost to himself. 

His smile only grows as he drinks in the sound of your giggles, tears long gone. He presses a fluttering series of kisses across your form until you’re laughing into his lips, each kiss softer than the last. 

One on your cheek, two on your shoulder, a thousand on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: false god by taylor swift moon river by frank ocean

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: III | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,460

—  warnings: mention of death, murder, and abortion, crying, kind of heartbreak, nervousness, a tiny growing sexual tension, and some teasing  

—  author’s note: sssooo this chapter finally explains a bit more about the werewolf universe, and i hope it’s a bit clearer for you. a lot more explanations will come throughout the series as i can’t reveal it all in one chapter. the next chapter is actually my favourite and i definelty can’t wait to post it 😊 hope you’ll enjoy this one & let me know what you think <3  

taglist is closed!

Chapter III: untold truth

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Jungkook spent the rest of the night thinking about you. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He couldn’t believe that you’re a werewolf.

Obviously, you’re not aware of it otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when he revealed the existence of the werewolf word. Normally, you should have recognized him since he’s the king, but you didn’t. So, he strongly believes that you were adopted. That’s the only reason that could explain why you aren’t aware.  

Now, he needs to understand why you were adopted. A pack never gives up on their little ones. He can think of many reasons why, but he needs to figure out what happened to you. He doesn’t want to simply reveal your true nature without having any certainty.

However, what concerns him is the fact that you haven’t turned yet. Normally, around fourteen years old, under a full moon, you should have experienced your first transformation. Maybe the fact that you ignore everything about that has caused your wolf blood to be dormant.

The next morning, he started looking into every record he has access to about the Shadows. The blue eyes are a characteristic specific to the Shadow pack. Every pack has its own eye color; it’s the way to distinguish every wolf. Jungkook’s pack, the Bloods, has red eyes. However, his eyes have a darker red shade. This is a trait specific to the king; he inherits it the second he goes from heir to king.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung, his best friend makes his way inside his office.

The man looks up at his best friend before a bright smile appears on his face. It’s been a little while since they last saw each other. Taehyung has been traveling a lot lately; he said he wants to discover the world before settling with his mate. However, it looks like he doesn’t want to settle down at all.

“Hey, Tae,” he stands up to greet his best friend. “What are you doing here? I thought you were lost somewhere in France.”

“Well, I needed to come back,” he replies with a smile. “Couldn’t stay forever in France.”  

Both men start talking about what has been happening for the last month. Jungkook doesn’t go too much into detail. He only mentions he contacted a fertility clinic, and that he’s right now concerned about something happening in the Shadow pack.

Taehyung, on his side, tells his friend about all the places he went to. He was in Europe, discovering a lot of different countries. He definitely adored going around and discovering new cultures, new food, and meeting new people. For sure, his favorite place was Paris.

“Do you need any help with those Shadows research?” Taehyung asks casually although his sharp gaze indicates that he already knows the answer.

Jungkook nods, his shoulders visibly tense. He’s never been one to ask for help, but this time he definitely would need some.

“I wouldn’t refuse it,” he answers to his most trusted friend.

Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against Jungkook’s wooden bookcase.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he frowns while grabbing a book.  

“I don’t really know,” Jungkook says. “A record, a mention, a trace of a couple that died or disappeared,” he explains.

Taehyung looks up at his friend before looking down at the book again. By pure coincidence, the book he’s holding is an old one about the different werewolf packs. It’s one of the first books he read; it details the characteristics of each pack.

“A couple who died or disappeared?” he repeats his friend’s words. “Is this by any chance related to a girl?”

Jungkook freezes for a split second, but it’s enough for Taehyung to catch. He’s been very observant, especially when it comes to Jungkook.

“No,” he lies, his voice steady and firm.

Taehyung isn’t convinced; his eyes narrow as he studies his friend. He knows Jungkook better than anyone else, and while he’s very good at hiding his emotions, there’s something in his posture, something in the way he’s looking at Taehyung, that betrays him.

 “You’re unreadable when you want it, you know that?” Taehyung finally says, walking closer to his friend who is standing behind his desk. “But something tells me this isn’t just about finding old records. If you’re diving into the Shadows' history, there’s a good reason behind it. You don’t waste your time on anything without a reason.”

Jungkook sights while running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Tae.”

“You know I’m here, right? Whatever this is, whatever you’re digging into, you don’t have to do it alone.”  

The werewolf king would love to tell him everything, but he doesn’t want to involve anyone at this stage. First, he needs to make sure you’re a werewolf, and only then, he’ll reveal it.

“I know, Tae. I just need to be sure before I tell you anything,” his voice lowers. “Before I tell anyone anything.”

Taehyung nods, understanding that his best friend will share when he’s ready.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll start digging into the Shadow Pack archives. See if I can find anything about missing couples and unexplained disappearances.”

Taehyung’s aunt is married to a Shadow alpha so it will definitely help. As a king, he for sure has access to a lot of records, but not everything. Each pack has its own secrets, and that’s the beauty of it. If Jungkook knew everything, his job would be boring. There’s always something new to unveil. Like your past.

Taehyung disappears a little while after, leaving Jungkook alone with his eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace. The shadows dance across the stone walls, but his mind is somewhere else, on you, and on the fragile heartbeat growing inside you. He can still hear it perfectly.

He runs a hand down his face before letting out a deep breath. This was never supposed to go down like that. This mistake was never supposed to happen. But the raw and undeniable truth has already sunk its claws into him.  

How can he turn away from this? From you? From the baby?

He remembers the flicker of blue in your eyes. It’s been replaying constantly on his mind, but what is deeply engraved in him is this connection with you. He constantly feels your presence around him, something he’s never felt with anyone else.  

Even though he’s been deeply sorry to have brought you to his world, this flicker of blue made him realize that he brought you to your world. A world you didn’t know existed until he revealed it. His duty has been telling him to stay away, but he can’t.

The thought creeps in quietly, yet with unshakable certainty: This was never a mistake.  

The world may call it an accident, but Jungkook can feel something deeper, something ancient, something undeniable. Fate, destiny… whatever name it might have, it brought the two of you here. Together.

Every choice and every moment has led to this point. To you.

Now, standing quietly in his study, he feels the truth settling deep in his bones. This child growing inside you was always meant to happen. Jungkook leans against the edge of his desk.

“I can’t abandon this child, my child,” he whispers to himself. “I can’t abandon yn.”

It isn’t about duty anymore. It’s about you. It’s about the fragile life caught between two worlds, and the bond he can already feel forming. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not. Jungkook straightens up, shoulders squared, and jaw tight. The king in him knows what needs to be done, but the man knows what he wants to do.

“I’m staying,” he runs his hand over his hair.

This isn’t just a choice. It’s the acceptance of what was always meant to be. Whatever challenges await, Jungkook knows one thing with absolute certainty: This was always supposed to happen.

For the past five days, Jungkook and Taehyung have been trying to find anything about missing couples and mysterious disappearances, but it’s been in vain. There’s absolutely nothing. Thirty years ago, nothing special happened.

However, Jungkook asked Sungmin, Taehyung’s uncle to meet. Records are one thing, but Jungkook knows better than anyone that there might have been something off records that happened. Some secrets are kept hidden, locked away in the minds of those who lived them.

“Thanks for having me, Mister Song,” Jungkook says as he enters Sungmin’s house.

“I couldn’t refuse my king’s visit,” he replies with a warm smile.

Many people believe that the Alphas of every pack refuse the authority of a king, but those closest to the throne are often the first to kneel. For sure, Jungkook’s natural leadership certainly helps. However, the truth is that the werewolf hierarchy isn’t just a tradition; it’s more than that. Every werewolf deeply holds onto it.

“I could say that I’m surprised, but it’d be a lie,” he admits while he guides Jungkook towards the terrace. “I was expecting it after Tae’s request.”

“I imagine,” Jungkook responds.

The covered terrace is a serene and private space. Jungkook’s eyes quickly scan the surroundings. It’s a little but pretty space. Plates, cups, and a selection of biscuits are neatly arranged on the modest wooden table.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Sungmin gestures for Jungkook to sit.

“A coffee would be fine,” Jungkook answers.

The man takes one of the porcelain carafes on the table and carefully pours the drink into a cup, placing it in front of Jungkook.

“I was originally looking for a couple’s death or disappearances in your pack, but I couldn’t find anything documented,” Jungkook is straightforward.

Sungmin nods thoughtfully. “When do you believe this event happened?”

“Around thirty years ago,” he says.

Tae’s uncle freezes for a brief moment at his answers. His eyes flicker with something that Jungkook recognizes instantly: recognition mixed with hesitation. This is it. This might be the key to understanding your past.

“Something did happen thirty years ago,” Sungmin admits. “But we didn’t keep any trace of it out of respect to the family concerned.”

Jungkook is definitely very intrigued about this.

“The eldest daughter of an estimated member of our pack fell in love with a human. Despite our objections, she decided to run away with him. We all knew why,” he shakes his head as he remembers the sad story. “She was pregnant with that human child.”

The werewolf king listens patiently, absorbing every word.

“We didn’t inform your father immediately as we thought we could handle it ourselves. Involving the king into this would have drawn unwanted attention to this. For us, Shadows, discretion is everything.”

Jungkook nods, knowing perfectly the Shadow’s reputation. They are the ghosts of the werewolf world, unseen and often unheard, but fiercely loyal and deadly when necessary. The Shadows blend into their surroundings, disappearing when needed.

“We looked for them for years but couldn’t find them,” he seems really affected as he recalls what happened. “They were clever. They stayed hidden, and after nine years, we had no choice but to involve your father.”

Jungkook nods, understanding that after all that time, it’s normal to be reaching out to the king. “And he found them.”

Sungmin sighs deeply. “Yes. Your father had better resources than us. Within a year, he found them. Thankfully, this stayed between us and the king. He let us deal with this internally,” he explains.

The air feels heavier now, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on the two men.

“They were living in a totally different city. And they had indeed a child. A ten-year-old kid…”

Jungkook notices how hard it is for Sungmin to remember this terrible event.  

“It was very hard to end their lives, but we had to. The woman, her human mate, the kid, the life they had built… all of it was extinguished.”

Sungmin pauses, his throat tightening. For a moment, Jungkook sees the weight of guilt appearing on the older Alpha’s face.

“Killing a child was way too hard, but hybrids are forbidden. A child of two worlds, carrying both human and werewolf blood could destabilize everything. We told ourselves it was necessary.”  

Jungkook grips the edge of his coffee cup, his jaw clenched. The thought of such a decision sits uneasily within him. He’s not sure he would have had the strength to do that. It is one thing to terminate a pregnancy, but killing a ten-year-old child is totally another story.

“Did anyone else know about this? Anyone outside the pack?”

“No, only your father, and now you.”

“Do you think it’s possible that the child survived?” Jungkook asks, his voice steady but intense.

Sungmin looks directly into his king’s eyes. “We are certain they didn’t.”  

Jungkook leans back in the chair, his mind racing. If the child had somehow survived, if they had slipped through the cracks of fate, then everything changes. And if that child was you… He shakes his head, not sure that it’s possible.

“Thank you, Mister Song. This has been illuminating.”

Jungkook steps away, his heart beating fast. There are too many resemblances between this story and your story.

To yn: hi yn, could we meet tonight or tomorrow?

Barely a minute later he receives an answer.

From yn: hi Jungkook, tonight is fine. Same place as last time?

To yn: sure

As you’re walking towards the location you agreed with Jungkook, you try to understand the reason behind his sudden need to talk to you. This is unexpected for you, so it definitely makes you nervous. Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind about the baby? Is he going to pressure you to abort considering the hybrid situation? Or even worse, has something happened? Your mind races through every possibility.

“Calm down, yn,” you mumble to yourself.

You take a deep breath, your eyes closing for a brief moment. The beating of your heart drums in your ears, and slowly, you can hear it calming down. You can’t start overthinking before you even get to listen to what Jungkook wants to tell you. Maybe it’s nothing serious or something you have to really worry about.

When you arrive, you notice you’re the first one; Jungkook hasn’t arrived yet. So, you decide to sit on the closest bench. You look at the passersby walking around you with ‘Tití Me Perguntó’ from Bad Bunny playing in your headphones. It’s one of your favorite songs.

After a couple of minutes, you feel Jungkook’s presence. Your eyes stare at the surroundings to check if he’s indeed nearby. Your senses are right, you see a man walking in your direction. Even when he walks, he has such an imposing posture.

This presence feeling grows stronger as he gets closer to you, and you can’t seem to look away, as if your eyes are glued on him. Weird things have been happening with Jungkook since you’ve met him, and you can’t quite explain them.

Once he’s in front of you, you stand up, a smile naturally growing on your face. He’s incredibly handsome and charming. Once again, he has opted for a casual look: a white shirt layered under a leather jacket completed with loose, brown suede-like pants.

His strong presence near you soothes you in a way you never experienced before. All the nervousness you were feeling minutes ago is completely washed away. His strong and bestial scent fills the air and calms down your racing thoughts.

For a moment, you remain in silence, but it isn’t an awkward one. It’s actually quite the opposite. His gaze holds yours, and the intensity of his eyes draws you even more. It feels like none of you needs to speak. It is as if the two of you are communicating on a deeper level that doesn’t need language.

“Hi,” you break the silence.

“Hey, yn,” he takes a step closer.

By the way he approaches you, you sense he’s about to hug you or something similar. You prepare yourself for such, but he ends up not doing it. Jungkook just stands there, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“How have you been feeling?” he asks with evident concern in his voice.

As always, being around him comforts you. It makes you feel like you don’t need to hold anything back. There’s no need to hide your thoughts and feelings behind a mask. You can be entirely honest, saying what you truly feel without the fear of being judged. It’s part of the weird things you’ve been experiencing with Jungkook. It’s something you never felt with anyone else, not even an ex. This makes you wonder just how much this connection truly means.

“Very much torn apart by the decision I need to make,” you admit.

“Have you already considered one of them?” he questions.

You decide to sit down on the bench, your hands rubbing your face. Should you be telling him that you’re very much inclined to keep the baby? Isn’t it better if he doesn’t know anything? In any case, he won’t be around anymore. He said he’d walk away.

“I’ve kind of made a decision,” you try to be as vague as possible.

Jungkook takes a seat next to you. This time around, he doesn’t seem to try to look away from you. His deep dark orbs stare straight into your eyes. As usual, he’s pretty much unreadable, but he has that soft expression on his face. It almost looks like he truly cares and worries about you.

“In case you…” he seems to hesitate, but he doesn’t look away. “If you keep the baby,” he continues, and your heart starts hammering in your chest. “I think I won’t be able to step away.”

You close your eyes while taking a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to be feeling right now.

“I thought stepping away was the right decision,” he starts explaining. “Every time I tried to pull back, I find myself being drawn to you… to our child.”

The word ‘our child’ sends shivers down your spine.   

“I can’t turn my back on this—not on you, not on them.”

As he says those words, his eyes look down at your stomach, where a precious life is growing. Even though your eyes are closed, you can feel his gaze on you. You can feel it on your baby. You can simply feel Jungkook. His entire being calls for you, and your body responds to it by being completely drawn to him.

“Why now?” your voice trembles as your eyes open to look at him. “What has changed?”

This doesn’t make any sense. Almost a month ago, he told you that he couldn’t father this child because you aren’t a werewolf, and that this child's existence is completely forbidden. Things are still the same, nothing has changed since then.

“You said you couldn’t have this child because of the whole werewolf thing,” your voice tone is slowly getting higher.

Jungkook’s face now seems to soften and it looks like he carries an emotional weight. There is definitely something going on that you can’t quite explain. And it’s scaring you.

“I think…” he runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you’ve started to recognize. “You’re not just a woman carrying my child,” he seems to struggle to express what’s inside his mind. “I think you might be one of us.”

His words hand in the air, your entire body freezing. For a moment, it feels like the world completely stopped moving. You blink at him, trying to process the enormity of what he just said. At this stage it feels like, Jungkook likes to make cruel jokes. First, it’s the werewolf world, and now, it’s this. How on earth can you be a werewolf? It’s simply impossible. If that was the case, you would have already turned or something like that.

“What are you talking about?” the sharpness of your voice even surprises you.  

Anger grows inside you, but it masks the deeper emotion of fear that you can feel. Your heart starts pounding erratically in your chest as the air grows heavier. How dare he? How dare he turn your world upside down with this unbelievable claim? You stand up, trying to calm yourself down.

“That’s impossible,” you say with a trembling voice.

You rest a hand on top of your heart, trying to anchor yourself, but the panic bubbling beneath your surface is relentless. The thought of upsetting the baby crosses your mind, but it doesn’t help to calm you.

Jungkook stands as well, hands raising as if he’s about to reassure you, but as he does so, he watches you disappear before his eyes.

“It’s incredible,” he whispers to himself.

Now, he has solid proof that you’re indeed a werewolf, a member of the Shadow pack.

“Yn, listen to me.”

“No, Jungkook,” you cut him off. “I am not a werewolf. That’s ridiculous. If I were one, I would have transformed or something like that.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “But you didn’t know you were one so things might work differently in that case.”

“Stop!” you scream. “Just stop. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

Jungkook stands there, looking somewhere, but he doesn’t even know where you are.

“Take your phone, yn,” he tells you.

“What?” you say with evident surprise, and your anger turns into confusion.

“Just take your phone,” he repeats, his tone calm but firm.

Still breathing heavily and with shaky hands, you look for your phone in your purse. You’re not sure why he’s saying that or what to expect when you look at your phone.

“Now, pretend like you’ll take a selfie.”

As you look at him, there is something in his expression that compels you to obey. Slowly you lift your phone, positioning it in front of your face. The moment your screen comes into view, your breath catches in your throat. Your reflection is completely gone.

Your mind struggles to understand what is going on. The town square is visible in the background, clear as day, but your face is missing. It’s as though you’ve been erased from existence.  

“What is happening?” you almost scream. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

Your gaze remains glued to the phone, your hand trembling so much that the image blurs. You’re gone. Completely gone. Your hand instinctively goes to your face, touching your skin as though it might bring you back into view. But when you glance at the screen again, even your hand remains invisible. This can’t be true. How can you even disappear? How is that possible?

“It’s not sorcery,” he calmly replies. “It’s you. It’s your nature. Only a werewolf can do that.”

“No! That’s not true. That’s not who I am. I’m human. I’ve always been human,” you shake your head before putting your phone back in your purse. “But I’m carrying your child so that must be it.”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“That’s not how it works, yn. I swear,” he’s trying to look for you, so it makes him look like a crazy man. “Pregnancies only bring out even more any abilities someone has,” he explains. “This pregnancy is simply revealing your true nature.”

Tears stream down your face while your heart hurts.

“Have you been experiencing some weird stuff lately?” he says. “Like heightened hearing or smell or night vision or superhuman strength or even super speed.”

Then, your body freezes once more.

“No,” you answer, and for a moment, you hesitate to reveal the truth. “But I’ve always had heightened hearing and smell, and I perfectly see in the dark.”

This all confirms what he says. You’re a werewolf.  

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you add. “I can hear everybody's heartbeats, even the baby’s.”

You close your eyes, the truth violently hitting you. All this time you’ve been a werewolf, and nobody told you anything. You’re not sure Felix knows it, but it hurts to realize that your parents hid something so big from you. It’s your nature after all. 

“You have your answer, yn,” he responds.

Now, you’re crying because the world is collapsing underneath your feet. Your life has been filled with lies, and you’re only discovering this now. It hurts even more that it’s the father of your child who’s revealing this and not your parents.

Jungkook follows the sound of your tears to come closer. You fall in his arms, holding him as tight as possible. He tries to hold you back in his arms, but he doesn’t see you at all. The only thing that can make you reappear is for you to relax. Your emotions are the keys to your powers.

“Focus on the baby’s heartbeat,” he murmurs in your ear. “Focus only on that.”

While tears keep running down your face, you try to search for your baby’s heartbeat. It’s super faint, but you quickly find it. This little sound has rocked you to sleep so many times, and it’s one of the most comforting sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Tudum, Tudum, Tudum,” Jungkook starts mimicking the sound of the baby’s beat.

You close your eyes to only focus on that sound. Slowly but surely, you reappear which reassures Jungkook, and he holds you tighter in his arms. His warm embrace and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat calm you down. He presses a gentle kiss on your head while his hands start to soothe your back. Seeing you like this is heartbreaking, and he hates the fact that he was the one delivering this news.

For a little while, you both remain like this, and his arms feel like the safest place on earth. Even if you hate this entire situation, his presence reassures you. Everything about this moment right now appeases your soul. There is absolutely no doubt that the reality you now have to face is devastating, but you feel like you’ll have Jungkook by your side. And strangely, it seems like it’s the only thing that you need.

Today was a hell of a day!

Everything was simply awful, and it felt like it was a never-ending day. Your mind was constantly thinking about the words Jungkook said. ‘I think you might be one of us.’ You swear you could hear them on repeat all day long.  

Due to how you’ve been feeling, you’ve left everybody on read—even Jungkook. Dealing with this strange reality is too heavy, and you need space. You need some time to digest the news. You need time to simply breathe.

Once you’re at home, you wrap yourself in your Harry Potter robe, lay on the couch, and play the first Harry Potter movie. Right now, all you need is to find comfort in something, and Harry Potter is your escape.

Although the movie is playing in the background, you’re not really watching it. Your thoughts are totally lost somewhere else, somewhere that includes werewolves. You can’t believe that this is your new reality. It hurts deeply that your parents never said anything to you. How could they keep something so monumental from you? Were they intending to let this part of themselves, this part of you die in silence?

Things would have been completely different if they had informed you about that side of you. Maybe you would have sought answers earlier. Maybe you would have explored what it means to carry this legacy. There is a whole culture, heritage, and part of yourself that you’ve missed out on for thirty years. And what hurts the most is that you hate your parents right now. For years, you’ve been hating your parents’ murderer, and now, the tables have turned.

You hate them for what they withheld, for what they never gave you a chance to understand.

This whole journey of becoming a mom has been a complete nightmare. This hasn’t been going as planned. This has been anything but easy. And now, it leaves you wondering if you should really keep the baby. Maybe, you should simply terminate the pregnancy and leave this all behind. But will this be so simple? Obviously, not.

Terminating the pregnancy won’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the fact that Jungkook came into your life to completely wreck your world. Cutting short the life growing inside you will probably just make you feel guilty for doing it. Jungkook won’t disappear, and neither will your wolf side.

This isn’t fair.

Fairness has never been part of your life. It feels like your life has always been robbed. Everybody has been controlling it, making you feel completely powerless all the time. This pregnancy was about gaining control again, but even like that, it wasn’t. A big part of you wants to keep this baby, and you’re very much inclined to keep them. But you don’t know. Jungkook’s revelation still needs to be processed.

“What am I going to do, baby?” you whisper as your hands naturally caress your stomach.

In the end, this baby isn’t a hybrid one. They’re fully a werewolf. You can understand why Jungkook changed his mind. He didn’t want the child because he believed it was a hybrid, something completely forbidden in his world. But now that it’s not the case, he wants to be part of his child's life, if you keep it.

It makes perfect sense, but the hurt remains. He gets what he wants, doesn’t he? The chance to raise his child. But what about you? What about what you want?

“You’re a wolfy,” you continue saying. “So, your daddy wants you now.”

However, if you keep this child, you’ll have to teach them what it means to be a werewolf. You’ll have to guide and prepare them for a life you know nothing about. You’ll have to learn everything with them; every instinct, every tradition, and every secret. You’ll develop your wolf’s abilities together. This life inside you isn’t just a new life; it’s a symbol of your own transformation. This child represents the end of your human life and the beginning of something different.

Are you ready for that?

You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you want to embark on this new journey. A journey where you figure out who and what you are. A journey where you’ll have to dig into your parents’ past. A journey where you’ll have to face your ghosts. A journey where you might find all the answers you’ve always desired to have.

Jungkook seems to hold the key to all of that. The truth, the answers, and the future. You need him, more than you want to admit. He’s the only werewolf you know, and he might as well be your guide on this.

Even if everything scares you, this is what will help you to figure out what happened to your parents twenty years ago. This is the key to finally getting to truly know them. This hasn’t been going as you planned it, but it has been going the way you need it.  

For now, you’re simply going to enjoy this comforting and reassuring movie before truly facing this new reality of yours. Tonight is your last night as a human, and tomorrow, you’ll start to understand what it means to be a werewolf.

For the millionth time, you check that your apartment is perfectly cleaned and tidied. Jungkook is coming tonight; you’ve invited him over to discuss this werewolf thing. You’re incredibly nervous as you’re very scared of how things could go. Are you going to learn some unpleasant truths about your lineage?

Also, you can’t forget to tell him you have your first ultrasound tomorrow. He’ll probably want to come as he’s expressed his change of mind concerning this child. Your child. Instinctively your hand cradles your stomach.

Before the doorbell echoes in your apartment, you sense Jungkook’s presence behind the door. This thing of sensing him is definitely extremely weird, and you’re not even sure you’ll get used to it. But you guess, it’s part of being a werewolf.

You take a deep breath while opening the door to him. As he comes into view, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is perfectly pushed back, only a strand of hair falling on his forehead. This time around, he’s dressed in a more formal outfit. Like the first time you met him at the clinic, he’s wearing a suit. Only this time, it’s a dark blue one.

And it fits him so well.

A smile grows on his face when his eyes lay on you. It warms your heart, and you can’t help but smile back at him.  

“Hi, yn,” he says.

“Hi, Jungkook,” you reply. “Come on in,” you take a step back to let him in.

Jungkook steps into your cocoon, his gaze briefly wandering at the entrance. With practiced ease, he shrugs off his long black coat, the movement accentuating the subtle play of his muscles. Your curious eyes can’t help but follow the way his shoulders shift and his arms flex as he removes his coat and slips off his shoes.

A little grin shows up when he realizes you’ve been staring at him. However, you both pretend you didn’t notice what the other was doing. It’s like you’re pretending you don’t feel drawn to each other.

“Would you like to drink or eat something?” you politely ask.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I’ve already eaten and drank enough for today,” a little giggle escapes his pretty lips. “I had a long and exhausting meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh,” you simply say. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat a bit because I’m quite hungry.”

His eyes inevitably look down at your stomach, the sound of the child’s heartbeat resonating in his ears. It’s such a comforting sound.

“No,” he answers. “Eat as much as you want.”

You drag him to the kitchen so you can eat something while you discuss about the madness that your life has become. You open the cabinets to check what you have, but then, you remember you bought your favorite yogurt two days ago. Without no further hesitation, you move to the fridge, grab it together with a spoon, and start eating it.

While you do that, Jungkook’s eyes are glued on you. His stare carefully follows you as you move through the kitchen. Honestly, he’s glad to be here with you; he finally gets to see you in your comfort zone, and you definitely seem to be glowing in this place.

“Can I ask you what you do for a living?” you ask while bringing the spoon to your mouth.

His eyes follow your hand before looking up. He leans on the cabinets while never looking away from you. Jungkook crosses his arms on his chest and heavily considers what to tell you.

“Well…” he seems hesitant to reveal it. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe me.”

You tilt your head, wondering what it could be. Is he working with the mafia like you thought before he announced his wolfy side? Or is he some kind of criminal? Or is it the opposite, like a doctor?

“Try me,” you tease him.

Jungkook didn’t know up until now how much he needed to hear the teasing tone in your voice.

His eyes never cease to follow your hand’s movements with the spoon. It’s mesmerizing, holding him captive as if he’s unable to look away. The way your lips wrap around the spoon sends shivers down his spine. Jungkook shakes his head, pushing away those weird thoughts. It’s inappropriate.

“I’m a king,” his tone is firm, leaving no room for doubts.

You almost choke with the spoon in your mouth. Of all the jobs you considered, this one definitely wasn’t on the list. This is beyond unexpected and by the way he looks, you know that he isn’t joking. You’ve seen his serious face so many times now, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“A king?” you repeat to make sure you heard it right.

Jungkook nods, and then, you can’t unsee it. This entire outfit breathes power—and money—, his charisma is beyond magnetic, and he has a strong presence. Let’s not forget about the unreadable face he always has on. There is definitely something royal about him, and he definitely looks like a king.

“That makes the child in my belly a future king or queen then?” you ask half-jokingly.

“Yep,” he answers. “And as a king, I’m expected to give the perfect heir, so the hybrid child wasn’t really one.”

When he explained the situation a month ago, everything made sense, but now it makes even more sense. This child carries royal blood.

“I’m not carrying anyone’s kid,” you playfully say. “A king,” you whisper.

This definitely changes your view of the situation. Now that he wants this child, it makes them the heir to the werewolf throne. The baby growing inside you will one day be a king or a queen. It makes you feel important but scared as well.

“It’s crazy,” you look up at him while bringing the spoon to your mouth once more.

Right there and then, your heart skips a beat when you realize the way he’s looking at you, or should you say, the way his eyes are devouring you. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you in that way.

“It is,” he admits.

“And what does a werewolf king do exactly?” you curiously ask.

“Many things,” he smiles at you. “I’m the supreme leader of the packs which makes me the bridge between them. If any issue arises between them, I have to resolve them and also make sure the werewolves follow the rules. I’m also their protector. I must ensure the laws are respected and nobody reveals our secrets. And do many other things, but those are the most important ones.”

You nod, wondering if these responsibilities aren’t too much of a burden for him. It mustn’t be easy to be the one making decisions, and it definitely sounds like the entire werewolf world relies on him.

“And you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

A bright smile appears on your face. “I’m an Elementary teacher.”

Thinking about the little kids you see every day simply makes you happy. Being able to give those little humans the tools they need to grow in this world is one of the most fulfilling things. This job has been healing your inner child because teaching those young children has allowed you to guide and give them a stability you never had in your childhood.

“Oh, nice,” he says.

The yogurt is now over so you suggest going to the living room. This way, you’ll be sitting comfortably on the couch while discussing the hot topic. Werewolves.

Last night, while in bed, you were mentally going through all the questions you might have for him. There is so much for you to know about this new world, this new heritage. For sure, last night, you didn’t know he was a king, but now that you do, you believe that he might help you a lot more than expected.  

Jungkook sits down next to you, and you decide to face each other.

“So,” you start saying. “I guess you can imagine why I invited you.”

The man sitting next to you nods. “Your wolf blood.”

“Indeed,” you nod as you speak. “I have a lot of questions.”

You don’t even know where to start.

“You said there are packs,” you begin. “Would you know to which pack I belong?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “The Shadow pack,” he pauses for a couple of seconds. “Each pack has a wolf eye color. Mine is red as you’ve already seen, which indicates that I’m the king and member of The Blood pack. The Shadow’s eye color is blue, and for the third and last pack, The Lunar, it’s white,” he explains. “A week ago, I saw your eyes turning blue, that’s how I discovered it.”

The Shadow, The Blood, and The Lunar. Three packs. You mentally register the information he gives you. There is so much to discover about this new reality.

“The Shadows also have unique abilities, one of them being the fact that they can blur into their surroundings.”

That’s what happened to you two days ago after he revealed your true nature. It was just the confirmation of who you are.

“As far as I can remember, I’ve only had heightened senses, but I never came to shift into a wolf. How is that possible?”

“That is something I ignore,” he admits. “You’re the first werewolf who didn’t grow up with her pack’s member. My first guess is the ignorance of your nature prevented it from fully revealing itself.”

You look down at your feet on the couch. It seems so weird that only a part of your abilities has revealed itself throughout your life.

“I’ve tried to find something about you, but I couldn’t,” he admits. “I even reached out to an Alpha of the pack, but nothing.”

“Oh,” you simply say, your eyes meeting his. “Do you think I could meet that Alpha?”

“Yes,” he smiles at you. “I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you, and he might probably help you more than me with your past and even your abilities.”

Jungkook then proceeds to explain how the werewolf world works. There is a hierarchy. Alpha, Beta, Delta, and Omega. Alpha being the highest rank, and you only achieve it once you fully master your powers. Logically, you’re an Omega as you barely know what you can do. Jungkook is an Alpha which makes sense since he’s a king.

If you keep the baby, they will automatically become an Alpha when they become king or queen. Things work a bit differently for the royal family.

Normally, a werewolf experiences their first shift on the first full moon of their fourteenth anniversary. The difference with the royal family is the fact that they experience that at ten years old. It’s quite early in life, but that allows them to master their abilities a lot earlier than any other werewolf.

Obviously, the parents and the family remain by your side throughout your first full moon. They guide you through the pain when transforming, and they stay with you while you’re a wolf. Jungkook tells you that the first transformation is very hard to handle. The pain is unbearable and once you’re a wolf, all your human senses disappear. You’re just a beast. A hunting beast. Having your family by your side prevents you from killing anyone or anything. Slowly and with a lot of work, you are able to control that primal urge.

The question left hanging is when and if you’ll transform. If this pregnancy brings out your wolf blood, there are higher chances that you’ll experience your first full moon. But Jungkook doesn’t have an answer to give.  

Then, he informs you that you can’t transform someone by biting them, that’s an absolute myth. Being a werewolf is genetic. You inherit it from your parents, and you’ll give that gene to your children. Thus, the importance of maintaining pure blood.    

 “For now, I guess that’s all,” you tell him once you’ve asked all the questions.

“Since the next full moon is in two days, I’d like to be with you in case you transform,” he says.

Well, you don’t have much of a choice. There’s this unknown about you, and you wouldn’t like to be alone during your first full moon, especially if it’s painful and bestial.

“Thanks,” you mumble while looking down.

Jungkook offers you a little smile.

“I’m by your side now, yn,” he places his fingers under your chin to slowly lift your head. “I won’t let you navigate this alone.”

His eyes shine with sincerity. You’re thankful that, in the middle of this chaos, you found Jungkook. This man brings so much comfort and seems to have one of the prettiest hearts you have encountered.

“And I’ll support you no matter what you decide with the baby,” he adds.

You remain in silence for a moment, your eyes scanning his soft face. You’ve never seen him this close. You’ve never noticed that little mole under his lips, or the little scar on his cheek, or how perfectly round his nose is. He looks even prettier this closely.  

The decision about your child has already been made, but you haven’t said it out loud yet. Jungkook will be the first one to know, and it makes sense since he’s the father.

“I’m going to keep the baby,” you reveal.  

[etherealyoungk]

ramen & fate | boo seungkwan

SUMMARY: in which you meet a rich guy at the convenience store during a late night ramen run.

PAIRING: chaebol!seungkwan x reader

THEMES: strangers to lovers, meet cute kinda

WARNINGS: fluff, use of curse words

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

A/N: @wheeboo happy birthday my love! this is a little gift from me to you! this is such a silly idea but i thought i'd write it out for you and i hope you like it <3

you walk into the convenience store and walk inside and the faint sound of pop music hums from the speakers overhead, blending with the quiet hum of the refrigerators in the back. you barely notice any of it though because your mission is clear - ramen. you really needed a ramen fix right now.

you make a beeline for the ramen aisle, the craving gnawing at you and nothing else would do now, not after the day you've had. there's a strange comfort in that little cup of noodles, in its simplicity, in the way it tastes exactly how you expected it to. your eyes scan the shelves and you spot your favourite ramen, only to find one left on the shelf. you immediately reach for it without a second thought, but so does someone else.

your fingers brush against another hand, and you pause, startled. your eyes follow the hand, trailing up a crisp white sleeve, past a perfectly tailored suit jacket, until they land on the face of the man reaching for the same cup of ramen. he’s tall so you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. his expression is cool, almost unreadable, his jawline sharp and sleek, his styled hair making him look like he just walked off the set of some corporate drama.

"oh," you say, blinking as your hand hovers over the cup.

he looks down at you, his brows lifting slightly as if in mild surprise, but he doesn’t immediately pull his hand back. "looks like we’ve got the same taste," he says, his voice smooth.

you blink at him and wrack your brain for a response before you let out a nervous laugh. "well, it is the best one", you reply as you look at him.

he smirks faintly, tilting his head. "i agree, but there’s only one left."

there’s a pause, the moment stretching out as both of you keep your hands over the cup of ramen and suddenly this feels like some sort of high-stakes negotiation situation.

"i—uh—had a long day," you say, trying to justify your claim, though you immediately feel silly for doing so. "i really need this ramen".

his smirk softens into something resembling amusement. "and you think i don’t?", he counters, raising a brow at you. "i’ve had back-to-back meetings since seven this morning", he says.

"well, i’ve been running around non-stop too", you protest, your grip on the edge of the shelf tightening. his gaze flickers between you and the ramen before he exhales, and lets out a small resigned sigh and to your surprise, he takes his hand away.

"alright," he says, stepping back slightly. "you win, take it", he says as his hand swings down. "really? thanks," you say, though your tone is cautious, like you’re not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of trick.

he gives you a small nod, then glances at his watch, grabbing a different ramen from the shelf and walking to a different aisle without sparing you another glance. you blink, a little confused but get about on your mission to get the ramen. you grab a few more stuff, some kimbap and something to drink and make your way to the cash counter when you spot the man in the suit again.

"i'm sorry sir, but i don't have change for such a big bill", you hear the worker say. "unless you buy items for that amount, i don't really have a way to give you back your change", the worker continues.

you walk front and put your stuff on the counter. "i'll pay for his stuff", you say and he looks at you.

"i've got it, i'm sure i have smaller bills somewhere", he says as he pulls out his wallet and your eyes nearly pop out with the fat wad of cash you see in it, all big bills. what the fuck. you decide to ignore what you just saw and by the time the man in the suit is digging his wallet, you've already paid for your stuff, his included.

you take your things and towards the corner of the store to cook your ramen. once the ramen is done, you take a seat and that's when the man in the suit appears again. he’s got his own ramen cup in hand, the sleeve of his tailored suit pushed up slightly to reveal an expensive looking watch. he moves methodically, peeling back the lid of his ramen cup and pouring in the hot water with a steady hand, there's no hesitation and no fumbling. he catches your gaze, and you quickly look away, suddenly very interested in your own noodles. you can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he goes back to his ramen, silent and composed. you sneak another glance at him and think to yourself - he is pretty handsome.

you’re halfway through your noodles, the warm broth hitting just the right spot on a cold night before you hear the shuffle of footsteps coming towards you.

"mind if i sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and you nod. he sits down with a kind of effortless grace, setting his ramen down in front of him and adjusting his sleeves like he’s dining at a michelin-star restaurant instead of a dingy convenience store. you focus on your noodles, hoping he won’t notice the way your gaze keeps flickering back to him and you watch as he stirs his ramen and takes a bite.

"you didn’t have to pay for my stuff, you know," he says after a bite, breaking the silence.

"it’s not a big deal," you reply with a shrug. "maybe you should carry smaller bills next time", you tell and you can see the faint smile on his face.

"i swear i thought i had change on me", he says, rather to himself.

"doesn’t seem like you need to worry about it," you remark before you can stop yourself. “i mean, with a wallet like that.”

his smile widens slightly, and he leans back in his chair, resting an elbow casually on the table. "appearances can be deceiving," he says, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent you can’t quite place.

you raise an eyebrow. "right, and expensive suits and fat wads of cash are just a camouflage?", you ask.

"something like that," he replies, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes now like he’s enjoying this back and forth talk, like he's amused by you.

you huff out a soft laugh as you shake your head. "well, next time you’re low on change, i suggest hitting the ATM before wandering into a convenience store", you tell and he nods.

"noted," he says, and there’s a warmth to his voice now.

"i’d like to pay you back", he says after a moment, but you shake your head.

"that's not necessary," you reply, waving a dismissive hand. "it’s just ramen", you say.

and he just looks at you, and it looks like he wants to say something more, but he settles for giving you a small smile instead. "alright, if you’re sure".

after finishing his meal, he gathers his things, straightens his perfectly tailored suit and offers you a polite, "thanks again," before leaving.

you think that’s the last you’ll see of him, until you notice something on the table, his sleek black leather wallet, the kind that practically screams expensive. your eyes widen as your hands reach out for it and you mutter under your breath.

grabbing the wallet, you flip it open and find a few crisp bills (all large denominations, of course), some credit cards and a single business card tucked inside, but there's no name, just a logo and a phone number. you hesitate for a moment before you decide to call the number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

for the next few days, you keep the wallet with you, figuring he’ll eventually call back or text or come looking for it, but nothing. it’s not until a few days later, when you’re rushing through a crowded sidewalk with a bag of groceries in one hand and your phone in the other, that fate decides to intervene. you’re trying to balance too many things at once, not paying attention to where you’re going, when you collide hard into someone coming from the opposite direction. the impact sends your phone clattering to the ground and your grocery bag spilling open. "oh, come on!" you groan, crouching to pick up your things.

"sorry about that", a familiar voice says, and you freeze mid-reach.

you glance up to see him, the ramen guy, in his perfectly tailored suit guy, crouching down to help. he looks as polished as ever, his suit immaculate despite the chaos of the street and he notices you at the same time, and his eyes widen slightly.

"you," he says, clearly surprised.

"you," you reply, just as surprised. "i've been looking for you, you left this", you say after you've gathered all your groceries and stand up. you dig into your bag and bring out his wallet, handing it over to him.

his expression shifts. "i didn’t even realize it was missing until yesterday, but by then, i figured it was gone for good", he says as he looks at you.

"well, lucky for you i found it,” you say as you hold it out for him. he takes it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and his smile softens. “you have no idea how much this means, thank you", he says

"you’re welcome," you reply and he looks down at the wallet in his hand, then back at you.

“i owe you, again", he says. "let me buy you dinner, it's the least i can do, please", he asks and you blink, caught off guard.

"dinner? that's...", you trail off as you chew on your lip, considering his offer. "but you don't even know me?", you say, unsure.

"i'll take my chances", he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“alright,” you say, nodding. “dinner sounds nice.”

the smile that spreads across his face is slow and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds and it softens his polished, professional look, making him seem boyish almost.

"i didn't get your name", you ask.

"i'm seungkwan", he says, holding out his hand and you reach for it, shaking it, the warmth of his hand engulfing you. "yn", you say, giving him a small smile.

you both exchange numbers and you head home, and it's only then that you wonder if he'll actually follow through. and a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

ramen guy: this is seungkwan, does friday evening work for dinner? let me know what time works for you.

you reply quickly and his response comes almost immediately.

ramen guy: perfect, i’ll take care of everything, looking forward to it.

when friday arrives, you find yourself standing in front of the address he sent—a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight from a luxury travel magazine. the building is sleek and modern, its glass walls shimmering in the golden hour light. your nerves spike as you step through the grand entrance and suddenly you're thinking that this must be some kind of joke, that he must have sent you the wrong address by mistake because holy shit, you could barely afford this place. a host greets you with a warm smile when you walk inside. “you must be here for mr. boo seungkwan” they say, their tone polite but knowing. boo seungkwan?

the person guides you towards a private dining room and it's a beautifully set table near the window that overlooks the city skyline. you spot him waiting there and he stands up the moment he spots you, a smile lighting up his face.

he was wearing an all-black suit, and it was perfect for him, tailored to perfection, the fit making him incredibly handsome and attractive and the fit made him look effortlessly sophisticated, yet there was an ease to his posture that made him seem grounded. his dark hair was styled just enough to look intentionally tousled, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. there was something about the way he carried himself, confident but not cocky, poised but not stiff. his smile was the same: genuine and unpretentious, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, yet somehow, in that black suit, he couldn’t help but leave an impression.

“you made it,” he says, his tone warm as he steps forward to pull out your chair for you. "yeah", you say softly, still trying to take in the posh ambience around you.

as the evening unfolds, you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. he’s incredibly down-to-earth and he listens intently, laughs at your jokes, and is just so sweet, a complete gentleman. his genuine interest in you, paired with his relaxed nature, made the evening feel warm and comfortable and didn't make you feel intimidated anymore.

“so, what exactly do you do?”, you ask, looking at him.

he hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “family business,” he says, clearly trying to downplay it. “it’s not that exciting.”

"so what exactly is this family business?", you ask but seungkwan only chuckles softly in response. "it's not as cool as you think. let’s just say it's a lot of paperwork, meetings, and business stuff", he makes an exaggerated motion of his hands like he was emphasizing the mundanity of it all. the date ends on a good note and he even offers to drop you home, but you decline, not wanting to impose on him anymore.

it isn’t until days later, when you’re scrolling through your phone that you stumble across an article and you realize just who he is.

heir to the boo family conglomerate, boo seungkwan spotted at his newest restaurant with someone: who’s the mystery guest?

your jaw drops as your eyes scan the article, which details his family’s massive business empire—including restaurant chains, luxury hotels, and even media companies. the photo accompanying the article shows him stepping out of the very restaurant where you had dinner with him, wearing the same outfit he had that evening, looking effortlessly handsome and polished as always.

and just then your phone buzzes with a new message from him at that exact moment:

ramen guy: i hope you enjoyed the dinner last time. let me know when you’re free again, i owe you another one.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @fallingforshua29 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852

@weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @wheeboo @icyminghao

@lvlystars @gyubakeries @wootify @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq

@yoozuku

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mother! Cleopatra x Reincarnated Reader

Getting Reincarnated as the daughter of Cleopatra was the last thing you expected to happen to you.

The woman had you with a lover and decided to pass you off as the daughter of her first husband, Ptolemy XIII.

Let us get one thing straight, you were proud to be Cleopatra's daughter, as you saw her intelligence and chrismatic nature.

Being her first child, her overprotective attitude showed as you grew up.

She seduced Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to secure your safety.

There's no denying that you are her favourite child.

You tried to convince your mother to take different paths to avoid her demise.

But in the end, the paths still led to her demise.

However, the last female Pharaoh of Egypt decided to take you with her, refusing to leave you in the mercy of Augustus Caesar like the rest of her children.

Cleopatra’s gaze burned with a frenzied intensity as she clutched the your trembling hands, her voice trembling with emotion.

"My dearest daughter," she whispered, her tone a mix of desperation and conviction.

"Rome’s chains will not touch us. If Augustus dares to take us, we will not give him the satisfaction of parading us as spoils of war. You and I are above such humiliation, we are divine!"

Her grip tightened, her nails pressing into your skin, and she gestured toward a small, ornate chest on the table.

Within it lay the deadly asp, coiled and waiting.

Cleopatra’s eyes shone with determination as she drew the you closer, her words laced with a terrifying calmness.

"Together, we shall ascend to the gods. You belong with me, forever."

You stumbled backward, your heart pounding in terror as Cleopatra’s words sank in.

"No! I don’t want to die! Please, Mother, we can escape! There has to be another way!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face.

The idea of experiencing death once again, a foreign, unimaginable concept for someone pulled from a different world sent you into panic.

Cleopatra, however, dismissed your protests with a soft, almost pitying smile, as though the your fear was a child’s naivety.

"Hush now," she murmured, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that only deepened the dread in her heart.

"You don’t understand yet, but you will. This is the only freedom left to us. The gods will welcome us as one."

Desperation clawed at you as Cleopatra reached for the asp, her movements slow.

You fell to your knees, clutching Cleopatra’s skirts, your voice breaking as you begged,

"Please, don’t do this! I’m not ready, I don’t want to leave, I need to be here for my siblings"

For the first time, Cleopatra hesitated, her hand trembling as she looked down at the your tear-streaked face.

For a fleeting moment, something human flickered in Cleopatra’s gaze, doubt, perhaps, or sorrow.

But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the unyielding determination of a queen who believed she was saving her beloved daughter from a fate worse than death.

"You don’t need to be afraid," Cleopatra whispered, pulling the reader into a suffocating embrace.

"We are leaving this world together. You’ll thank me when we are free."

However, when the asp bites you then Cleopatra...you miraculously and barely manage to survive.

𓅁 𓅂

When you woke, the oppressive weight of Cleopatra’s arms was gone, replaced by the cool silk of Roman linens.

The air felt heavy, and the low murmur of distant voices sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your body weak but alive, and saw a figure seated beside your bed, his presence radiating authority. Augustus.

His smile was unnervingly calm, his piercing eyes watching her as if you were a prey ensnared in his trap.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Augustus said softly, his voice like honey laced with venom.

He leaned closer, his hands clasped as though he were greeting an honored guest, not a survivor of a tragedy he orchestrated.

"You’re even more exquisite than I imagined. Cleopatra spoke of you so often, a divine child, she called you, her most precious treasure."

His gaze darkened slightly, a possessive edge creeping into his tone.

"And now, you’re mine." Your heart raced as you struggled to sit up, your body shaking under the weight of exhaustion.

Augustus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of Cleopatra’s tender touch.

"You don’t need to fear me, I will protect you, as she couldn’t. No harm will come to you… so long as you remember who owns you now.”

[stiingrayyyy]

Dating Headcanons F.H

What it’s Like to Date Five Hargreeves

Pairings — Five Hargreeves x Reader (pronouns not specified)

Summary — My headcanons for if you were Five’s lover.

Warnings — opinions, no plot, it’s all over the place, last one is semi-NSFW.

A/N — i try to avoid nsfw with five because yk.. in the show, he’s physically thirteen but this one was too funny not to add. let’s all just pretend there was a happy ending okay 😭😭. i wrote this before season four came out so let’s pretend it ended happily.

— if you want another version where it’s just headcanons of you and five in the apocalypse i’m down for that.

— I see headcanons where Five is straight up mean, manipulative, and where he’s just using you.

— To me, that’s not Five being in love with you. Have you seen how he treats Delores? HE’S SO SWEET TO HER.

— So if you’re his lover, he will give you princess treatment like no other, holy shit.

—He’ll prepare breakfast so it’s ready to be eaten when you wake up.

— He thinks breakfast in bed is a recipe for disaster so he never does that.

— If you take a while to wake up he’ll wake you up.

— “My love, breakfast is ready.” He’ll whisper into your ear before pressing a kiss onto your temple, then one on your forehead, then your nose… then finally a chaste kiss on your lips.

— He’ll tuck you in bed at night and make sure you’re all snug before leaving. If you can’t sleep he’ll read to you.

— With him around, you genuinely never have to open a door. In addition to paying for every meal, he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He also pulls the chair out for you when you sit and showers you with praise.

— Sometimes the praise is simple whispers in your ear because he isn’t much into PDA.

— There was never an official wedding, he stole two matching rings and gave one to you.

— He’d like to have an official wedding.

— If he has to worry about the apocalypse he’ll probably neglect you only because he thinks the fate of the world is in his hands.

— He loves going on simple dates, whether it’s at Griddy’s Doughnuts, a simple stroll in the park, or a little painting place.

— He’s fancy but he doesn’t see the point in expensive restaurants. He likes the little things.

— He loves to make and paint pottery with you, it’s his favourite thing to do.

— When he can’t sleep he’ll come over to your place and sit on the roof with you.

— If you fall asleep he’ll Blink into your room and tuck you in, and he’ll even leave a note for you to read when you wake up.

— It usually goes along the lines of..

“You fell asleep, don’t worry I made sure you got back in your room and I picked up all your stuffies from the floor and put them on the bed with you.”

— He struggles with insomnia.

— He’ll write you love letters even though it’s more convenient to send a text. He loves you and he’s willing to put effort in love notes.

— His primary love languages are quality time and acts of service.

— He doesn’t show much affection in public.

— He doesn’t mind holding your hand though.

— Five won’t be afraid to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your shoulders or waist while he’s with his siblings.

— Kisses and hugs are private though.

— Despite being private, he doesn’t hide the fact he’s dating you.

— If anyone tries anything on you, Five will glare daggers. If that’s not enough, he’ll threaten them, and if they keep pushing he’ll make them bleed (but not too severe 🥰)

— He’s hella protective.

— You make midnight munchies together.

— He’ll refuse to dance with you in the kitchen at 2am but he’ll reluctantly say yes and end up actually enjoying it.

— Same goes for dancing in the rain. He pretends to hate it but he loves it and you know he does.

— You always make pasta or noodles for midnight munchies.

— One time you made cookies and accidentally woke up Klaus who ate the cookie dough before you got to put it in the oven.

— When you guys had sex for the first time Klaus congratulated you and Five with a cake that said ‘virgin’ in the middle of a 🚫 and woke you up the next day with confetti.

— sorry, i know i said i’d have a part three to my ben hargreeves fic but i wrote it and didn’t edit it.. and it didn’t seem entertaining enough to post, i’m sorry.

— if you want headcanons with the apocalypse involved, let me know <3

[his-saiko]

[felassanis]

I genuinely think Lavellan is the first relationship Solas has had. Especially an explicitly romantic one.

Veilguard Spoilers ahead. But regardless of what the primary nature of his relationship with Mythal was. There clearly was an infatuation. A dedication so raw back then that I genuinely don't think Solas was looking at anyone else but Mythal. Either because he longed for her in some (arguably unrequited) capacity or the loyalty he had for her trumped any other distractions.

But then. She dies. And he grieves, and he ultimately destroys the world in that grief. And he's spent thousands of years away from Mythal. And while he's still obviously dedicated to her, the rawness of that bond has simmered.

And then he meets Lavellan.

"It's been a long time," he says when you tease him about him using fade tongue. And while yes, you could see this as Solas confirming he has had prior romantic relationships. I actually think it refers to Mythal, to the fact it's been a long time since he's felt so close to somebody.

We know ancient elves felt operated differently than modern-day elves when it came to expression in a relationship. What we think is romantic might not have been as such back then. So I'm NOT saying Solas is inexperienced, but rather, I do think the only bond he's had that consumed him completely, that was loving, was Mythal. Until he meets Lavellan.

There is a genuine...newness to the relationship. There are so many instances where Solas seems so mildly surprised by Lavellan's actions. For the care she puts into their relationship. My favourite being when Lavellan promises to protect him in Haven from anyone looking to hurt him because he's an apostate elf. The way his eyes widen and he says "...thank you," like he's never experienced someone looking out for him so...outwardly. So willing to put his safety as a priority. (And that makes me sob cause oh my god I wonder if anyone cared about Solas's safety ever)

And I genuinely think his bond to Mythal coloured Solas's expectations when it comes to any relationship, especially a romantic one. It's like Solas isn't used to someone reciprocating HIS feelings lmao. And that's doubly apparent in the Solavellan ending, I think. Lavellan and Solas's interactions are so interesting because Solas GENUINELY has not let himself believe for nearly 10 years that Lavellan forgave him. Cannot believes she is even there, willing and wanting to save him from himself.

This does not strike me as someone who's used to relationships. To the give and take. The safety. The sustainability....

I think Solas spent so long yearning for the reciprocation he never received from Mythal only to get it finally with Lavellan. He longed for Mythal to reciprocate, and she didn't. Not until she finally shared the burden of their actions at the end. And there is no comfort in that burden now being acknowledged by her. She releases him from her service and vanishes as he's left to double over by himself.

At least he would be, but lavellan is there to lower herself to his level and comfort him. They're equals where Solas and Mythal were not. Solas is not Lavellan's lapdog. And she is not warped and changed by him as she offered to do so back in Trespasser. He didn't let her come with him to avoid the fate that befell him when he followed Mythal. They're Partners. Lovers.

And even THEN. EVEN THEN. Solas is shocked Lavellan wants to go with him to the Fade. To the point his eyes tear up, he CRIES. Warning her away but you can see in his face he is fucking DESPERATE for her to follow. Because he wants to love and have that love returned at long last.

And it is. It finally is.

[captain-joongz]

fanfiction recommendations/my favourite reads in 2023

ot8/multiple members

♤ in the same class as ateez by @essenteez

◇ murphy's law by @atzfilm

alien!ateez, soulmate au

♧ into the aurora by @honeyhotteoks

idol!ateez x non-idol!reader

☆ inception by @remedyx

dragon!ateez, kings!ateez

♤ hotel california + paradise gardens by @mint-yooxgi

demon!ateez, yandere, supernatural au

◇ morning mist by @mint-yooxgi

dragon au, fated lovers

♧ deep down. by @seventhcallisto

a/b/o, idol au, 9th member au

☆ in love and lore by @shadowynn

demon!ateez, soulmates au, supernatural au

♤ dew drops at dawn by @sunmoonjune

demon!ateez, soulmates

◇ breed by @sanjoongie

alien!ateez, sexual experiments

♧ oh my *** by @ohmyamor

guardian angel!ateez

☆ first flight to hong kong by @byuntrash101

flight attendant!reader, kind of sex work, since reader gets paid

♤ circus by @lani-heart

hybrid!ateez, writer!journalist!reader

◇ wider by @seventhcallisto

9th member au, bf!ateez

♧ the best friend's code by @tenelkadjowrites

hongjoong, seonghwa x reader, best friends to lovers

☆ we ransacked the city by @tenelkadjowrites

hongjoong, seonghwa x reader, rich kids au, menaces to society united

♤ be the light by @written-in-flowers

seonghwa, hongjoong x reader, historical au, royalty au

◇ sex and embers and frost by @sanjoongie

dragon!seonghwa, san x bunny!reader

♧ between friends by @anyamaris

seonghwa, hongjoong x reader, best friends au

☆ my filthy boy by @potatomountain

bf!woo x reader x witch/hybrid!ateez, coven shenanigans

♤ compromise by @cyberpxnk

bf!seonghwa x reader x footballer!yunho, infidelity with a twist

◇ it's you by @holybibly

best friends to lovers, threesome

♧ sharing is caring by @ja3hwa

seonghwa, hongjoong, san x reader

☆ ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line) + (maknae line) by @eightmakesonebraincell

♤ five for five by @bh-archive

hongjoong x san x chan x hyunjin x juyeon x reader

kim hongjoong

◇ red by @nateezfics

established relationship, public sex, bathroom sex

♧ forbidden fruit by @nateezfics

greek mythology au, hades!hongjoong

☆ deal by @hongism

roommates to lovers, sassy joong

♤ marigold by @yoongiseesawmp3

frat boy!hongjoong, best friends to lovers

◇ tell me to stop by @tenelkadjowrites

best friends to lovers

♧ declaration by @tenelkadjowrites

virgin!hongjoong, roommates to lovers

☆ shells by @last-words-ofashootingstar

mermaid!hongjoong, yandere

♤ project d by @setsugekka

exes to lovers, infidelity, racing au

◇ off the table by @setsugekka

established relationship, morning sex

♧ the dressing room by @imaginidol

idol!hongjoong, best friends to fucking (?) for "stress relief"

☆ paint me yours by @moonseonghwa

artist!hongjoong, fwb au

♤ ohmami by @bambikisss

bad boy!hongjoong, racer au (mentioned), best friends to lovers

◇ hideaway by @minisugakoobies

stoner!frat boy!hongjoong, strangers to lovers

♧ what lies beneath by @noramoons

siren!hongjoong, a little angsty but wholesome

park seonghwa

☆ better check twice by @essenteez

accidental nude au, brother's best friend!seonghwa

♤ attention by @tenelkadjowrites

camboy!seonghwa x inexperienced reader

◇ essence by @whatudowhennooneseesyou

siren!seonghwa, dark, yandere, mommy!seonghwa

♧ the thing about pretty boys by @wonusite

friends to lovers, seonghwa proving he got it

ATEEZ rec list pt.2 BTS, TxT, Stray Kids, Seventeen, NCT rec list

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Caught at the last second with Clark Kent?

.⋆｡The Fall｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

Faced with a choice between you and Lois, Clark has to decide who lives and who dies

Warnings: angst, fear of heights, literally a life and death situation guys, unrequited love (maybe), vivid imagery of drowning, kind of ambiguous but happy ending (you’ll see) WC: 1.1k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Isn’t this a predicament Superman? Your ex-lover and your best friend in such precarious situations, across the globe from each other. You’ll only have time to save one of them.” The LEDs of the monitors behind Luther seared into Clarks eyes but he refused to look away. Already his muscles were tensed, ready to dart away at any moment. “I wonder which one you will choose, I know which one I would.” 

Luther smirked, eyeing the monitor that clearly displayed your panicked face as you struggled against the chains wrapped tightly around your soft body. “She is quite the fighter, isn’t she?”

“Why are you doing this Luther?” The man rolled his eyes, finally turning to look at Clark.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are a nuisance, self-righteous, and aggravatingly nosy. If I kill one of them, and I will, I think you’ll learn your lesson. So, here we are. Lois Lane, the only woman you have ever loved, suspended over a cliff somewhere in Europe,” Luther gestured to the image of Lois, her head raising as his voice repeated over the feed and Clark realised that they could both hear what was happening, “and your best friend. The woman who has never stopped supporting you, somewhere in the Pacific with an anchor attached to her, I’m sure you can imagine what her fate is.” The man had the audacity to laugh then, as your expression fell and you stopped struggling.

“You don’t have to do this Luther. Just let them go and I’ll spare you.” 

Lex hummed. “You know, you’re right. This is quite boring by my standards, let’s shake it up.” Suddenly, a ground of masked men surrounded you, briefly blocking the camera before there was a scuffle and the feed cut off. Before Clark could react, another camera turned on, showing the criss-crossing metal beams of a crane as cables in the background shifted in the high winds. “Give them a minute, would you? Not all of us can move so quickly.” 

“I’m going to rip you apart, molecule by molecule.” Red creeped into Clark’s vision, slowly casting a haze of rage over everything.

“Now, if you kill me, you won’t get a hint as to where your women are. So be a good boy and watch. Ah, there she is.” Two men had you by your arms as they dragged you through the crane’s walkway, your eyes squeezed shut. Clark knew how badly you hated heights, descending into panic attacks if he even mentioned taking you out on a flight. His chest burned with fear. “And now, we have a level playing field. So, who are we picking?”

Your chains were thrown onto the edge of the structure, almost out of the camera’s line of sight, the huge iron anchor balancing treacherously by your feet. 

“Kal!” His eyes darted over to the second monitor where Lois was now fighting against a pulley that was quickly tugging her towards a sheer cliff face. Only her hands were bound by thick rope but he knew that as soon as her full body weight pulled on it, the rope would snap. 

“What’s the hint?” He snarled, ripping his gaze back to Lex Luther who was now beaming.

——————

The cold wind was like knives against your exposed skin, cutting into every nerve on your body. You desperately prayed that you would go numb soon, not wanting your last moments on this Earth to be ones full of pain. Your nails bit into the palms of your hands as another gust of wind made the crane groan and sway. It was all you could do not to scream.

Yet you kept your mouth firmly shut because you knew that if you said or did anything now, it would only feed into Clark’s guilt. He was going to pick Lois and you wanted to give him peace of mind. You forced your eyes open to watch the sunset. Your death would not be quick, even with the dizzying height, it would not be enough to kill you. Instead, you would be dragged to the depths as salt water filled your lungs and your screams forcefully ripped from you.

You wouldn’t blame Clark as you sank, you hope that you could instead think about his smile as the dim light above you disappeared into the blue.

You would not tell him that you loved him, refused to leave that weight on his soul when he already carried so much pain within him. But you would imagine a life with him, a kid, maybe two in a small townhouse somewhere quiet, as the pressure and cold consumed you. 

Lois’s voice crackled through the intercom by your head, distorted and warped. A band of fear wrapped tightly around your chest, pressing down harder than the metal chain keeping your arms pinned to your sides. You forced yourself to breathe in the salty air, knowing that it could be your last.

“I’ll be ok Clark, don’t worry about me. Just be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you let your eyes shut again, your entire body relaxed. “I’ll be ok.”

Metal scrapped against metal. You were pulled forwards. 

The wind screamed.

You could see the vivid blue of his eyes.

You were weightless.

You could hear his laughter.

The chains rattled.

You saw the moment you met him; the rain around you, a single umbrella between you.

The sound of waves crashing was getting closer. 

He was always so kind, so warm. You never knew a man better than him. 

Gravity slammed into you, knocking a pained cry from your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Warmth enveloped you as something crashed into the ocean, droplets of water splashing against your ankles. Your cheek was pressed against something hard as a loud, frantic beating filled your ears. “You’re safe.”

Soft fabric wrapped around you, soothing the burn of your skin. Shakily, you reached up, your limbs stiff and aching. “Clark?” With all the strength you had left, you opened your eyes.

You were barely 5 feet up front the ocean swell, a hazy ring of bubbles below you was the only indication that something had been dragging you down at all. Clark was indeed there, holding you tightly to his chest as a huge abandoned oil rig loomed behind him, half of it on fire. His eyes were wide, fearfully examining every inch of your body before his shoulders drooped and he sighed in relief.

“No broken bones or internal bleeding. Thank god.” His lips descended onto your forehead, pressing kiss after kiss to your cold skin.

“You picked me?” He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes. 

“I always will.” A hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your face upwards. Your lips parted as he glanced at them. “I will do anything to keep you safe.”

And as the fires behind him, Clark finally kissed you, washing away the smell of blood and screams of pain that he had inflicted upon those who took you from him. No one would ever hurt you again.

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[wheeboo]

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!fem!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, slow burn, college au WARNINGS. heavy swearing, food + drinking mentions/consumption, so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader experiencing burnout + self-doubt issues, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes, (3) shirtless chan scenes, chan is a self-critical perfectionist, mention of scars, descriptions of minor injuries, hospital mentions + visits, mental health topics, drug use (weed & vaping), reader has a panic attack and passes out, kissing, terms of endearment, vernon makes a sex joke at the end lmao WORD COUNT. 24.2k

notes: hi hi everyone! this fic is part of the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab! it also takes part in the same universe as my favourite horangdan @etherealyoungk upcoming fic with hoshi HAHA. ty to skye and also @bananabubble + @imujings listen to me ramble abt this too. pls don't forget to show love all the other authors in this collab <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE CHAN!!! 🫶

You slam your textbook shut. You don’t think you can reread the same page about neurotransmitters and synaptic transmissions any longer without losing your mind for the third time that night. 

Your head feels like it’s two seconds away from combusting, and the pressure coming from upcoming exams, assignments that are constantly due the very next day, along with endless clinicals is suffocating. You’ve been staring at this textbook for what feels like hours or even days, but nothing’s sticking. It’s as if your brain has reached its limit for the day, and you’re left grasping for focus that you can’t find.

“Screw it,” You mutter under your breath, closing the textbook and tossing it to the edge of the bed where it threatens to fall off if you don’t catch it in time, but you ignore it, too tired to even care, and it falls onto the floor below with a soft thud.

Running a hand through your hair, you can feel a headache beginning to creep in, a dull throb behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy, as though it’s been holding in all your exhaustion for the past five months. Accepting your fate, you flimsily fall back onto the bed, granting the greenlight for the comfort of the sheets to swallow you whole. 

Then a tap hits your window.

You ignore it at first by grabbing your pillow and burying your face in it, too bummed out to scold the freshmen who think that it’s cute to throw pebbles at people’s windows for the hundredth time this semester. 

Another tap follows, then another, becoming more insistent after each one. At this point, they may as well blow a missile through your damn window. But then you hear it𑁋the sharp hiss of a psst, before a muffled, yet unmistakable voice holler out your name. A groan escapes your lips as you drag your body off the bed and shuffle towards the window, pulling the curtain aside and sliding the sash up. You’re immediately greeted by a whiff of cold air hitting your face. 

The irritation leaves your body within a second once you spot the figure that’s waving up at you from the ground below. There’s a jump to your heart when you catch a glimpse of the scheming grin that runs across their face. 

“Chan? What the hell?” You whisper-yell down towards him, glancing around you as if your voice was loud enough to wake up your next-door neighbours. “It’s midnight!” 

You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow mistakened your best friend as a burglar from how the dark hoodie he’s wearing engulfs him. But you watch as he pulls his hood down and adjusts the scratched-up skateboard tucked underneath his armpit, flashing you that boyish grin that never fails to disarm your guarded-up walls. His breath curls in the cold night air, and you catch the glint of his lip piercing when he tilts his head back to look at you.

“Come on, Y/N, I got reinforcements!” He reveals a black plastic bag from somewhere behind his back, waving it up to you like he’s just discovered some kind of treasure. 

You squint, trying to make out what’s in the bag, but it’s too dark to see anything clearly from your window. “What is that?”

“Snacks,” he calls back, his grin widening. “And caffeine. Actually, wait𑁋” He reaches a hand inside the bag, shuffling throughout its contents. “No caffeine, because you need to get your insomniac ass to sleep.” 

You roll your eyes at that. “You’re actually a goddamn idiot.”

“So I’ve been told many times. Now, are you going to let me in before that stupid security guard comes and tackles me to the ground again?’ 

Briefly, you can’t help but smile at the memory of that one specific time a few months back where Chan had been caught sneaking around the apartment complex. The poor elderly security guard nearly had a heart attack when he found Chan struggling to climb the side of the building with a skateboard in hand because you jokingly refused to let him inside your messy apartment. You had to spend an hour talking your way out of that one, and even then, you weren’t sure if all your talking and dumb excuses were enough to convince the security guard that Chan wasn’t a robber trying to get to you through your window. 

“Ugh, fine. Give me a second,” You relent, pulling away from the window and hurrying to unlock the door. After a minute, you could already hear the recognisable, obnoxious stomps from the stairs that were echoing throughout the quiet hallway of your apartment. 

When you see Chan emerge all breathless like he’s run a marathon in that oversized hoodie, skateboard still tucked under his arm, you can’t help but shake your head, crossing your arms together as he gallops down the hallway and to your door. 

Then he looks at you, and for some reason, it almost seems like he looks… different. You don’t know why, because in your eyes, he still looks the same. His dark hair had grown longer𑁋pretty much a mullet at this point𑁋and he had recently changed his lip ring to a sleek silver hoop that catches the faint light in your apartment hallway. The hoodie he wore was thrifted from this store in a sketchy part of town that closed up two years ago, its print faded and frayed at the cuffs of the sleeves. His beat-up Converse shoes are practically at the verge of dying. You think he’s definitely worn it more than a million times, but that wasn’t anything new. There wasn’t anything on the surface that was new. 

Yet as he stands there, rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, his grin as radiant as always, there’s something about him that makes your heart stutter for just a moment.

“Okay… You’re doing that staring thing again.” Chan snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back from your head. “You gonna let me in or not?”

You snap out of it, quickly stepping aside to let him in. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

“And yet, you still tolerate me.” He shoots you a wink before brushing past you, and you observe as he leans his skateboard against the wall of your place. Then he flops onto the wobbly chair in front of your desk like its second instinct, like this place is his second home, and in a way, it is, because you’ll always be the first to let him in. 

Chan lifts the black plastic bag as if he’s showing it off to you and sets it down on your cluttered desk, which has been overtaken by textbooks, flashcards, and an impressive collection of empty coffee mugs. You feel yourself fall into a pit of embarrassment at the mess, but this is Chan you’re talking about𑁋he’s seen you at your worst, or… the worst he’s seen so far. 

“You know, I’ve heard these snacks are scientifically proven to cure stress,” he claims while handing you a plastic bowl of cup ramen.

You snort at that as you grab the cup of ramen from his grasp and place yourself down on the floor right by him. “Oh, really? Did you read that in The Medical Journal of Lee Chan’s Dumbass Theories?”

“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that lopsided grin, popping open a bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to you. “Drink. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee for days. Can’t imagine how much shit is in your head right now.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose at the thought. “I know. I’ve got a headache trying to memorise whatever the hell is in these textbooks.”

“And what’s the medical term for a headache again?”

You peer at him with narrowed eyes when you take another sip of water. “Cephalalgia.”

“See, you’ve still got it in you,” he quips wholeheartedly while leaning back in the chair, a leg propped up on his knee, a pleased smirk to his face when he captures the faintest sight of a smile to your features. 

You only let out a scoff as you stand up to fill water into your cup of ramen, placing it in the microwave right after. Even then, you swear you can still feel the way his eyes are wandering over you as you move around the small kitchen, the tonnage of his gaze making your skin tingle. You try to shake off the odd sensation, focusing on getting your ramen prepared. You can hear Chan shifting in the chair behind you, the sounds of rustling hitting your ears as he rummages through the snacks.

Silence overtakes the both of you for a few minutes. It’s comfortable. It always is when it’s with him. 

It’s a bit scary, too. Even though it shouldn’t be.

“I went to the skatepark earlier,” Chan suddenly pops in. 

When the microwave dings, you carefully take out the cup of ramen. “Practicing your 900?”

“What can I say? I’ll be the next Tony Hawk,” he teases amusedly. “I’m just kidding. Could never be on that man’s level.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself one day doing all those… tricks and shit,” You say as you settle on your bed, pushing away pieces of paper of horrendous math calculations, making them fall down to the ground. 

Chan shrugs, looking nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, casually stretching his arms behind his head. He was always pushing himself, always looking for the next adrenaline rush, no matter how reckless it seemed. It's a bit worrying sometimes. “Eh, I’ll survive. A little pain is part of the game.”

“Still. Just… be careful, alright?” The softness and genuine concern to your tone isn’t hard to miss as Chan looks over at you, the teasing spark in his eyes dimming for a second.

Chan plops a chip into his mouth, the crunch bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“I will, don’t worry.” Then he leans in like some sort of villain in a superhero movie. “So… I’d like to propose an idea.”

You already know what he’s about to propose. “Chan, no𑁋”

“You, me, these snacks I robbed from the store, and a few episodes of Gilmore Girls.” 

You pause mid-bite, your spoonful of ramen hovering just inches from your mouth as you stare at him in disbelief. A part of you wonders if the lack of caffeine in the bag had somehow changed his brain chemistry, but then again, this is the Lee Chan you’ve always known since you were fourteen𑁋spontaneous, reckless, and somehow endearing despite it all.

“You’re such a weirdo,” You murmur under your breath, but the smile on your face betrays you as it always does.

“Come on! You know you want to, Y/N,” he says smugly, and as he catches the slight unsureness to your features, he lets out a sigh. “Relax with me, please?”

For a moment, your mind weighs about the mountain of work that’s bound to be dumped on you, the looming exams, the clinical hours you’ve been drowning in… and then you think about the weight lifting off your shoulders every time Chan’s around. Even just for a little while, the world seems to slow down when he’s here.

He’s a goddamn terrible influence on you in the oddly best way possible. Oh, the irony. 

“Okay, fine. Just… one or two episodes, alright?” You give in.

The way Chan’s eyes light up from your words sends a flip to your stomach, and he’s quick to leap off the chair to sink himself down right next to you on the bed. His warmth is quick to surround and engulf you, making himself comfortable in a way that feels so familiar it almost makes your heart race. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you shift slightly to make more room for him, attempting to ignore how suddenly hyper aware you are of his closeness to you.

He rolls his sleeves as if he’s prepared to commit his entire being to this mini-marathon of episodes, and you catch a peek of the tattoos that roam up and down his arms. You’ve seen them countless times before, but tonight, they seem to catch your attention more curiously than ever, and your gaze lingers for just a second too long before you snap your attention back to the screen of the laptop being placed between the two of you. 

The bed creaks slightly as he adjusts himself, pulling the blankets up over both of your legs and getting comfortable as if he owns the place, before pressing the play button.

Even as the episode rolls in front of you, your mind… wanders to the boy right next to you. To Chan. To your best friend.

He isn’t looking at you when you’re looking at him, too focused on the scene playing before you. And just the single thought of him is enough to fill every part of your mind, every crevice in your heart. It’s overwhelming.

But it’s not just tonight. It’s not just this moment.

It’s every time he’s around.

The warmth of his body against yours feels too comforting to ignore. The way his carefree smile that you’ve seen thousands of times over the years always makes you forget the time, the way his eyes seem to see through you sometimes that you feel almost bare, the way out of the eight billion people walking this planet right now, he’s the only one who knows you better than anything else. 

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Is this it? Is this what people talk about when they say it just clicks?

You want to laugh at how oblivious you’ve been, but the thought that keeps echoing through your mind is no, this isn’t new𑁋it’s been there for a while.

But as you steal another glance at him, the realisation hits you like a fucking bulldozer, like a speeding train, like a bullet penetrating through your body, like a punch to the gut you’re sure will leave a bruise. You nearly choke on your ramen.

You’re falling for him. You’re falling for your best friend. 

No, scratch that. You’ve already fallen. Hard. For God knows how long. Fuck. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even know. You’re utterly screwed.

You were at the cusp of middle school and high school when you met Lee Chan. Even though you’re only a year ahead of him, the eighth graders at your school seemed to have a superiority complex bigger than their egos could contain. Back then, he was just another scrawny seventh grader running around with wild passions, and you were just trying to survive through these awful years of awkwardness, or just middle school in general. 

It was during one of those ridiculous dares that you met. Some eighth grader had dared him to steal a soda can from the teacher’s lounge fridge, and he’d been caught red-handed𑁋by you, unsurprisingly, as you were sent to pick up some paperwork for your office aide duties. And instead of being embarrassed or causing a ruckus in the middle of the hallway, he had grinned at you like he threw the most disastrous prank in history.

“You won’t snitch, right?” he had asked, while holding the can of soda behind his back. 

“Well, I’m an office aide after all,” You had responded sarcastically, crossing your arms together. “I could totally report you to the principal.” 

But your words hardly phased him. Didn’t phase him at all. In fact, he’d just looked at you like one of those geeky kids confident in winning their Pokémon Go battles. 

“Let me give you a reason not to then,” he had said, revealing the soda can from behind his back and offering it to you. You had stared at him in disbelief, and after a short while, you'd finally taken it. He had just shot you a smile and shuffled past you, as if nothing had happened, but not before adding, “Come to the playground after school. I’ll show you something cool.”

By something cool, he showed you something called a kickflip. You had no idea what a kickflip was at the time, but Chan was way too eager to show you as he grabbed hold of a skateboard that was once used by his father. You had watched him try and fail repeatedly, but never once had he looked embarrassed or frustrated. It was that lighthearted attitude of his that drew you in, something you admired even then. And so, you stayed after school, watching him persist until he finally nailed the trick, his smile wide and victorious. Maybe the world felt lighter in those moments too𑁋that maybe going to high school wouldn’t be an absolute shitshow. 

That as young and dumb that you were, maybe life had good things for you. 

Because it was with him. 

You didn’t call it a crush though, because all the eighth graders who were stuck in their heads all mentioned how crushing on seventh graders was disgusting and gross, that going after the hot high schoolers was cooler. Thus, you ignored the small flutter in your chest whenever he made you laugh after nearly face-planting while practicing, turned a blind eye to the way your heart skipped when he gave that ungodly smile after nailing another trick. 

You told yourself it was nothing. You were just friends. Best friends, even.

“I think I have a crush on my best friend,” You downright admit in the middle of the cafeteria, unconsciously stabbing your salad in front of you with a plastic fork.

Jeonghan peers at you while slurping up his banana milk. “Eat your ugly salad.”

You glare at him but take a begrudging bite of your salad anyway, chewing slowly as if it might somehow alleviate the embarrassment swirling in your chest. It’s been almost a week since you’ve come to terms with your feelings for your best friend. Jeonghan sets his banana milk down and leans forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand with the kind of smug expression that tells you he’s about to make this conversation even worse.

“Well, you could𑁋”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jeonghan raises his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, letting out a scoff. “How inconsiderate of you.”

“Just𑁋Don’t you get it, Jeonghan?” You ask after stuffing a piece of cold lettuce in your mouth. “This is medical school. The pressure’s insane, and everything is a goddamn mess. I can’t just throw everything away over a stupid crush. And it’s not like Chan would feel the same way. We’ve been friends for so long… and it’s just stupid to think about anything more. I’m stupid for even falling for him in the first place.”

Jeonghan watches you carefully while mulling over your words, then his lips curl into a slight smirk, yet a hint of softness to his eyes.

“You know,” he starts, leaning back in his chair, swirling the banana milk in his cup. “It’s not stupid to have feelings. It’s natural. What’s stupid is throwing those feelings under the rug and leaving them to the dust mites.” 

“But I just…” Your voice trails away as you struggle to find the right words. “I already have a lot on my plate right now, and it almost feels wrong to think of him that way. As someone more than a friend. I feel like a pervert or something𑁋I don’t know.”

“A pervert?” Jeonghan questions with a raised brow. “Aw, do you dream of giving him a little smooch on the lips?” 

You choke on the next bite of your salad, coughing and trying to hide your face in your hands as Jeonghan just snickers, completely pleased at your reaction. 

“You’re actually the devil’s worst nightmare personified,” You mutter under your breath, but there’s no anger behind it. 

“Ah, well, that’s a new one,” Jeonghan remarks amusedly. “Better than the devil’s knight in shining armour, I suppose.” 

You sigh, dropping your fork and slouching in your seat. You don’t think you have the energy to think about all of this right now. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in your chest as you reluctantly chew your way through the rest of your salad. You have other things to worry about right now, such as the mountain of schoolwork on your desk, your pathology exam on Friday, and having to impress your grumpy fifty-year-old attending tomorrow. 

“Come on, let’s get through pharmacology.” You start to pack up your belongings, sealing off the remains of your unfinished salad and stuffing the container inside your backpack. Jeonghan watches you knowingly with a sigh as he gathers his own things.

“You’re avoiding the conversation,” he points out, standing up and tossing his empty drink into the trash bin.

“I know,” You admit, standing up to join him. “I just don’t have the mental space for it right now. I have so much to do, and thinking about Chan and... whatever this is... it’s not helping.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything after that, and you appreciate the quiet while shoving your laptop and notebook inside your backpack before flinging it over your shoulder. He doesn’t want to apply more pressure on the wound than needed. 

One day, he thinks, you’ll have to face it, and that it’ll come to bite you in the ass sooner or later. 

You could really use a shower right now.

After an entire day of clinicals and back-to-back lectures, all you want to do is melt in your bed and let the world fade away. But instead, you find yourself trudging towards the skatepark, because you promised to meet up with Chan for God knows why. By all means you’re definitely late, and you aren’t even sure if Chan would be at the skatepark as he’d have to wait almost an hour for you to show up, yet the thought of disappointing him somehow hurts more than the aching fatigue in your legs.

You spot him instantly. He’s mid-trick when you approach, his skateboard spinning in the air before he lands effortlessly with a triumphant grin. You see him fan himself, wiping his sweat off with his shirt he retrieves from the ground, catching sight of his exposed form and the tattoos that run up and down his skin. His back is turned towards you as well, and you catch a glimpse of another tattoo that he has: a series of Japanese letters that trail down his spine, spelling out his zodiac sign, Aquarius.

After a mere pause, he turns his head and spots you, his face lighting up like it always does, and you feel that familiar flip in your stomach again.

“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”

“Nah, not that long. You actually came after Vernon left𑁋idiot left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”

“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”

Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the sleek dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no ginormous weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you. 

“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”

Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?” 

You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”

Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”

You look down almost in guilt from his words, unconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for a second, the rush of everything you’ve been holding back hits you𑁋the exhaustion, the worry, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of burdens these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.

“You’re gonna be a good doctor,” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”

You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could. 

Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment these feelings shifted from friendship, to admiration, to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there. 

“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”

Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”

“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”

When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, basking how your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skatepark. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.

“You meant it though, right?” he asks.

“What?” You question, turning towards him. 

“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”

Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now, at almost midnight in the middle of the skatepark. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?

“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a short period, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now. 

Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.

“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?” 

“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”

“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully. 

Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.

Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down to gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a few seconds as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close. 

“You okay?” 

Those words almost make you want to cry. 

“Yeah,” You reply quietly. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

When you open your eyes back up, Chan is looking down at you, studying you, his thumb tenderly tapping the top of your head as he waits for an answer.

“Alright.” You let out a deep inhale, blinking back up at him. “I’m not.”

Then his hand stops moving, and you nearly regret even telling him that. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously. 

The corners of your lips tug up slightly, another sigh leaving you. All you can do is shake your head.

“Not really.”

Chan just pulls away, not entirely, but enough to give you a little space. His hand stays near, though, and he’s still watching you, his expression soft.

“Okay.”

For now, the two of you let your gazes drift back up to the sky, and you think𑁋maybe falling for your best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world.

The number 87 is scratched at the top of the page of your medical jurisprudence exam. 

“Thanks for letting me cheat off you, by the way,” Jeonghan chimes in jokingly over your shoulder, nudging you in the arm before walking past you and out the door. 

You roll your eyes at his comment but remain standing right where you are at your seat, and you don’t know why you can’t get yourself to move. Your fellow classmates𑁋all dressed in their finest set of scrubs𑁋brush past you and out of the classroom, but you could only clench your first around the paper in your hand. 

An 87 isn’t bad; if anything, it’s great. Hell, it’s probably better than some of the other people in your class. You should be happy about it. But for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off. It’s the fact that you’re standing here, staring at a number that’s supposed to represent your hard work, your achievements, yet it feels empty, hollow, even.

You don’t feel proud of yourself. 

All you can think about are the countless nights you’ve spent studying for something that doesn’t even feel fulfilling anymore. Your mind wanders over the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the times you could hardly breathe because rotations had you stuck in the hospital𑁋what was it all for? A number? A stupid grade on a piece of paper?

You take a deep breath, trying to push the thought away.

“You’re doing fine,” You remind yourself, quietly, under your breath. But somehow, it doesn’t sound as convincing as you need it to. “You did good. You’re fine.”

Yet, there’s a voice that echoes off the walls of your head: you can do better. 

You meet Jeonghan and your other mutual friend Joshua in the hallway after managing to finally leave the large lecture hall. The two of them are chatting enthusiastically amongst each other, comparing their exams and the questions they received credit for along with the ones they got wrong. 

You force a smile to slip across your face when you approach, though it merely feels like a mask you’re getting tired of wearing.

“If I manage to survive this program, then I better be gifted with twenty years worth of coffee,” Jeonghan says while stuffing the exam paper inside his backpack. On the other hand, Joshua seems to be way more organised than you and Jeonghan combined, slipping his paper into a colour–coordinated folder before holding it under his arm. 

“What did you want to go into again? Pediatrics? Can’t imagine you with children for the life of me,” Joshua comments playfully.

“Alright, mister, you’re the one who wanted to go into plastics,” Jeonghan retorts with a smirk, nudging Joshua in the ribs. “I can totally see you standing in front of a mirror practicing how to say, ‘Oh, ma’am, you’ll look amazing after this rhinoplasty.’”

Joshua rolls his eyes but laughs. “At least I’ll make my patients happy. I’m not sure kids would survive under your care without learning sarcasm as their first language.”

“Sarcasm builds character, my friend,” Jeonghan states matter-of-factly, wiggling a finger up in the air as if to emphasise the point. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach those little demons how to get through life in the correct way.” 

You give in a chuckle at their banter, clumsily folding your exam paper in half and stuffing it deep inside your bag, hoping you’d probably forget all about it by the end of the day. Though the tension inside you doesn’t seem to want to disappear quite easily. You should feel happy to be surrounded by friends who’ve stuck with you through this hellish journey, but instead, you’re just... floating. 

It’s like you’re suspended between reality and expectation, unsure of where you really fit into either world. You try to push it down, but the feeling keeps creeping back, making your chest feel tight.

“Now I think this calls for a celebratory shot of champagne, or Iced Americano, whatever you want to call it,” Jeonghan announces to you and Joshua as all of you are walking outside.

The time has nearly reached evening by this point, the warm hues of the sky painting the sunset that’s illuminating the campus. It’s a sight that would normally give you a sense of peace, an opportunity to relax, but it doesn’t give you that feeling right now. Far from it. You should be happy, you remind yourself again and again. You’ve been working towards this for your entire life, yet here you are, dragging yourself through the motions like a robot programmed to survive but never to live.

And maybe that's what hurts the most𑁋the thought that you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way. You can’t remember the last time you felt truly at ease, or when you last let yourself just... breathe.

Your steps don’t fall in rhythm with Jeonghan and Joshua as you trail behind them. All of your energy feels like it’s been drained out of your body, and that you’d much rather be in the comfort of your apartment to study and distract yourself. 

“You guys can go ahead,” You say to Jeonghan and Joshua with a soft, yet tired smile. “I think I’m just going to head home and get some rest. Catch up later?”

Joshua frowns, noticing the tension in your voice. “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” You reply nimbly with a half-shrug, even though the word feels like a lie when it leaves your lips. “Just… tired. You know how it is. You two deserve to celebrate, though. Go and enjoy yourselves.”

Before you could give Jeonghan or Joshua any chance to respond, you give them a half-hearted wave before hiking off in another direction. You blink away the heat that was threatening to form in your eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the ugly, cracked pavement ahead as you hurriedly make your way back to your apartment. Each step feels heavier than the last, and you swear you feel yourself sinking with each step you take. You tell yourself it’s fine𑁋that you’ll feel better once you’re home, but you can’t tell if you’re just trying to convince yourself that. 

By the time you arrive at your apartment building, perhaps more time has gone by than you expected. The sun has nearly set at this time, making way for the moon to take over with its nightly duties, casting its pale glow over the world around you. But it doesn’t seem to paint its glow on you. 

When you start trudging your way towards the entrance to your building, a voice freezes you in your path. 

“Y/N! Wait up!” 

Your heart sinks in your chest at the voice, almost urging you to step inside your place before that particular gnaw of guilt could grab you, but you freeze nonetheless. You reluctantly turn around to none other than Chan jogging up to you, his skateboard nearly falling from his grip as he lands right in front of you. He’s breathing a bit heavier than usual, as if he’d been running to catch up.

“You haven’t texted me all day,” he tells you breathlessly.

You lift a brow at that, a corner of your lip lifting up at his clinginess. “And you ran all the way here to tell me that?” 

“Well, duh, I have to make sure you’re alive.” He wipes off some sweat from his forehead. You could tell he just rolled here all the way from the skatepark. 

As you let your eyes scan over him, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly cool he looks with his messy fair falling in front of eyes, and the way he still seems to be trying to catch his breath from the exertion of running up to you. There’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest tighten, and it’s enough to make you lose focus on everything else. The exhaustion, the doubt, the ache in your chest𑁋all of it vanishes when you look at him. 

Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do. 

“You’re such a dork,” You prod, trying to suppress the soft warmth that spreads through your chest. You know he’s only teasing, but his concern still cuts deeper than you expect. “See? I'm alive and breathing.” 

Chan eyes you suspiciously, before grabbing ahold of his skateboard from under his arm. “Alright, if you say so…”

Before he could place the skateboard on the ground, you stop him.

“Wait, Chan.”

Chan shoots his attention back to you, and perhaps that’s enough to make your legs feel like jelly and your throat to go dry. You hesitate, biting back the emotions threatening to spill out of your mouth, but something about the softness in Chan’s gaze makes it feel like this is the right time to let it out. Even if it’s just a little bit. 

Without thinking, you take a step forward, then another, and another, before leaning in to gently let your head fall on his shoulder. Chan freezes, his body tensing at the sudden contact. For a second, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, but then he exhales, his warmth radiating against your temple. You don’t notice the way his hand hovers uncertainly over your back, contemplating, before he ultimately brings it back to his side. 

“I got my results for an exam today,” You admit quietly. 

Chan thinks he knows where this is going, breathing out a defeated, “Oh. Did it… I mean, did you𑁋”

“I passed,” You mutter with a slight chuckle. “With flying colours.”

Chan doesn't respond immediately, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the evening breeze. You can feel his shoulder shift slightly under your head, not out of discomfort, but then you feel his arm gently slide over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. Maybe you’re close enough to the point he can feel your heartbeat. 

“Then why do you sound so down?” he asks. “If you passed, you should… you should be celebrating, right? That’s a big deal.”

“I am celebrating.” You huff out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I-I could celebrate.”

Chan tenses at that, like your words rendered him speechless. “Because… because I’m here?” 

You nod lightly against your shoulder. “It’s… easier to breathe when you’re here, I guess.” And then you smile faintly, even Chan can feel it. “Don’t let that get to your head, though.” 

But it does. It does go to Chan’s head in more ways than one as he feels that familiar heat crawl up his neck from how those words fall naturally off your lips, like it was such a normal thing to say. And no, it doesn’t fuel the prideful ego he claims he has, doesn’t make him smug or self-assured; no, it goes straight directly to his heart, as your words always do. He’s glad the dim evening light hides the full extent of his reaction, but he knows his heart isn’t probably nearly as subtle.

And when you lift your head off his shoulder and pull away slightly, he can’t help but stare at you. You don’t say anything either, the words sitting in the air between you. But then you smile𑁋tiredly, genuinely, not forced or hiding anything𑁋and the first thought that comes to his head is that… you’re beautiful. 

“You reek of sweat,” You suddenly point out teasingly, scrunching your nose. “How many hours did you stay at the damn park?” 

“Oh, you know, only a good seven hours,” Chan replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus I did go to the gym with Soonyoung too…”

“And let me guess, no knee pads or helmet?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

Chan opens his mouth in defense. “Well, I𑁋”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” You cut him off playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

Then Chan lightly nudges you with the skateboard. “At least you’ll be there to patch me up, yeah?” 

“Nope, sorry, I’m leaving you at the mercy of the cranky ER nurses,” You tell him, wiggling a dismissive finger toward his face. 

Chan just steps back up to you, a twinkle of mischief that you capture in his eyes, before he grabs hold of the skateboard under his arm and shoves it in your hold, a low oof escaping out of your mouth. Then you watch with a scoff as he brushes past you and into your apartment building, and you jog to catch up with him.

“What the hell are you doing, Chan?” You call out after him, trying to juggle the weight of the skateboard in your hands. Chan glances over his shoulder with that signature grin of his𑁋half playful, half smug𑁋and it’s enough to make you want to smack him with the board. “And take this thing back, I’m not carrying it! Lee Chan!” 

Chan looks back at you with his tongue sticking out, before disappearing around the corner. “Sorry, I’m going to use your shower!” 

And for the first time the entire day, the laugh that leaves you is real. A real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in your chest, bubbling up before you can stop it.

“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”

Chan picks his head up from where he sat on the bench, scrunching the empty water bottle and aimlessly tossing it in the trash bin beside him. He stands up, tugging his shirt off that was nearly drenched in sweat and throwing it aside near his belongings. The cool air of the afternoon hits his skin, caressing over the tattoos that paint his skin. 

His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well. 

He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.

“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.

He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on. 

Chan doesn’t hesitate.

In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.

He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.

Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath. 

He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform. 

One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board. 

One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.

The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late. 

It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.

And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.

Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails. 

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.

“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”

Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.

Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be. 

“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”

“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”

Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”

But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”

But Chan only shakes his head dismissively. 

“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”

But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.

He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better. 

Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks. 

Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.

Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.

Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.

His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.

“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.

Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”

Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.

Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut. 

“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence. 

Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About your fall?”

Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.

“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.

Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”

“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”

Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."

“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”

Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.

“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”

Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”

Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”

Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”

A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”

“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?” 

Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”

Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs. 

“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?” 

Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.

Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.

And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.

He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day. 

Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.

“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly. 

Chan turns to look at him in surprise. 

“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”

Chan chokes from his words. 

“Chan?”

“...hm?”

You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.

“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”

Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm. 

“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”

“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.” 

You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day. 

And then your face lights up.

“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.” 

Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head. 

For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world. 

And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.

It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly. 

“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.

You blink at him, dazed. “What?” 

Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”

You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Maybe this would all be worth it in the end. 

And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.” 

“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.” 

You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”

Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you. 

The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.

He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you. 

Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.

“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.

You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.

It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.

“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.” 

“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”

Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things. 

“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.

You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”

Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again. 

The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.

He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”

“It’s freezing, idiot.”

“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”

You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”

“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.

Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.

Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints. 

It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan. 

“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.

A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.

“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.

“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile. 

Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”

Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”

Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.

You give a nod. “Sure.”

You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle. 

He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.

“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton. 

Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”

You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more. 

“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.” 

“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”

A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.

“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.

You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”

Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”

You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.

The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy. 

The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.

You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it. 

“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.” 

You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”

“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought. 

“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.” 

Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”

“I haven’t?”

“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”

“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”

Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.

“You ever think about it?”

“Huh?” You utter out.

“The future.” 

You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever. 

“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.” 

The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat. 

“I think you’d be happy.” 

Your breath catches. “What?”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”

Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes. 

Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales. 

His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.

Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”

Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”

But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”

Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath. 

“You’re my favourite person, you know?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.

“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”

Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”

Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.

Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.

“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.” 

Neither of you say anything more.

“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?” 

Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.

Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”

Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”

The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.” 

When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.

“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”

“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”

“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave. 

He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.

Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’

“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.” 

“But not anymore.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.” 

Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?” 

“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.” 

Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.

The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?

Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust. 

Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.

“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters. 

Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.” 

Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”

Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.

Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.

“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.” 

No, this is not happening.

A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown. 

No, no, no, no.

Your throat tightens.

This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what? 

For this shit? 

Your vision swims.

Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand. 

Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.

You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.

A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.

[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n?? are you okay? i don’t know what’s happening, but your friend jeonghan ran into me saying about how you ran away crying??

A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.

[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n answer me please i know you’re not okay

A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form. 

What does this mean for you?

Your future?

Your dream?

[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n please i’m worried about you. i care for you so so much

There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.

One last ding from your phone.

[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹] i’m coming over, okay? stay there for me, y/n i'll be there in 5 mins

You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him. 

You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t. 

Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.

You freeze.

The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one. 

“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door. 

You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.

“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”

The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.

And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.

On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther. 

“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet. 

His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you. 

You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment. 

“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this. 

But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”

You swallow a breath at that.

You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.

Because you know better.

Because you know this warmth is only temporary.

Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.

Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.

At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.

He stiffens.

His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely. 

“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you. 

You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this. 

And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.

And that’s somehow worse.

You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”

Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot. 

“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”

“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”

“I’m not your responsibility!”

“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”

The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once. 

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart. 

But they do.

Because you love him. God, you love him so much.

But you can’t give in.

Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.

“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like shards of glass.

But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips. 

“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.

If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you. 

You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”

The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.

Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.

“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.” 

The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant. 

And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.

Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure. 

So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.

“Go home, Chan.”

“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”

“I don’t love you, Chan.” 

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Silence.

You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.

You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out. 

And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.

“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”

He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.

Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side. 

The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking. 

Because you love him.

And you just let him go.

The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.

He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.

“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth. 

Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air. 

Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath. 

“Chan𑁋”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.” 

“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”

Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers. 

I don’t want you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.

Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”

Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”

“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.” 

Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”

“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”

Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

A beat of silence passes. 

“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”

Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.

And he thinks about you.

And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?

He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.

Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts. 

He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you. 

Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.

He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.

“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?” 

Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”

“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”

A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.

“Y/N? You need to eat.”

The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital. 

There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.

But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.

The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.

“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you. 

You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.

Chan. 

Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you. 

You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.

For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.

Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.

“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.

Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.

Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”

Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.

A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”

His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.

But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life. 

“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.

A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.

Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.

And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.

Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb. 

And then… nothing. 

The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.

“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”

Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it. 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.

His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?

“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”

Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.

“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.

Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?” 

“If she ever wants to see me again.”

Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.

“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”

And fuck, that stings.

Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.

Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua. 

“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”

Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.

“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.

Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another. 

“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.” 

Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.

And God, you look wrecked. 

He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.

Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.

Because what right does he have? 

His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body. 

For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch as the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.

“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?” 

A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.

Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Still no response from you. 

“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.” 

His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him. 

But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.

Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you. 

“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.” 

A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.” 

The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can. 

And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.

You find yourself running. 

It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it. 

So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment. 

Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?

But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.

You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.

By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place. 

One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door. 

The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.

“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants. 

Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”

You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently. 

“Chan!”

Silence.

You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”

Still nothing.

Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course. 

“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”

The lock clicks.

Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.

He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.

Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”

“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”

Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.

“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.

You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.

Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.” 

Chan doesn’t budge.

Your expression darkens. “Chan.”

When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages. 

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.

“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”

Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”

You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”

When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him. 

“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look. 

At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head. 

Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck. 

But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that. 

All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest. 

“Chan…” You call his name so softly.

Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you. 

You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once. 

There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.

“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence. 

Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him. 

As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.

“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”

An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”

Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day. 

“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”

You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone. 

Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.

Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you. 

“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.” 

You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.

So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away. 

But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

And it breaks you.

You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”

“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.

Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”

“I know.”

“I hurt you.”

“I know that, too.”

“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”

Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it. 

His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?

And yet, you don’t pull away. 

Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat. 

You still don’t pull away. 

“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”

Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Chan?” 

He blinks up at you, waiting.

“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?” 

Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.” 

Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.

Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.

It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist. 

He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.

Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more. 

Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones. 

“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”

Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”

“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”

Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second. 

A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.

“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.” 

His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his. 

You. 

That’s all his mind is screaming at him.

You, you, you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.

You don’t.

Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt. 

You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.

“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.” 

The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.

“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”

His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out. 

When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.

You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.

“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”

A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”

You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”

“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”

The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for. 

Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.

“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.

Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”

“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.” 

“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.

The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.

“Chan?” 

“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute. 

“I love you.”

The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home. 

He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.

“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased. 

There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.

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@planetkiimchi @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @gigification @ahuiahoe

@svtficsarchive @lllucere @reiofsuns2001 @imujings

fic taglist ʚɞ @viciousdarlings @christinewithluv @heeknow @tenderly-stepped-on-eggshells @blockbusterhee

[armysantiny]

-[chan; soft bf headcanon

P: Chan x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, headcanon | Inc: graphic designer!reader, getting together, friends to lovers, the rest of skz being (lovingly) fed up, date nights, late night walks | Wc: 503 | W: none iirc | R: G

My favourite single father of seven/j

Meeting Chan was almost fate, honestly

You’re a graphic designer and happen to love designing album covers

Stray Kids were finishing up an album and needed a graphic designer to help create the album covers

Lo and behold~

You and Chan meet!

Bonding during meeting after meeting while the creative process goes about working its magic

The bonding sessions turn into dropping by each other’s workspace

By which I mean you  visiting Chan’s studio pretty much every time you have a lunch break and bringing a snack with you

Which he greatly appreciates <3

Because he never leaves that room/j

The speed at which you two become best friends is impeccable

Very much a duo – especially the kind that are always seen hanging out together

The feelings start not too long after too

There is one problem though... you’re both oblivious

Painfully oblivious

Somehow you both can’t see that the other is head over heels, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of skz to start taking matters into their own hands

They love you, really, but the running around in circles is going to drive them a little mad

Just a little :D

They keep trying to bash hints over your heads

Which is ironic because the confession happens so quickly

Catches everyone off guard fr

The two of you are hanging out late and it gets blurted out

Cue quick discussion over what you want in a relationship and boom—

Y’all are a couple now! Everyone liked that

Chan being your boyfriend comes with seven other people because none of these men know what the meaning of the phrase personal space is

Baby I don’t make the rules here, this is just the truth

You take it in stride though, which Chan appreciates

Oh yeah, and this man is a hugger

A certified cuddler I’m telling you

I’m convinced he needs his arms around you for thirty minutes a day, every day, at least

Will have you sit in his lap while he works so he can get his daily y/n cuddles

Try to move and watch him whine I swear—

Do you not want his affection anymore??/j

Lmao but despite how busy the both of you are, date nights are wonderful

He plans dinner reservations on days you’re both free and refuses to listen to anyone asking him to work

Date nights are for the two of you and the two of you only <33

Walks hand-in-hand with you after dinner and you stop by a few stalls

If you happen to pass by an arcade, he’s gonna win you a plushie from the claw machine

Sure he spends a little too much on it, but it’s all good fun

Especially worth it to see your face when he does win a plushie

And sure, your friends are more than happy that you’re dating Chan

But they are a little jealous

Because who doesn’t want a relationship like yours

You lucky darling, you~

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @kkooongie, @xavi-in-kpopland, @marxenash, @borahae-reads, @tinystarstay | Taglist form

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Jacaerys Velaryon, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

Reckless Sins 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act, strong language

Their inability to see eye to eye often leads to arguments and mutual disdain, frequently escalating into reckless intimacy as both are eager to dominate and assert control, but what happens when, one day, they are caught in the act?

I Love You, It's Ruining My Life 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!!), mild language, violence (very slight)

Caught between her lover's acceptance and her brothers' relentless cruelty, she struggles to reconcile her intense love with the torment it brings. The boundary between love and pain blurs, leaving her to confront a relationship that both saves and destroys her.

A Dragon's Den 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!), strong language

Seeking allys in the North, Jace and his wife contemplate alliances and family honour. Seeking comfort, they discover a hidden cave with a serene hot spring, where they share an intimate and passionate moment, reaffirming their love during turmoil.

Leap of Fate 🌟💓

• None

A young woman's daring climb over a wall to escape an arranged union leads to an unexpected encounter with her betrothed himself. What begins as a night of escape becomes the start of an enchanting story of love and destiny.

Family Legacies 🌟💓

• Childbirth, mentions of a potential stillbirth (doesn't happen)

Amidst the chaos of war, two childbirths unfold. A mother's potential agony and a new mother's fear collide, as life and loss intertwine in a moment that will define their family's legacy forever.

Different DNA 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!)

A deeply vulnerable Jace struggles with insecurity, and as his wife, her sole job is to reassure him and make him feel cherished, using every means at her disposal.

Protect and Avenge 🌟💓

• Violence

Ambushed by ruthless bandits, Jace's wife is ripped from his arms, igniting a fury within him and he truly will stop at nothing to protect the woman he loves, no matter the cost.

Seeds of Manipulation 🌟

• None

Aegon and Aemond tease their nephew Jace about his impending marriage to a Dornish woman. When she arrives, she faces Jace's cold indifference and his uncle's provocative questions. Realising his grave mistake, Jace must now find a way to undo the damage.

Temptations

• Strong language, violence (very slight)

During family tensions and personal turmoil, emotions reach a boiling point and a shocking confrontation leads to chaos prompting a protective gesture from Jace sparking an intimate moment where long-hidden desires and a profound connection are revealed.

The Lioness’s Webs

• Violence (barely)

In a calculated game of ambition and seduction, her deft navigation of her brother's manipulative schemes to charm Prince Jacaerys, the future heir, leads her entangled in a web of power, desire, and uncertain loyalties amidst the glittering backdrop of courtly intrigue.

A Cinderella Story

• None

At a ball, an outsider captures the attention of Prince Jacaerys, their dance sparks a fleeting, magical connection. But as midnight strikes, the magic shatters, and she flees, leaving behind a single crystal slipper—and a prince determined to find the one who stole his heart.

Jealousy 💓

• Sexual content (smut!)

In the icy halls of Winterfell, they harbour a secret love. When a moment of jealousy surfaces, it pushes them together, igniting a passionate encounter that deepens their bond and reveals the intensity of their feelings for one another.

Before You Go

• None

In their final moments together, Jace confesses his love for her just before stepping into the tempest of a storm, leaving her haunted by the foreboding promise that the day he declared his love was also the day he died.

Moth to a Flame

• None

Bound by duty and trapped in a loveless marriage, her heart still belongs to Jace, the man she truly loves. The weight of her choices and the secrets she keeps threaten to tear her apart, while the tension between love and obligation grows unbearable.

Wolves and Dragons

• Sexual content (hand stuff idk)

The best part of being sent miles from home? The dragon prince who turns teasing banter into an art form—keeping days mischievously entertaining and nights breathtakingly passionate. Every stolen moment is a spark threatening to ignite everything.

A Taste of Sweetness

• Sexual content (smut!)

Amid a sunlit berry field, they share playful banter that deepens into a moment of heartfelt desire. Their closeness turns the simple act of berry-picking into a quiet celebration of their bond. Together, they savour the fleeting magic of the day, lost in each other.

Timid Flames

• None

In a politically arranged marriage, they unexpectedly find solace in each other. As they navigate the storm of familial conflict, a night of celebration reveals desires and bravery, challenging the bounds of their union and the roles they play in a dangerous game of power.

Between Fear and Trust

• Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Sea Breeze

• None

When the prince stumbles upon her naked in the sea, the encounter sparks an awkward moment between them. Amidst embarrassment and vulnerability, an unspoken bond begins to form. In the silence of shared discomfort, something new may blossom.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.