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mephisto-reporting · 2 months ago

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Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds��of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous. His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. ��Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

2K notes · View notes

heegyukeluv · 2 months ago

Text

complementary - the physics of your body [part 2] (sjy)

pairing: brother's best friend!jake x afab!reader

synopsis: Jake loved physics as much as he loved you.

my's note: part 2 is here earlier than expected because i'm anxious 😀

warnings: trauma from parents, fluff, angst, drama/arguments, more physics stuff lol, pet names (babe, doll, good girl…), reader blushing/turning red!, reader have a bit of an explosive demeanor, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), oral (f.), squirting, jk cum inside, overstimulation (f.), bathtub sex. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 13k

NOT PROOFREAD.

part 1

Saying you cried all night would be an understatement. Having feelings for Jake now felt like a bittersweet ache, hard to swallow and to have close to you. You couldn’t help but get into a spiral of darker thoughts.

Was it worth it?

Jake was in your mind throughout the entire night.

When you woke up the next morning, your eyes felt like they weighed a ton, and your body craved a rest you knew you couldn’t give it – not anytime soon, at least. Both physically and mentally, you were utterly drained.

You had spent part of the night wide awake, crying and torn between two nearly impossible choices: breaking things off with Jake or fighting to keep him. It was a strange, bitter feeling that sat heavily in the pit of your stomach. It didn’t dissolve with the tears or the long hours – it only lingered, raw and unresolved.

Jay ignored you on Saturday. And again on Sunday. You ignored Jake on Saturday. And again on Sunday.

Jake assumed your sudden distance was due to your determined spirit, convinced you were throwing yourself into studying for your final exams. He didn’t want to disturb you and instead left sweet, encouraging messages to cheer you on without adding to your stress. But something in the way you responded – or rather, in the way you didn’t – planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

He called you and you dismissed.

The lump in your throat only heavening within each missed call and message left on read, realizing you could be hurting Jake as much as you were hurt.

You just didn’t know what to do, what to expect or where to run, because everything seemed wrong or difficult; Jay wasn’t there for you, and you couldn't reach Jake because he was the reason Jay wasn’t there for you.

Messy, confused, chaotic.

As the night settled quietly in your apartment, you opted not to leave your room. Your face swollen with heavy tears that spilled just like a waterfall.

But then a sudden outburst of words being spoken loudly in your living room got your ears perked, your heart speeding it beats, your stomach knotting in despair as you made your way towards the noise.

“Where is she?”

“You’ll not see her.”

After feeling something was off, his instincts screamed for him to take action, so Jake immediately sped his car all the way to your apartment. He had his mind racing, spinning even, a dreadful feeling creeping inside his chest while each possible scenario played out in his head. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared him for what he found when he finally landed his eyes on you.

Your figure appeared in the doorway the very moment Jake asked about you, almost as if his words had summoned you, drawing you in like an unshakable spell. Under different circumstances, it might have been beautiful, poetic even. But not now. Not like this.

“Y/N! Oh, my God," Jake exclaimed, his wide eyes filling with a mixture of relief and alarm. He expertly sidestepped Jay’s attempt to block him, his focus zeroed in on you as though nothing else mattered.

You flinched as he closed the space between you, your fists clenched at your sides, trembling slightly as you let him pull you into his arms. His hold was firm but not overbearing, like he was trying to shield you from a world you desperately wanted to escape.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle yet laced with urgency, concern dripping from every word. Then, without waiting for an answer, his gaze darted to Jay, his tone sharpening into something far more dangerous. “What the fuck happened?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and crackling with tension. The room felt suffocating, the silence a cruel prelude to whatever would come next.

Your body gave up. Jake's scent enveloped you like a mist, soothing and soft, allowing you to be your most raw version – the one in desperate need of refuge. The painful sobs tore through you, your body shaking against Jake’s chest as he tightened his hold protectively, as though he could physically keep your pain away.

“You two happened.”

Jake stiffened as Jay’s words cut through the atmosphere, your entire body shuddering, a pang in your chest leaving you breathless for a second. Jake’s head snapped towards his best friend, panic underlying his voice as he feared the worst.

“What?”

Jay let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “She’s my sister, Jake,” he could have stopped just at that, it would be enough to make Jake's terror increase significantly. But he didn’t, he made sure that his every word was loud and clear. “My little sister! Did you even think for one second before–” He stopped, gulping while a hand ran through his blonde strands, eyes never wavering. “Before hooking up with her? I know about your fucking casual relationships, Jake.”

Jake’s grip on you loosened just enough for him to take a step back, but his touch remained close, grounding. He opened his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it, your voice raw and trembling.

“It’s not just a casual–”

“Please, stop,” you whispered, your eyes brimming with fresh tears, fluttering close, and not really aiming for anyone in particular. “I can’t handle this right now.”

Jay’s expression faltered for a moment, realizing he might have gone too far. On the other hand, Jake looked at you, confused.

“Please, go.” You sniffed, unwillingly pushing Jake away from you. He stumbled on his feet a little, offering you the most lost, baffled puppy eyes. You wished you had kept your eyes closed, the pain in your chest growing heavier each passing moment. “I– I appreciate you for coming, but… But just go, please.”

Guilt. You felt the guilt slowly and painfully eating away at you. Guilt for hurting the one person who cared most about you. Guilt for letting things unfold the way they did. Guilt for liking – loving – Jake.

You were torn between confronting Jay, your only family that remained by your side to fight for Jake, and letting Jake go, as a way to go back to how it was before.

There was no possible choice, everything felt like a fresh, open wound and the argument only put pressure on it.

“Alright.” Jake whispered, his eyes lowering until they rested on the floor. “I’m going, because you’re asking me to,” he nodded to himself, quickly taking a glance at Jay over his shoulder before approaching you; the phantom of his touch lingering on your fingers as he let go of your hand. “But I’m not leaving you, Y/N. Not now that I finally have you.”

Jay had not spoken a word to you in a whole week.

He avoided the slightest interaction with you, going out of his way to ensure that your paths rarely crossed. Yet, every day, he still managed to prepare your full meals, leaving them meticulously arranged on the counter, as if to fulfill a silent duty. It was a strange contrast – his actions speaking of care, while his absence screamed louder than words ever could.

Jay would leave the house earlier than normal and return just in time to prevent having you under his line of sight, a perfectly calculated timing you wished to end soon.

The unspoken tension lingered in every corner of the house, a suffocating reminder of the fracture between you both.

He didn't strict your routine nor made you change your lifestyle, but it weighed just as hard. It somehow felt way worse than when your parents treated you back then, yelling harsh words alongside punishments to put you back on the line or regain control over your life.

Receiving the heaviness of your brother’s silence cut deeper than anything else, mainly because he was your only true family.

On the other hand, Jake was dealing with a double loss. It hurt to feel like losing his best friend, to watch his messages being ignored and having his calls go to voicemail, to be prohibited to step into his house under any circumstances.

But the idea of losing you definitely started to hurt way more.

In the middle of the week, you called him. Your voice was weak, almost fragile, and it made his heart squeeze in his chest.

“I aced my physics exam,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I wanted to thank you… for everything.”

“No way!” Jake exclaimed, his voice lighting up with a rush of pride and excitement as he hid himself in the company’s bathroom. A big smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the one he always wore when he was truly happy for you. You couldn’t see it, though. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you would beat that exam's ass.”

That small interaction somehow felt like a bullet had lodged in his chest and he couldn’t run to the hospital to resolve it. It was almost robotic, far from utterly genuine, because there was a thick smoke of tension that suffocated his senses, that reminded him you were slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. God, he was your boyfriend! Not a random.

You giggled at his choice of words, a sweet, genuine sound that had not been present in days. The sound of your happiness made his heart shrink, as if it was both breaking and expanding at the same time. He wanted to hear more of it, wanted to make it last forever. The warmth in his chest turned into a wave of determination.

“Thanks to you, Jake,” you whispered, the words soft but carrying the weight of everything unspoken.

And without missing a beat, Jake was already planning his next move. “That’s it. I’m coming to pick you up.”

The certainty in his voice was unwavering. You tried to argue, to refuse, to come up with something to stop him, but he wasn’t having it.

“Your work–”

“I can leave early.”

“But it’s far–”

“I don’t care.”

He was already thinking of you and you only – of the way you deserved to be celebrated, of how he just wanted to hold you close, to kiss you. He missed you so fucking much it hurt, it painfully hurt.

“I’m picking you up,” he repeated, this time softer but no less sure.

“But–”

“Don’t even try to argue.”

You could hear him smiling through the phone, and it made your heart ache. Why did this feel so wrong, and yet so right at the same time?

“Wait for me, my angel. I’m on my way,” he finished, his words like a promise.

You felt your heart race, even if a part of you wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn’t need to go. But at that moment, you didn’t have the strength to stop him, so you waited. You waited for the man of your life.

Ever since, Jake began picking you up from your classes every single day. He would have his lunch with you and video call you during the night, singing a sweet lullaby until you fell asleep. He bought you a cake and kissed you deeply to celebrate your achievement, once again voicing out how proud he was.

You needed support, you needed someone that had your back, and Jake was your boyfriend, the one who should be giving you the comfort you deserved.

It was unbearable to watch you withering quietly and not having much to do other than offer some hugs and kisses, other than have his hands on yours, other than his caresses on your hair.

However, as soon as you started to lit up again with your jokes and smiles, Jake realized it was worth it. His efforts were worth it, and he would keep doing a million things, a million times over, if it meant seeing you happy.

But there were days when you slipped back into the overwhelming sadness, due the silent reminder from Jay that his treatment of you had not changed – and maybe never would.

You couldn’t help but believe he felt betrayed, and you didn’t have the strength or courage to change his perception.

Deep down, you knew yourself well enough to understand that any confrontation would be ugly – because, beyond sadness, you also carried the weight of a quiet, lingering anger.

“He just needs time,” Jake said, offering you the same reassurance every damn day.

Two weeks have passed since Jay discovered your relationship with his best friend, but it felt like ages, painful ages, days that you had to drag yourself through it, finding perseverance in the depths of your soul to keep going, keep pushing through it.

And you don’t think you would be able to do it if it wasn't for Jake.

He was now hugging you, one hand kindly caressing your back, the other firmly holding yours. You had curled up against him in the car, your body trembling as you sobbed into his chest, trying to calm yourself by hearing his gentle breathing.

The sound of your sobs broke his heart. He knew you didn’t want to cry, but he also knew there was nothing he could say or do to make it stop. All he could do was hold you, let you pour out your emotions, and be there for you.

“I don't even know why I'm crying right now,” you said with a broken voice, burying your face deeper on the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s okay,” Jake whispered softly, his voice low, the kind of soothing tone he knew you wanted to hear. “You don’t have to know. Just let go, my love.” And so you did. The pain, the confusion, the despair, the anger, everything weighing on you felt too much to bear, flowing away through your wrenching tears. “I don’t know what to do, Jake,” you mumbled between sobs, your voice shaky, “I never thought he’d be like this… It’s been so long. I never thought I’d lose him.” Jake’s grip on you tightened. He understood the intensity of your pain; he could see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch, in your words. He never felt this way before, like lingering on a thin string of losing his mind, feeling so, so useless. Jake wished he could erase all your pain and sorrow, or at least transfer it to him.

On that very day, Jake made a quiet promise of never, ever, breaking your heart.

“You won’t lose him,” he said gently, nuzzling his chin on the top of your head, the shampoo scent calming his nerves a little. He hoped to give you the same comfort. “You just need to give him time. He’ll come around, I know it.”

You let out a deep, fragile sigh, your shoulders trembling as you struggled to stop the tears streaming freely from your eyes, sobs echoing through the car softly as you stained Jake’s shirt. He seemed not to care, arms around you as though he could shield you from the gloom that slowly and painfully swallowed you, as though he could maintain you with him, forever.

Jake held you as close as possible, as reassuring as possible, as grounding as possible; a comforting, sweet, gentle cocoon anchoring you, as his hands drew subtle circles on your back.

With a mild push, you pulled away from Jake embrace just enough to murmur, voice raw, shaking.

“Sorry, I dampened your shirt.”

“I love you.”

Jake said, nearly at the same time.

On that very day, Jake made a loud promise of loving you unconditionally forever.

The words tumbled out of his mouth, soft yet firm, as though they had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the right moment. His voice carried a certainty that cut through the fog of your sorrow, the three words echoing louder than your sobs ever could.

You peered up with your glossy eyes, shooting Jake a flabbergasted glance that replaced your broken expression. His chest tightened, his heart nearly shattering at the sight of you, so brittle, so vulnerable, so utterly… destroyed.

Jake wanted to do more than just hold you. He wanted to wrap you in the warmest, coziest blanket and protect you from the world and all the pain it had inflicted. He wanted to whisper reassurances until his voice gave out, to erase every tear from your cheeks with gentle kisses, to love you so deeply that you would never feel this hollow again.

He wanted to shower you with love.

The same love he was sure he nurtured for you. The same love that had been haunting his entire being to voice out, suffocating, desperate to be born into the world you both shared. The same love he discovered he loved to feel.

Jake loved to love you, because you made it easy to.

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your brows furrowing slightly.

“I love you. I don't know what to do in this situation, but I know I love you. And I think you should know too.”

You hesitated, mouth opening and closing repeatedly while no words came out, because you had nothing that equaled the sudden sweet burning sensation that spread inside your chest as you heard those pretty words.

Love.

You didn’t remember loving someone as much as you loved Jake.

Over the past few days, Jake had made it increasingly difficult for your love to remain a mere whisper in the depths of your mind. He had proven himself deserving of your affection, your care, your attention – because he gave just as much, if not more, in return. He had broken through the protective barriers of your heart, the ones that kept strangers away; except Jake wasn’t a stranger anymore. Perhaps, deep down, he never was.

Beyond the chaos within you, the silent, yet deafening conflict of your situation with Jay, Jake had stirred a yearning inside you – a desperate urge to scream to the world that he was the love of your life.

It was an uncontrollable desire to say it out loud, to tell him you loved him the way a painter loves their muse, the way a musician treasures their draft, the way a photographer cherishes their landscapes.

It was a love that was raw, sincere, genuine – achingly so. And it was a love you were happy to know it was mutual.

Jake was the most gorgeous star, brightening your profoundly clouded sky.

“Jake–” You finally managed to speak, not exactly aiming for anything other than just… Say something. But Jake interrupted you with a kiss.

“You don't have to say it back.” He murmured, lips grazing on yours as he cupped your cheeks, gentle eyes tracing the lines of your mildly swollen face. You still looked stunning. He couldn’t help but sigh, a mix of adoration and longing in his gaze. “I know I caught you off guard. I'm not asking you to love me back right away.” He tilted his head, his eyes filled with an undeniable tenderness – love, devotion, and the kind of affection that made your heart ache. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was fighting to keep it there. "Just know that I, Jaeyun, love you."

You bit your lower lip, but it didn’t do much to contain your wide grin. The tears, once drenched in sorrow, now filled with uncontrollable happiness, exploding in your chest just like fireworks. With a fear of missing the time, you shook your head still in disbelief, leaning in closer as you whispered.

“I love you too, Jake.”

And just like that, Jake had his lips working on your mouth deliberately, distant from what you normally did together. It seemed he wanted to take his time, heartfeltly exploring and appreciating the attachment of your lips together, as though he was memorizing the taste of you. And it was definitely different.

It tasted like love.

Your tongues swirled in a beautiful languid dance, a rhythm only you two could follow, the kind of connection that felt natural and right, like two halves of a whole, complementary.

Jake’s hands slid down to your nape and waist, pulling you closer, guiding you to sit on his lap where you could feel his warmth radiating into you.

There was no rush, no urgency. There was only raw, honest love between you two – pure and untainted. No distractions. No lust. Just the quiet, steady beat of two hearts that had found each other in a world full of noise.

Jake loved you. You loved Jake. And right at that moment, that was all that mattered.

The car engine sound soothed the silence with a steady hum. The radio played some random song you didn’t bother to pay attention to, not when your head was wandering amidst the chaos happening there.

Your life was a complete mess and your anxiety bubbling up, not knowing exactly what to expect from that weekend trip.

Yeah, trip.

Just two days ago, Sunghoon showed up at your doorstep holding bags of your favorite food and wearing a pitiful face. You didn’t understand the sudden hug, much less the following waterfall of “I’m sorry’s” he mumbled with a broken voice against your hair while pulling you closer.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know about you and Jake.”

You remember his words vividly, your confused state, your hands now knowing what to do or your brain not fully processing what he just said, because no one actually knew about you and Jake. But your memory made sure not to erase the following addon.

“I unintentionally snitched on you and him.”

Sunghoon stayed the whole night on the verge of crying – and you never saw that man with anything near to glossy eyes, so it seemed to be a real business for him – explaining what happened that night and how Jay found out about your hidden romance with his best friend.

His drunk ass – as he said – went back home way too earlier than both of you expected, and he could have turned a blind eye – ear, in that case – and said nothing if he knew the woman screaming Jake’s name in his bedroom was actually you, and not a random chick – his words.

So he absently texted Jay about it, thinking he was too high on his alcohol trip for hearing your voice screaming Jake’s name, teasing as he said “That would be crazy, right? That girl is really having a good time,” just to get under your brother’s skin as he always did.

However, for his misfortune – and yours –, it was you.

And Sunghoon even showed you the texts, where Jay replied with a brief, simple: “Well. Y/N went to Jake’s to study. Hah.” before turning off his phone and not receiving the next messages Sunghoon sent, trying to ease the situation.

At first you couldn’t help the bitter feeling on the back of your throat as you heard his side of the story, aware of his guilty part on it, nonetheless, to finally have a clarification of what led your relationship with Jay down to shambles was actually relieving, especially when Sunghoon said he had a plan to suggest Jay to go with them in a trip as a way to clear his mind, and then you and Jake would go as well without him knowing, and with everyone together – Heeseung too, since he was part of the friend group – it would be easier to face the problems and wrap it up with a happy ending or whatever.

Sunghoon reassured you that both he and Heeseung were on your side of the story; Jake was a good guy and they trusted him to make you happy. But Sunghoon also understood Jay’s position, since he had sisters, so he could try to help with that part as well.

Everything seemed perfect.

But it didn’t ease your comfort as you drove with Jake towards the destination, not even with his free hand holding yours and kissing the back of it gently every once and while.

“Are you hungry, my love?”

Your sorrow facade slipped just a little by hearing Jake’s tender words and the cute pet name, still not used to it.

“A little, yeah. But… I don’t think I can eat right now.”

Though you didn’t see, Jake nodded, knowing better than to try to pursue you out of your stubbornness. Now practically spending entire days with you, he mastered the art of knowing when to push you out of your shell and when not to. That moment you needed silence, comprehension and someone to be there for you just to make sure you were doing fine.

You couldn’t be more glad for having a man like Jake in your life.

And quietly, you both wished for that trip to change at least a bit of whatever was going on in Jay’s mind.

So when you both arrived – twenty minutes after the others – and Jake parked his car, you quickly spotted Jay’s blond hair amidst people in the hotel’s lobby. He wore a relaxed face, sitting on one of the couches and happily talking with his friends while they waited for you two.

The makeshift excuse Sunghoon and Heeseung told was that they were all waiting for other two friends they invited from college as well, even naming them as a way to ground the lie.

Jay didn’t mind waiting for the said people, not at all. But he also didn’t hide his surprised and slightly disgusted face when he saw the actual two friends.

“I’m with you,” Jake muttered close to your ear, holding your hand tightly. “Always.”

You just nodded, feeling the weight on each step you took until you approached them, three pairs of eyes hovering over your presence.

While Heeseung and Sunghoon happily greeted you both with big, genuine smiles, even hugging you briefly and muttering a quiet “It’s gonna be ok,” Jay, on the other hand, held an unreadable expression.

“Hey,” you said back, voice coming in a small layered apprehension that didn’t go unnoticed by none of them.

Jay was fighting his inner demons not to cringe after watching you and Jake walking together, side by side like a normal couple, but it was hard when he knew how his friend regularly acted with girls he hooked-up with, how he loved to have a one night type of thing, never really committing.

You deserved more than just a fleeting pleasant moment.

They spent a life together as something similar to brothers long enough for Jay to be aware of the consequences of that relationship, the thoughts of you being hurt triggering the worst side of his protectiveness. And to think he would lose his best, closest friend because of that stupidity increased his emotions negatively – he felt betrayed, somehow picturing you both as selfishes who didn’t care about his side in the story.

Jay simply nodded at you both without saying a word, eyes flickering quickly towards your and Jake’s intertwined fingers, taking notice of it. You followed the motion and gulped, unconsciously squeezing your boyfriend’s hand. Jay then drifted his gaze to his friends, a dry laugh escaping his lips.

“Looks like lying to me has become everyone’s favorite pastime lately, hasn’t it?”

“Come on, bro,” Heeseung shot back swiftly, not tolerating the way he changed behavior after you and Jake joined them. “You’re the one being an ass.”

“Am I?” Jay scoffed and pointed to himself, eyebrows raised skeptically. “I’m not the one fucking my best friend’s sister.”

The tension lingered in the air thickly, the silence immediate and edging the unbearable. You tried to ignore the people around you starting to take notice of the unfolding conversation between your brother and your friends. After all, the tension seemed to be rising and they were growing curious with the subject – your relationship.

Sunghoon was the first to notice the situation and your discomfort, especially as you quietly – and unconsciously – scooched to slightly hide behind Jake as a way to shield yourself from whatever could be thrown at you. At the same time, a spark of anger stirred in the depths of your soul, the same one you struggled to shove back down in order to protect your loved one’s from your possible explosion.

“Let’s not have this conversation here,” Sunghoon muttered and headed to finally make the check-in, the rest of you following him, each carrying their respectives luggages – Jake and you sharing just one that he insisted on holding, but you barely had time to proper acknowledged how hot he looked as he did so.

The path to the rooms was silent, the tension thickening as all of you stepped into the elevator, avoiding eye contact with one another. Jake noticed your mad grimace – pursed lips, mildly furrowed brows – and positioned himself in front of you, facing you in order to shield any lingering stares Jay might dare to throw your way and to distract you with his puppy eyes that showered you with genuine affection. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft and tender, grounding you a little, even stealing you a small smile.

After going through a lot during your life with your parents, you had developed an explosive, even destructive, behavior that you struggled to restrain sometimes. It had become second nature to quietly bottle up every single detail of a stressful situation, letting it all pile up until the dam finally burst, and you ended up hurting the people you cared for.

You were terrified of losing it with Jay and consequently splattering on Jake and destabilizing the amazing, reliable relationship you just got in. That fear was precisely why you had been trying to act more reserved, more withdrawn. But Jay wasn’t making it easy for you – not even a little.

Not when he rolled his eyes in the childish way possible as he realized you and Jake were exchanging affection. Not when he was acting like an angry teenager that would prefer to ignore the problem instead of facing it.

And that was why after leaving the elevator and before you could stop yourself, you let go of Jake’s hand, seizing the moment now that you were somewhere more private. It was still just the hotel corridor, but at least it wasn’t out in public. You turned to Jay and blurted it out.

“Why the fuck are you so mad for?”

It was clear that Jay was taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t care less. The tension in the air was thick as everyone froze in their tracks. Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged confused glances, unsure of what to do next. Jay’s expression shifted from surprise to something darker as his eyes narrowed at you.

“Y/N, babe, wait–” Jake’s voice was soft, trying to calm you down, but the storm inside you was already raging. He moved to step closer, his hand hovering over your arm, but you pulled away, brushing him off.

“No,” you cut him off as sweetly as possible, raising a hand to stop him. You turned back to face your brother, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “So far, you’ve said whatever came to your mind, now it’s my turn.”

Your voice dropped to a dangerous low, thick with underlying fury, no one daring to say a word.

“I really don’t get why you’re so mad about me being happy. You always talked about how much you wanted me to find the happiness I deserve, but now that I have it, you act like a damn child!”

Jay’s features sharpened as he clenched his jaw, eyes piercing through you. However, he kept his tone calm, he didn’t raise his voice, never. Not at you.

“Jake is not the happiness you deserve.”

“Woah, hold on…” Jake tilted his head, visibly stunned by Jay’s attack. He looked between you and Jay, trying to process the sudden shift in the conversation. His brows furrowed in confusion, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Why are you saying this?”

You tried to ignore Jake for a while, really tried. But it was extremely difficult as you took notice of his hurted tone, which triggered even harder your ongoing feelings.

“How the hell do you know that? How can you even say that if you’re not the one in a relationship with him?” Your voice was louder now, sharp, and you felt the heat rise in your chest. Your eyes burned, threatening to spill over with tears, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet.

Jay hesitated for a second, his eyes shifting as if measuring his words carefully, but the frustration in his eyes was evident. He took a deep breath before continuing, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“I know Jake. I’ve known him long enough to know he could just… leave you.” The words were like a knife, and you flinched.

“I would never–” Jake immediately protested, stepping forward once again, but Jay ignored him, continuing.

“And I don’t want to see my sister get her heart broken by my best friend,” Jay’s voice cracked slightly at the last part, as if he himself didn’t want to believe the possibility, but the fear still lingered in his words.

“Jay–” You started just for him to cut you off, the urgency in his voice building.

“Did you ever even think about my feelings in all of this before it happened?” His eyes were wide now, almost pleading. “No, you didn’t. And now you’re dragging me into something I never asked for.”

“No–” you shot back, voice rising, but before you could say more, Jay’s words came thickly again.

“Did you ever stop to think about what I’d have to deal with the outcome of this shit? To lose my best friend and see my sister broken because of some stupid choice.”

His hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tense. The more he spoke, the more his control slipped, and you could see the anger building in him, mixed with a deep sense of hurt.

You took a deep breath, like a gasp, holding it in for a moment, before speaking slowly, your voice softening just a little. You were finally walking beside Jay’s line of thought. So that was the reason?

“And why would that be the only possible outcome? Why do you doubt Jake so much?” You paused, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “He’s sweet. Always so, so sweet and gentle. He cares for me. He loves me, and I love him too.”

As you spoke about Jake, the walls around you lowered just enough to let the raw honesty out. You felt his presence close at your back, his hands resting on your waist lovingly, managing to somewhat anchor you – your heart fluttered, your nerves soothing ever so slightly.

For a split second, you saw Jay’s expression falter. He wasn’t ready for your vulnerability nor your genuine feelings to come out. You could see it in his eyes – the battle between his protectiveness and the fleeting need to understand your and your point of view.

“I did think about you when I accepted Jake’s dating proposal,” you continued, voice growing quieter, but firm. “And I was scared you’d react exactly like this.”

Jay’s mouth opened as if he was going to argue, but the words died on his tongue. For the first time, you saw him hesitate, truly unsure of what to say next.

His eyes flickered towards Jake, who held an expectant, yet determined expression. He knew Jake wasn’t going to give up so easily, and it was impossible not to see you actually liked, loved each other. WJake positioned himself behind you, close, protective, and somehow loosed Jay’s demeanor, the weight on his shoulders dropping, maybe for realizing his best friend could give you the protection and the love you deserved – the one he was in charge of until now.

Jay struggled to gulp down his stubbornness; it was his most characteristic feature. However, on the other side of the argument was you, the little sister – now a woman – he cared for and would move mountains for if necessary.

Would Jake be able to do the same?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, quiet, eyes lowering to the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he sighed, feeling his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

You couldn’t hold back your surprised face, not when you expected the conversation to unfold in many possibilities where you would gladly, relentlessly counter each and every argument until you overtired him with your own stubbornness.

“I– I was stupid. I only thought about myself, and… I mean, you seemed so happy before I found out about you two. I guess that was… because of you, Jake.”

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks as you stepped closer to your brother, wrapping your arms around him in a warm, comforting hug. He didn’t hesitate to return it, pulling you firmly against his chest.

“I really care about you, kiddo,” he murmured softly into your hair, his voice tinged with both regret and affection.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, sniffing as you tried to compose yourself. “I know,” you replied, pulling back slightly to look at him. “And I’m glad you do. But now…”

Turning your head, you glanced at Jake over your shoulder – a genuine smile curved his plump lips, radiating relief and happiness. His eyes shone with pure joy, watching the two people he cherished most finally reconcile. For the first time in a while, he looked truly content and not laced with condren.

“I have him caring about me too.”

Jake took the moment to approach you both, intertwining his fingers with yours as you stepped away from your brother. He brought your hand to kiss the back of it sweetly before voicing out.

“I’ll make her really happy.”

“You better do,” Jay nodded, a small chuckle escaping him. “Just don't… screw this over, Jake. I'm serious,” the subtle change in his tone got you rolling your eyes playfully.

“I won't,” Jake promptly shot back.

“If you ever break her heart, I'll hunt you down to hell to kill you,” Jay added within a warning voice and Sunghoon, who had been silently observing the exchange, burst out laughing.

“I second that, by the way,” Heeseung chimed in with a smirk and shrugged.

“No need to worry. If I ever break her heart, I'll kill mys–”

“Shut up.” You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his waist and planting a soft kiss on his cheek, your smile not faltering a bit as the rush of euphoria started to run in your veins.

Jay groaned, shooting the two of you a disgusted look before rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the stress. It was clear he was struggling to get along with the bitter realization: his little sister, the one he had always felt an overwhelming need to protect, was now sharing intimate affection with his best friend – the very same best friend he knew far too much about, including his past escapades with commitment and… other things.

“And for the love of God,” Jay added with an exasperated sigh. “Do not… Do anything under my roof.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake quipped with a grin, earning another groan from Jay.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter, contentment filling your heart in the most endearing way. Things have been settled in the best way possible.

"Now that we have a room to ourselves…" Jake murmured with a mischievous smirk, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer. His lips brushed against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "And you’ve aced your physics exam…" His breath was warm against your skin, teasing the back of your ear. “And everything is set fine again…”

"And my brother is not overreacting just because I’m sucking your dick…" You couldn’t help but say it out loud within a smirk, relieved.

Jake’s eyes widened in shock, then he gasped, his hands tightening around you to pull you even closer. He laughed.

"That’s... one way of saying it, yeah." He squinted playfully, a smirk still tugging at his lips, the same lips that now pressed soft kisses on your sensitive skin, making you squirm a bit within an unfading smile dancing on your lips. You were really happy. "I’ll take it."

The following atmosphere was full of warmth and ease and for a moment you just stayed there, in the quiet calm of Jake’s arms, enjoying the simple reality of being together, just a quiet love that felt endless.

It took just a second for you to feel something poking you from behind. You hummed.

“Now I understand why you were so excited to get to our room, baby,” you purred, leaning back onto his chest and swinging your hips a little, just to friction Jake’s growing boner. His answer was immediate; a soft moan traveling its way to your ear.

“What?” He feigned innocence, pulling you closer and helping you to move your ass straight on his hardening, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Quit the act, pretty boy,” you scoffed playfully as you tilted your head back to meet his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You're not fooling anyone.”

You met Jake with hooded eyes that locked with your lips for a while before going back up to glaze your orbs, his tempting tongue wetting those beautiful lips you loved to kiss and feel on your skin before he turned you to fully face him, his hands on your hips firm, steady as he pushed you slightly behind until you felt the back of your knees meeting the soft end of the bed.

In any moment you broke eye contact, nor words were being said while the atmosphere shifted under the soothing realization you could be completely free – with your noises, with your needs, with your relationship.

You smiled, pulling Jake by his shirt so he could fall on the mattress with you; his lips searched for yours immediately, crashing together into a delightful dance of tongues and mouths, starving each other with a longing of years. You would never get enough of your boyfriend and it felt so good to know the feeling was mutual.

His hands wandered to where you craved his touch most; Jake had become an expert at reading your body, knowing exactly what made you shiver with delight, what brought you to that edge of the pleasant bliss you loved navigating together. But there was a specific subject unspokenly lingering in the air that made him try to move back and bring it to words.

“You promised me something,” Jake mumbled against your mouth, but you didn’t give much care as you moved further up on the bed, your hands clutching on his neck to pull him with you, lips never parting. “Babe, your pussy–”

You smirked and teasingly shut him up with another torrid kiss, sucking and biting his bottom lip, eliciting a groan that made your cunt pulse and clench around nothing. The grip on your hips tightened and Jake finally parted the kiss, panting a little, his eyes gleaming with lust.

“Babe, you promised,” Jake protested with a whining voice and you couldn’t hold back your laughter, your eyes loaded with love, affection and burning desire drinking from his already messy features.

Jake’s hair was disheveled, a courtesy of your hands that would always tangle it, tugging and playing not only due to its silkiness, but mostly because Jake would moan beautifully into your mouth whenever you pulled a bit stronger, sending jolts of ecstasy through you.

He had a sweet voice, and his noises sounded even sweeter; as crazy as it sounds, sometimes you wished to sip Jake until he was empty.

“You’re so cute when you’re asking for my pussy, baby. How do you manage to do that?”

Jake leaned into the touch of your hand cupping his face gently, caressing his reddened and parted lips. His cheeks had a faint flush, half-opened eyes showering you with expectation, dilated pupils pleading, flickering slowly through your face.

“Please, I really need it,” Jake sounded urgent, his breath hitching as he pressed you on the bed with his body weight.

He was quick to dodge your attempt to kiss him again, taunting the wicked game you were building. His tongue traced the curve of your neck, and his lips followed with deliberate, tantalizing kisses – a striking contrast to his current raw desperate state. “Please…” he murmured, the plea thick with longing.

He was trying to nudge you out of your deviousness using your weakness, however, he wasn’t faking at all. Jake was genuinely desperate. “Oh? So it’s a need now? Not just a want?” You teased, your voice dripping with mischief as your eyes fluttered closed.

A sigh followed by a moan escaped you, your body instinctively arching forward as a wave of contentment rippled through your core. Yet Jake kept you firmly in place, pressing you into the mattress with precision, his grip restraining your movements just enough to leave you yearning for more.

“I need and I want, please…” He whispered against your earlobe before nibbling it; you felt his hand sneaking into your shirt nearly at the same time, his fingertips softly brushing your side, making you contract your stomach and try to squirm, but again, Jake was holding you strongly against the bed. “Mhm? Please?” He begged once more within a small, weak breath.

Being so close to your boyfriend always made you thrilled and also loosened. He presented you with the possibility of being yourself freely, a safe haven you didn’t know you needed. The trust you had with Jake was beyond imagination, it was with your entire being among every possible nuance of the wording; there was something about how he managed to always spark an interest of an ongoing desire that fueled your will to keep him near, physically and emotionally.

So when he offered you the prettiest hooded eyes, glistening with the plea he showed through every pore of his, you couldn’t really control the thrum of your heartbeat echoing louder and louder in your eardrums, nor your breath catching in your throat as you felt yourself swoon under Jake’s intense and eager gaze, the need of something he never actually had a taste burning in those pretty two brown orbs.

Every inch of your skin tingled in anticipation, after all you admittedly – not out loud – longed to feel Jake’s head buried between your legs as much as him. Just with how he managed to kiss you, mouth and tongue working precisely, skilfully on yours had your toes curling, yearning to feel all of that on your cunt.

“Don’t go quiet on me,” Jake murmured with a pout, one that vanished in seconds as the corner of his lips curled into a smirk. “Not when I wanna hear you screaming my name,” he quietly softened the weight of his body onto yours, giving you the room to move. Your legs instinctively opened. Jake noticed. “Just give me the word, baby.”

Your eyes fluttered close when you felt Jake lowering his kisses to your clavicle and so on, a moan slipping out of your mouth when he twirled his tongue on your hardened still covered nipple, sucking and motioning something you were sure he would be doing in your clit in a few. You just needed to… Allow it.

“Give me the word and I’ll make you feel so good…” He whispered. Once more, you felt yourself pulsing, your panties with a pool of arousal at that point. “Mhm? Please? You deserve to feel good, baby.”

He glanced up at you, giving you more of what you would experience after you said yes; the eyes looking up, the mouth deliberately and masterfully doing its job of pleasuring you, the hands holding you still.

Your whole body ignited with fervent flames, bursting with desire and an anxious longing to feel everything Jake had silently promised you until that moment. Driven by the maddening need to have him, you finally spoke, with a voice you couldn’t quite properly find as you lost yourself in your imagination.

“Yes, Jake. You can eat me out.”

Jake let out a small groan of contentment, his smile wide and radiant as he positioned himself in between your parted legs and began to remove your jeans with your help.

“That’s how I like it,” he murmured, biting his lip to hold back the surge of excitement and impatience building inside him. But the hunger to taste your pussy of you had been building for far too long to slow down now. “Good girl.”

There was no doubt Jake would make you feel good, nevertheless you found yourself unable to untense completely under the hot touches he was leaving in your skin as he undressed your bottoms; you felt awkward, especially because it was the official first time Jake was seeing you in such a position. He had fingered you and fucked you countless times, but it was the first time his face got that close to your cunt and you started to worry. To disappoint him after you had so carefully nurtured his hopes with that fleeting promise seemed unbearable.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands grabbing the sheets underneath you as you breathed heavy. Jake noticed your change of demeanor right away and soothed your skin kindly with his palms.

“Relax, my love. Why are you so tense, mhm?” The question was followed by a tender kiss on your knee and a gentle caress on your other leg. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know, honestly,” you chuckled nervously, avoiding your boyfriend’s eyes that were trying to read your anxious expression. You were being serious about your lack of knowledge of what exactly triggered your sudden reaction. “I’m afraid of disappointing you, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Jake was quick to shoot back, a sigh of admiration slipping from his plush lips for finally seeing your cunt revealed before his hungry eyes. Beautiful, he could feel his mouth watering. “You can’t disappoint me, sweet girl.”

“What if I cum too fast?” You asked without giving time to Jake to answer, and he skeptically quirked a brow at you. Did he hear it right? “What if I taste bad? What if you don’t like the feel of it? Or the look of it? What if my smell isn’t that good? What if–”

You fell silent as you felt Jake’s warm muscle licking your folds, the heat of his touch sending shivers through your heated body, legs trying to close instinctively and your eyes growing wide as you realized he just… Went for it. And he was good.

Just after the long lick, Jake sucked your clit and groaned, as if the pleasure was his, not only yours. He didn’t part the connection, though, continuing to play with your clit and your pussy in random patterns using his tongue and lips, as if he was studying which one you enjoyed the most by the way your moans sounded.

“J–Jak–Mhm…” A soft murmur mingled with a whimper interrupted whatever you were about to say – and you couldn’t even remember as you drifted your gaze down to catch the sight of Jake’s furrowed brows, deep in concentration and desire as he lost himself in you.

You brushed away the hair sticking on his lightly sweaty forehead, watching how delighted he seemed to be eating you out; you heard the lewd sounds of slurping and soft smacks imitating a kiss and you deduced he was simply making out with your pussy.

As regular as it was, your fingers tangled into his brown locks, this time urging him closer, pulling him down to you as the longing for more consumed your chest.

Jake was drunk – and loving each second. Mind blurry, only your pussy and the sweet scent and taste of it occupying the haze inside his brain as he got motivated by the pretty noises you allowed to escape your lips.

He dived into you with fervor, with love. God, he dreamed for too long to waste time with foreplays or whatever, especially when you were that wet already. He could die in between your legs and he would thank you for that.

The way your breath hitched when he went a bit further and tested to poke your pulsing hole with the tip of his tongue got his eyes glancing up to catch your contorted expression, mouth agape, head throwing back into the pillow. He moaned when you rolled your hips forward, rubbing your pussy on his face just how he wanted to.

“You’re so fucking good,” you managed to breathe out, your voice shaking between delicate moans.

Jake’s tongue lapped over and over your now dripping pussy, drinking from your juice as if it was his favorite. After cautious inspection, he understood what made you clench shamelessly and was now openly making out with your clit, even so often tongue fucking you within an impressive skill; he also positioned both your legs on his shoulder as way to ease his and your comfort.

The way your body squirmed under his firm grip on your thighs was a feeling Jake wished never to forget, especially how you unconsciously tried to press your legs together, as if it could shield you from the intensity of his touch, though you knew deep down it was futile.

Jake was addicted to every aspect about you. If he allowed himself a moment of reflection, he might feel a flicker of embarrassment over just how intensely you got him wrapped around your finger.

Your smiles, paired with your playful banter, sent a whirlwind of emotions through his chest, a constant reminder of how effortlessly you matched his provocations with your own sharp wit. Your determination, laced with a stubborn edge, stirred a deep sense of pride within him, filling his heart with admiration for your strength. And your body… it was a masterpiece in his eyes. Every curve, every line felt tailor-made for his hands, his touch, his need to hold you close and never let go.

And now you had permitted him to taste the part he cherished the most in terms of sex.

Jake didn’t care about how cringe, loser-like or shameful could sound to others, but eating girls out was everything he needed to feel fulfilled when in bed, and now, if the said girl was you, his perfect girlfriend…

“I love you so much,” you heard Jake mumble against your cunt, the slurred words vibrating against your clit brought you back from the lustful fog your mind drew into only to send you back again, a journey you would gladly revisit again whenever possible.

The knot on your lower stomach tightening had your toes curling as you tugged Jake’s hair harder, eliciting a soft moan out of his mouth that got lost in between your wet arousal.

“Mhm, F–Fuck Jake– I’m–”

“Close?” He murmured, though he didn’t expect you to answer.

Jake was way lost into his own pleasure of satisfying you to think of anything other than your release coating his tongue, and he started to shamelessly, yet slowly rut his hip against the bed as your moans increased, your legs around his shoulder pressing tighter.

“I wan’ you to come all over my face and mouth, doll.”

The blend of his words and how he started to shake his head to rub the tip of his nose on your clit while lapping your clenching hole got you screaming his name, the waves of shock running through your body within trembles as you had your orgasm. Whimpers and cries would be everything filling the room if it wasn't from Jake slurping noises getting constant with him swallowing every single drop of your climax, driving you through your high.

His big hands held you steady as he finished the job of cleaning you with his tongue, your sensitive bundle of nerves getting brief brushes that got you squirming. Jake then placed a sweet kiss on your clit, diverging from the intensity of the touches seconds ago before he pulled away, leaving you breathless and shaky, but utterly satisfied, with a dumb smile gracing your lips.

Your hooded eyes blinked slowly, tiredly as you panted for air, your whole body relaxed as if you were on the clouds. However, you captured the view of Jake undressing himself even with your slightly blurred vision; his chin and his nose were glistening with his spit and your cum, and when you finally noticed the hardened bulge hidden behind his underwear, you gulped, feeling your body heating up again before that pretty, lascivious sight.

Opposite to what you thought, Jake propped himself near to you, out of the bed still, with a cute smile, endearingly watching you regaining your senses. You didn’t catch the flicker of mischief the puppy eyes showed briefly, though.

“Babe, how about we take a shower, mhm?,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. With a gentle stroke on your hair, he added. “I think we have a bathtub here, we can take a bath.”

A smirk danced on the corner of your lips as you sat with Jake’s help, your fingers tracing the shape of his covered dick. “But what about you, pretty boy?”

You watched Jake biting his lip, a habit you loved that made both your heart flutter and your cunt pulse. You were getting worked up again.

“We can take care of it there, can’t we?”

His gaze darkened out of the softness he was offering you when you nodded, pulling you to stand up and removing your shirt. Jake’s eyes lingered a bit longer on your now exposed breasts and you felt shy under the intensity of it, so you just leaned forward to cut the staring with a kiss.

The same kiss that had Jake holding you by the waist and you finding support on his shoulders. The same kiss that Jake used to quietly guide you towards the bathroom. The same kiss that left you breathless as you parted away with a content smile followed by a chuckle because Jake’s fingertips brushed your ribs in a teasing way.

“Oh, we have to fill it up, though…” You pouted when noticing that the said bathtub was completely empty.

Once again, you failed to realize Jake had a secret plan by the way his eyes twinkled with wicked intentions, especially because he positioned himself behind you.

“Babe…” His voice dropped an octave when he murmured against your ear, the feeling of his hot body pressing on your back together with his covered cock frictioning against your bare ass got your pussy starting to be wet again.

“Mhm?” You answered softly, hands covering Jake’s that were now on your boobs, softly massaging

“Do you trust me?”

The question was simple, the answer even simpler. And yet you found yourself hesitating, a flicker of uncertainty threatening to spark – a fleeting fear of what might unfold. But then, you remembered: it was Jake. Your Jake. The man who had dived headfirst into all your wildest adventures without hesitation, who would never dream of hurting you.

The man of your life.

“Of course I do.”

“Good,” he chuckled softly, a hint of mischief lighting his gaze as he pulled away from the warmth of your embrace, only to strip off the last piece of clothing separating him from you.

You turned on your heels, confused, aiming to ask what the hell was going on, but your eyes dropped to Jake’s big, stiff cock, the tip reddened, glistening with leaking precum in a way that got your knees weak.

“You’re hard,” you breathed out, pointing out the obvious and feeling your body working on automatic as you approached with your hands already moving further closer his length. “And hot. I’d suck you off–”

Jake shushed you with a quick peck, his lips being graced by a small smile. “Shh, come with me.”

He approached the bathtub, opening the water register to fill just the bottom of it before he settled on one of the ends and tapped his lap, urging you to join him.

“Oh?” You tilted your head to the side, a grin growing on your lips as you made your way to your boyfriend, doing as he instructed you so. “What are we doing?”

Your curiosity was driving you wild, yet there was something thrilling in the way Jake sometimes took control of the situation, keeping details scarce and letting slowly you discover things as they got revealed.

Sharing moments with Jake was a treasured part of your life, and you longed to create more special and unique memories with the one you had vowed to love for a lifetime – through every shade and possibilities.

So when he placed you on his lap, facing forward, something similar to as if you were about to ride him, you did nothing to control the excitement fluttering in your chest. Before you said any other word, Jake’s cheeks flustered with a cute tone of crimson and you furrowed your brows, a confused-amused chuckle escaping your lips because you literally had no idea of what was going on.

“Please, ignore what I’m gonna say, because it’s a fucking turn off…” Jake said with a small voice, his whole face contorted into an embarrassed expression as he tightened the grip on your hips.

“Okay…” As unsure as you sounded, still you held your expectations high. The worst that would happen was Jake making you laugh with his goofy ideas and jokes.

“You know that we calculate the velocity of some things in physics, right? Like fluids, and stuff…” You nodded along, not really getting the line of thought, but still allowing him to finish. “I was wondering… Mhm–” He cleared his throat, eyes avoiding yours precisely. You were already giggling, hands caressing his nape.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to calculate the velocity of your squirt on my dick?”

Though Jake immediately reacted by breaking into a shy laughter and hiding himself cringing on the crook of your neck, you, on the other hand, had to stifle the shocking scoff that caught in your throat upon hearing his filthy, straightforward request, your expression shifting from teasing humored to stunned disbelief. And you felt your pussy clenching right after, because Jake had that fucking effect on you, no matter what.

“I won’t lie… I was so ready to laugh,” you admitted, voice soft and edged with a dryness that had you swallowing hard, trying to hold the thrill bubbling low in your core.

Your hips rolled ever so slightly, a teasing motion that grazed against Jake’s aching hardness, drawing a guttural groan from him. Your hand held the back of his head, caressing his hair, while the other wandered over his biceps.

“But, damn, I’m so turned on right now.”

“Thank God you’re perfect.”

It was the last thing Jake said in between a relieved giggle before kissing your neck and skillfuly maneuvering your body with your help so his aching cock could finally meet the warm embrace of your walls.

A shaky shared moan echoed through the hollow bathroom walls, your head falling back, your lips parted with a small delighted smile adorning it. Jake bit your neck to muffle his following groan when he finally got himself completely inside of you; he had been hard for so long, ever since he started to think about getting lost in the taste of your pussy, craving some sexual release that only your cunt embracing his length would give him.

“So fucking tight–” He whispered against the slightly bruised skin of your neck, voice cracking at the end when you rolled your hips in a silent plea.

Without a moment of hesitation, Jake lifted you effortlessly by your hips, only to pull you back down with a steady force, guiding you with a rhythmic precision. Your arms instinctively draped over his shoulders, providing the support you needed to move with him, as you both found your pace.

“Kiss–” you breathed, a soft whimper escaping your lips, just as Jake hit a spot that made you tremble. “Kiss me, Jakey–”

As a natural command, Jake drifted his lips towards yours, his tongue licked your bottom one before sucking it and diving into a passionate, messy kiss, the movements never halting as you drowned into the pool of arousal and lust your boyfriend provided; you could feel Jake everywhere and it was amazing.

He pounded into your g-spot with ease, eliciting the loudest noises from the back of your throat, shamelessly. His hands roamed your ass to squeeze it while guiding your body up and down, the mild slapping sounds ringing in his ears like a beautiful melody.

“You make me go insane,” Jake whispered, his eyes fluttering close as the euphoria of feeling you that close drifted his senses into an overwhelming experience.

He felt a faint grin appearing on your lips before you shot back. “And– And do you like it?”

Jake chuckled lightly, a lingering smile following his answer. “I love it.”

Since you had one orgasm already, you felt your next one coming faster than expected, so when you started to involuntarily clench more, together with your whimpers of Jake’s name and curses amplified louder, Jake took a close notice to start rubbing circles on your clit with one hand, wishing you could keep on holding the position practically by yourself for a bit longer – he wanted you to do a bit more than cumming, after all.

“Close… ‘M close–” You whined, body jolting forward and your head falling back once more, the grip from your arms on Jake’s shoulders tightening as you partially hugged him.

Jake drank in the sight of you rolling your eyes close and your hips uncontrollably grinding and bouncing and doing whatever would make you achieve your climax – so fucking beautiful. It made his dick throb in despair for the same release, but he wanted so bad to feel you squirting on him. So he gathered strength from the depths of his self-control not to cum, even after you creamed his shaft with your warm liquid. Even after your squeeze grew unbearably good.

“Fuck, babe…”

“Jak– Jake– Sensitive,” you whispered when Jake didn’t stop drawing circles on your clit, momentarily forgetting he had a different plan as you struggled to squirm away. “Jake, mhm–”

Jake shook his head as if telling you no, maintaining his dick buried deep into you as he focused solely on your swollen bundle of nerves. If you paid enough attention you would feel his mischievous smile creeping on the corner of his lips grazing on your cheek.

With your eyes fluttering open to try and look at your boyfriend, the overestimation teetered the edge of madness; overwhelming at it most, you whined pleas of despair for Jake to stop, though you didn’t actually want him to.

Jake groaned when your nails scratched his back, your whole body trembling, shaking to escape the painful, yet delicious feeling of Jake driving you faster towards an inexperienced field for you.

You never actually squirted, but as soon as you reminded yourself that it was Jake's desire, you wished to give it to him as much as you wanted for yourself. Pleasuring Jake would always pleasure you as well.

“It’s gonna feel so good, doll,” Jake cooed, holding you closer, keeping you steady. “Hang in there, just a little, yeah?”

“Can’t–” You shook your head, feeling a weird feeling creeping inside you. “Can’t Jakey–”

“Yes you can,” his voice was low, soft even, though breathless. Jake was trying his best to navigate you precisely to where he wanted you to arrive. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mhm– Fuck, Jake–” You screamed his name. “Yes, ’m yours. All yours.”

The excruciating pressure on your core felt like a glazing fire, scorching every inch of you as if it were igniting something deep inside, something new, strange. It was a fiery ache, relentless and consuming, making it almost impossible to think of anything but the heat that pulsed through you, demanding attention. The sensation grew more intense with every movement, every touch, every deliberate open-mouth kiss Jake deposited on your neck. You couldn’t decide if you wanted it to stop or if you wanted it to go on forever.

“It’s burning– Jake–” You sounded urgent, not exactly knowing why.

“Let it go, doll,” Jake murmured on your earlobe. “For me, yeah?”

And so you did, moaning, exclaiming Jake’s name like a mantra, like he was the only thing carved into your soul, the only thing crossing your mind. You felt like Jake entered you completely as a flush of fluids squirted from your pulsing, abused cunt.

At the same time, Jake had his own body trembling, his abs tensing as he came undone; not even a movement, not even a roll of hips, just the indescribable feeling of your juices flowing freely down his length and your walls clenching got him filling you to the brim with his release.

A wave of soft moans slipped from your lips, each one rising like a gentle hiss. Your mind was blank. Your body, numb. You felt everything and nothing at the same time. At some point you questioned if you had died – and if you did, it would be an amazing death.

But then Jake’s honeyed, broken voice brought you back from your trance.

“I’m still coming,” and he so fucking was; it was a different feeling from the other times, if you forced yourself to think coherently, you would realize Jake had never come that hard.

“I’m weird,” you mumbled, body softening against your boyfriend’s strong grip. He held you steady in his arms, supporting you with care. “Can’t feel my legs… Or my body…”

You heard Jake laughing a little in between pants, his noises sounding distant while your eyes began to slowly close, your body relaxing into that blur of tiredness that took over in seconds.

“I’ve got you, my love.” Jake kissed your cheek. “You did amazing. Thank you.”

With tender touches and gentle caresses, Jake cleaned both of you, making sure you were comfortable and not getting any type of extra stimulation as he did so. Through soft murmurs of reassuring words, he praised your work and thanked you for allowing him to pleasure you. As he always did.

Jake loved you with genuine affection. It never felt forced, nor did it ever seem like something he had to prove. It was simply there, effortless, constant, and profound. His love lived in the smallest gestures and the proudest compliments he would gush about, and you couldn’t feel more grateful for living in a relationship where the caring was mutual, because you cherished Jake just as much.

You were finally at peace, in a comfortable relationship with Jake, knowing there would be no more lies between you and your brother. It was soothing to be able to sink into the warm embrace of your boyfriend without worrying about interruptions, or how quickly you would have to throw on clothes and present yourself as presentable as possible, hiding the remnants of your burning passion behind fake smiles and lame excuses.

Jake had a scent of home, of love. And it felt so, so good to love him without restraint, to kiss him without fear, to feel a sense of completeness as he fit perfectly in a special place in your chest.

“Y’know, I was just thinking…”

Jake’s voice filled the quietness of the room. He had put you in a comfortable set of clothes and laid on the bed with you, your body curled cozily against his chest, his soft heartbeats soothing your senses.

“We complement each other pretty well.”

“How so?”

Your ask came as silent as his. Jake caught himself thinking deeply, snuggling you closer as he did so.

“Mhm… I lean towards physics and you’re into art,” you nodded along, casually drawing random shapes on his bare torso.

The softness of his tone vibrated through his chest like a sweet lullaby. You sighed.

“I feel like you’re more rational than I am… You’re always so, so determined and adorably stubborn until you get what you want… And I’m kinda lazy, not gonna lie.”

“That’s true,” you smirked, raising your head briefly just to shoot a teasing glance. Jake chuckled, rolling his eyes before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you nestled back against him.

“We always find a way to please each other, in every sense,” he continued and you couldn’t help the warm flushing from your neck to your face, shyly shifting to hide yourself on his neck. Jake giggled, caressing your back. “And I always feel complete when I’m with you.”

Pulling back slightly, you searched those two mesmerizing eyes, brimming with tenderness and care. With love. Jake was a beautiful masterpiece, worthy of endless admiration you would willingly give, because you loved him just as much.

“I agree,” you whispered, caressing his cheek. “We’re like pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly.”

“Exactly,” Jake breathed out, his eyes fluttering closed as tranquility washed over him after you pressed a tender kiss on his lips just to get cozy again against his torso. “We’re complementary, babe.”

BONUS SCENE

"Well, well… If it isn’t the cutest couple..." Sunghoon greeted you both with a teasing tone as you approached the table.

The weekend trip was nearing its end, and that was the last meal the five of you would share at the hotel. It was a simple yet cozy dinner, the kind that felt more meaningful because of the company. A table set with exactly five seats, ready to accommodate all of you.

Jake responded to Sunghoon’s comment with a playful smack to the back of his neck before you both took your seats; Heeseung settled on your right, Sunghoon next to Jake, and Jay directly across from you.

“The cutest and the freakiest, too. Jesus Christ.” Heeseung muttered just loud enough for you and Jake to hear. Instinctively, your eyes darted up to catch the displeased scowl on your brother’s face. “Please, never put me next to their room again.”

“The choice was either you or Jay, so…” Sunghoon shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, though it didn’t stop Heeseung from glaring at him.

“And you weren’t an option?”

“Of course not. My trip, my rules. You should be grateful I even got you a solo room.”

“Oh, right, because between hearing Y/N scream Jake’s name and–”

“For God’s sake, dude,” Jake interrupted immediately, his voice sharp but laced with embarrassment.

Your cheeks burned fiercely as you sank into your chair, crawling Jake’s arm as if your life depended on it, trying desperately to avoid looking at Jay – or anyone else. But from the corner of your eye, you caught him massaging his temples with one hand, the other lifting his glass of wine to his lips as if he needed a moment away from the conversation.

“Am I wrong, though?” Heeseung arched an eyebrow and looked directly at you, who were now sipping your drink, still curled against Jake who held you by your shoulder. “I bet you were having a good time in the bathroom.”

Jake couldn’t suppress the sudden snort of laughter that escaped him when seeing you and Jay choking, each with your own drinks, together. On the other hand, Sunghoon shamelessly burst into a loud, noisy laugh, clapping his hands and throwing his head back as if it was the funniest thing he had ever witnessed.

“Oh, man, this is gold,” he managed to say, eyes flickering in between your mortified expression and Jay’s mad grimace.

You coughed into your napkin, one that Jake handed to you gently, holding back his own wanting to laugh at it too, your cheeks blazing hot.

“Heeseung, I swear to God, if you–”

“Relax, Y/N. I won’t tell about how hard–”

“Ok. Shut up, dude,” Jake interrupted sharply again, though his voice carried a mix of amusement and shyness. He gave you a reassuring squeeze, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm, anchoring you away from their teasing.

Jay, however, wasn’t laughing. Not at all. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his expression tense as he shot Heeseung a glare that could cut through steel.

“Some of us don’t need a visualization of whatever happened in that room. Thank you.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, which shone with amusement, matching perfectly with his playful grin.

“Come on, Jay. It’s all in good fun,” Heeseung replied, waving off the tension with a careless flick of his hand. “We all know they’re just very passionate. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, God.” You groaned, burying our face in your hands, feeling Jake giggling by the way his body trembled against yours. “I hate all of you. So much.”

The mortification flooded your senses, an urge to run away from their playful banter because you didn’t know where else to hide. However, the same subject being treated with jokes and laughter eased your fear of Jay turning back on his decision of supporting you and Jake.

“Even me?” Your boyfriend asked, kindly grabbing your chin to lean your head upwards to face him. He had a feigned pouty expression, one that elicited a giggle from you right away.

You shook your head. “No, baby, never you.”

And just at the moment your lips touched Jake’s into a sweet gesture, you heard your brother’s voice.

“Am I that ass of a brother to deserve this level of pain and torture?” Jay muttered, his voice dripping with exaggerated exasperation.

You and Jake giggled in between the kiss, parting ways as you bit your lip and shot a fake annoyed glance at Jay – comfort now settling your nerves, as you noticed he was trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Maybe?” You teased, your tone playful as you tilted your head. Jay rolled his eyes, but the small smile dancing on his lips didn’t deny he was starting to accept your relationship.

“Whatever, kiddo.”

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse, @taeminsboogers, @4wkjun, @wiccangirl29, @guapgoddees, @manuosorioh, @zkg2318, @m3wkledreamy, @jakeswifeyyy, @love4hee, @missychief1404, @thlrstae, @jaems-left-toe

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#jake x reader #sim jake x reader #jake sim x reader #jake smut #jake fanfic #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #heegyukeluv works

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astraystayreblogs · 2 years ago

Text

MY GOOOOOD I REACHED TAG LIMIT BUT I CAN'T COPE

the whole breakup, it's perfect, very sad AND MY HEART HURTS but it's so in accord to her character, like it would be foolish to expect another outcome, your reasoning for the twin flames and it being too intense, too scary to face a mirror of yourself with the good, ugly and bad IS SO RIGHT and well thought. they both love each other, but they're scared of what revealing themselves would entail- having to face their own shortcomings and take their own advice. chan is so self-giving because he feels as if he has to, or else she'd leave AND THAT THOUGHT HURTS, and her feeling as if she's taking too much from chan and not wanting history to repeat itself, like, you've created such deeply well thought characters with so many layers that show through brilliantly in their actions and words. i hope you're proud of yourself because you're a phenomenal writer.

and the phone convo with Iseul, how everything came crashing down, HOW SHE NOW FEELS COLD AFTER LEAVING CHAN'S APARTMENT AND NOT COMING BACK I WILL CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP

and then Chan's breakdown just really twisted the knife inside me,,, the good boy bit, the way he sobbed i am unwell. and Minho!!!! he was just trying to protect Chan because he knows firsthand the consequences of what his ex did to him, but he doesn't realize that he just further cemented the ugly ideas yn has of herself. the way everything crashed down was so perfectly written, just THIS IS PHENOMENAL WRITING I'm kissing your brain rn

I CAN'T WAIT FOR BB5 MY BELOVED I HOPE SHE'LL FIX MY HEART CAUSE YOU SHATTERED IT, BUT BEAUTIFULLY SO.

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?”

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree.

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself.

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me.

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths.

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had.

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with.

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some.

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own.

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve.

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground.

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. As if it was transactional, as if you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside.

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s…

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit.

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway.

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else.

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming.

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group.

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words.

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer.

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating.

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?”

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity.

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully.

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on.

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time.

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way.

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him.

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted.

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly.

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all.

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake.

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app.

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not.

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy.

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway.

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once.

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did.

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?”

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes? The sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration? That was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained.

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years.

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too!” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you.

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first.

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out.

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care.

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit.

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to finish all that work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did.

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.”

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?”

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now.

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear.

“Do you—”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence.

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?”

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form.

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole.

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this.

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest.

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really.

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail.

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker.

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse.

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest.

“Uh, yeah,” you lied.

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward.

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this.

“I’m stressed so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable.

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right,” you said bitterly. “That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Don’t lie to me and say you wanna help me then!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you. Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty.

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days.

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness.

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure.

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“Of course.”

A deep breath.

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night.

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much.

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

“Oh.”

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I never thought of you as the type of person who’d need that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.”

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone.

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset.

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips.

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in.

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury.

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of hot tears down his cheeks. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears.

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.”

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along his back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

#HE'S ASKING BECAUSE SHE'S HIS TWIN FLAME RIGHT I WILL THROW UP #I'm reading and writing the tags i need you to know what goes through my mind btw #IT ISSSS STOP WHAT IF I CRY 👹👹👹👹👹 “you see right through me” that's such a sweet thing #knowing how chan had a partner who took advantage of him #to reach that level of vulnerability once again WHAT IF I CRY THIS COUPLE IS MY BABY'#HOW DO YOU WRITE SO WELL I'M IN AWE AT YOU #MY POOOR BABY CHAN STOP IT YOU'RE WORTH EVERYTHING #THE FINGERS FLEXING STOP IT you'll pay for my therapy #the way he flexed his hand when they shook it SO LONG AGO HE STILL DOES IT #you write so well i sound like a broken record but you do i hope you know it #nooo :((( the feeling like being for him is transactional stop I LOVE HIM I WILL CRY he deserves the world they both do #“the fear of being known #the comfort of being understood“#so beautifully written #MINHO OMG AGAIN #the little details my god #knowing her shoe size TO BE KNOWN IS TO BE LOVED #“it's you” STOPSJJDJXBD he feels more vulnerable in front of her than a crowd of people BECAUSE JER OPINION IS WHAT MATTERS #MINHO STOP THIS MADNESS HE'S TAKING THINGS OUT OF CONTEXT #changbin best friend ily i need you in my life #“the view of him from your eyes...#that was one thing he'd never truly comprehend“ AHSJJDJD i feel like this is chan's essence in a paragraph #he doesn't know how perfect he is and you described it perfectly #no don't say bad omen because now something bad will happen right #“so that your loose seams weren't visible” AJSJBD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #STOP WHY DO I FEEL SMTG BAD IS HAPPENING #she's talking about the warmth she felt in april what if she leaves the apartment cold #not him shrinking at the word “fail” i am so sad #OH LY GOD THIS CONFRONTATION #stop why would he think that MY HEART HURTS WHY WOULD U DO THIS TO ME

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