#one where I actually write rather than just reblog

[aspenlovesgrimm]

Lol, sorry I reblogged using the wrong account. My bad.

Anyway, yeah I had genuinely completely forgotten about that. That being said, I do still think Zerstörer is in some way connected to biests, although I can’t say for certain what that connection is as the only thing we really have to go on is his design and abilities from his very breif appearances.

My own personal headcanon on the matter is that grimms did keep better track of their history, however after the 7 knights betrayed the Royal Houses and as more grimms were killed either in failed hunts or by Reapers, a lot of it was lost. To protect their kind they may have even purposefully not written it down or maybe even specific grimms were tasked to keep the history so it wasn’t lost forever. I think the Kesler family may have not written down their family history intentionally due to their connection to one of the grimm knights who turned. I also believe in a similar way to how Hexenbiests try their best to keep the fact grimm blood destroys their powers, grimms may do the same thing to keep their reputation and to keep the details on how they work hidden for protection.

It’s implied most grimms are travel a lot and tend to stay away from other grimms (although I think family groups either stick together or will ask each other to aid on hunts rather than grimms outside their family). They do seem to work with other grimms where they need too though, so I think most grimms aren’t hostile with each other, they just don’t want to step on each other’s toes.

I have done a post before on how weird Biests are. They never clarify the difference outside of gender (which also makes me question what happens when a Biest is trans lol), and it’s so annoying. It’s the same as it’s impossible to figure out if the Royals are actually human or not, as they are sort of implied to not be, but they’re clearly not wesen and I’m 99% certain they’re not grimms so they’re just this other thing which never gets explained.

I understand why Grimm kept a lot of things vague, but when you watch the behind the scenes stuff you find out they didn’t even have a plan on what the grimm knights hid until they got to that point in the story, which personally as a writer I think is a bad idea. For tv reasons, I get you have to be careful with how much you do as you don’t know how many episodes you’ll have left, however when you set something up from ep 1, you should have that figured out beforehand, or at least when you’re doing s1 after you’ve figured out what you’re doing with the show a bit more. The same thing goes for if you’re going to have the destinction between a Hexenbiest and a Zauberbiest, all it takes is 1 line to clarify what that difference is, and never explaining it is just frustrating for fans.

I worldbuild for fun so I kinda have the opposite problem to Grimm where I make all the little details I’ll never have an excuse to write about, but that’s also because I write novels, not tv shows. In a screenwriting context, you have less words and more limitations on time, so everything you do write has to be important either to the plot (overarching or episode), characters or worldbuilding, and all of these things are very important to each other too. I will die on the hill that Grimm, while still being a very good show and one I adore, needed a better plan going in. I’m not saying they needed to stick with it as again, not knowing how long your show will go on for makes writing really hard, but you at least make a plan to get you on the right path. It’s super obvious with characters like Adalind and Juliette that they had no plans for them really, which leads to some of the worst moments in the show as they decide where they want a character to end up, but a lack of planning means it wasn’t set up or is set up poorly.

Sorry about that rant at the end there lol. Sorry if any of this is confusing, I’m finishing this post off whilst very tired.

So what are everyone's theories on the origin of grimms? We have very little backstory/lore on grimms themselves. Are they simply human with some extras, evolution's answer to the predatory wesen species? Were they created in some magical way? Perhaps by humans seeking a way to fight back against enemies they couldn't recognize until they attacked? Or maybe by wesen who either wanted to give humans a sporting chance or maybe use them as tools against other wesen? Perhaps the royals wanted a group that could help keep the wesen under their thumbs? The grimms, of course, ultimately turned out not to make great pets and went off to do their own thing. Or grimms could be wesen that happen to be much more human-like and don't really woge (except for the involuntary eye thing when another wesen woges).

One possibility that makes a lot of sense to me is that they're a kind of off shoot of wesen. Monroe and Rosalee said that when a wesen and a human have children together, the odds are about 50/50 on the offspring being wesen. And it seems that some species, like hexen/zauberbiest, can have kids who are not all one or the other. So, there's gonna be some folks in the human population who are sort of wesen lite or don't manifest any wesen traits, but do have a wesen bloodline. I presume that any of these folks who marry a wesen will likely have better than 50/50 odds of having wesen kids. But what happens if a human with a wesen parent or grandparent marries another human who also has some wesen in their family tree? Maybe nothing a lot of the time, especially if they don't have similar species in their background. But what if you had maybe two or three generations of wesen bloodline humans? It makes sense to me that the kids would start to develop some not so human traits. That could easily turn into something like a grimm, which then develops into it's own thing. The stronger grimm families are ones who (mostly unknowingly) have more marriages with wesen bloodline humans.

There are probably a ton of different origin stories from various groups and cultures, with some similarities and many differences. If Aunt Marie's book collection is anything to go by, the grimm don't keep any information or lore on themselves. It's probably a topic of much debate in scholarly wesen circles.

So what are your thoughts and theories on the origin of grimms?

[optimisticlucio]

Growing up Jewish means that, among other things, you get used to a passive but everpresent dread that the rest of the world will eventually want to see you dead. Passover is about that one time the Egyptians enslaved all of the Jews, and despite trying to kill us, we survived. Purim is about that one time a Persian minister tried to have us all killed, but we survived. Hannukah is about the time the Greeks destroyed our holy sites and tried to have us all killed, but we survived. Tisha Be'Av. Holocaust Remembrance Day. Tzom Gedalia. It's gotten to a point where we commonly joke about how 90% of our holidays are just "they tried to kill us, they didn't, let's eat."

If it was merely historical, that'd be one thing, but this sort of fear is far from merely being a story passed down by your elders. My great grandma's entire family was burned alive in the Pogroms. My uncles were beat up for speaking up about antisemitism. My brother was bullied relentlessly in school for being circumcised. "Generational Trauma" is the correct term to define this, but I do think it's important to highlight how every generation re-experienced this trauma. Luckily, I haven't experienced this sort of violence yet beyond some dickheads online, but I don't believe this'll stay the case for much longer.

I want to be clear that despite this all, I'm not pessimistic about my future as a Jew or of the Jewish People as a whole; I'm a hopeless idealist, whether it's about individual life choices or about broader political change in general. We've made it this far, I don't think we'll be taken out that easily, and we can certainly build a better world without having to hide in a gilded cage of our own making. But holy shit, have I heard some concerning things from people recently.

Antisemitism is no longer the Cain's Mark it used to be. Saying this I now realize that it never was this sort of mark it was made out to be, but atleast while I was growing up, it felt like it was atleast socially unacceptable to be openly against the Jews. In the past few years I've had to come to terms with the fact that even if this was the case, it very much no longer is, and the past few months had this process exacerbate significantly.

You guys have heard about the Houthis, right? Paramilitary organization in Yemen, not the official government but controls enough of the country that they function as the government, been blocking trade through the Red Sea as of the time of posting? Those guys. Their logo has "A Curse Upon the Jews" written in big red letters. There is no other way to read that sentence, it is very explicit. Seeing people cheering for this group openly on social media made me somewhat uneasy, both for the... well, the antisemitism, and also that this group is infamous for its blatant human rights violations, including but not limited to bringing back chattel slavery. So, I brought this up to people.

I was expecting some sort of shock, right? Even if they fundamentally believe blocking the red sea is good, that they'd readjust their position on the group itself. "I think it's a cool thing to do, but wow what assholes." I shouldn't have to explain why antisemitic slave owners are bad guys, right?

Right??

The sheer amount of people who responded with one justification or another for why it's actually totally fine blew my fucking mind. "Oh, it's not actually slavery, they're treated very well." "Well, they don't really mean they hate the Jews." "It's just a different cultural form of labor!" "Well, when you have a country like Israel oppressing your people-"

Yeah I think I should probably address the elephant in the room real quick. Israel, and its fascist-adjacent government, has nothing of relevance when someone brings up the issue of worldwide antisemitism. Antisemitism has been thriving for years now. If you open a map Yemen is nowhere near Israel. There's certainly a conversation to have about Israel's abhorrent treatment of palestineans in the west bank and gaza, no doubt, but, frankly speaking, that's not the goddamn conversation we're having right now, and I feel the need to specify this because I've had multiple people derail such conversations consistently. If your first response to someone talking about antisemitism is to bring up Israel, for the love of god reexamine your biases.

Antisemitism has been growing, a lot, and we're scared. According to polls, 7% of the US thinks that the holocaust did not happen, with these numbers increasing to 20% if you sort the results to only the 18-29 age group and 9% of Americans think it's acceptable to hold neo-nazi views. Trust me, I wish these numbers were flukes, but I have seen these same numbers in multiple polls by numerous sources in the past 5 years.

7% of the US is about 23.2 million people.

There are only 16.2 million Jews in the entire world.

You, do not, have to justify antisemitism, I fucking promise you.

[atricksterproblem]

Trial By Fire

Link to AO3

Papa V Perpetua x Original Character (any gender)

Tags: ENM, EUM, CFNM, Embarrassment, Situational Humiliation, Teasing, Blushing, Love, Lust, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Collars, Safewords, Aftercare

Summary: V's partner has arranged a particularly challenging scene for him. Tonight he's been collared and taken to a house party full of strangers. He knows his partner's going to spring something on him, but as pre-arranged, he doesn't know precisely when or what.

When the time comes, he'll have to follow his exhibitionistic desires farther than he ever has before, and he may even learn something about himself in the process. Assuming he doesn't die of embarrassment first.

Headcanon Notes: Quick note on the headcanons used in this AU: V is half-demon. His demonic father belonged to House Lilith. Her House is devoted to the sin of lust. Terzo's demon-sire also came from this House, by the way, but Terzo's sire was an incubus. V's father was one of Lilith's enforcers (the guardians and assassins of Her court).

V was questioning his sanity. It was far from the first time he’d done so tonight.

His partner, Satan bless them, was full of ideas. This was more than a little terrifying. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this. Except that he was sure, really, if he were being honest with himself. It felt like madness, but he couldn’t seem to resist. He was filled with some combination of sick dread and excited anticipation. He wasn’t at all sure which one was uppermost, but here he was.

The collar his partner had locked around his neck tonight felt tight, and he ran a finger under it nervously. Again.

It was a measure of duration, in this case. For as long as it was on him, he was liable to experience…something. At some time while he was wearing it. He wouldn’t know when, and he wouldn’t know precisely what, until it happened. His partner was the one deciding that, although he had a pretty good idea of the sort of thing it was likely to be.

Which is why he had agreed to this in the first place. For this one night, he would permit himself to take an unknowable risk. He’d still have his safeword, but he knew himself well enough to know that it would take an awful lot to make him use it, and he believed his partner had a fair idea of his limits.

He hoped.

He’d been brought to a late night house party full of people he didn’t know, but his partner did. People from outside the Abbey, not familiar with the band or the Church. Perhaps 20 to 30 people milling around a few common rooms, drinking and talking.

So far, everything had been normal. There had been introductions here and there, and small talk. Not his favorite activity, but nothing he hadn’t had to put up with in the past.

The anticipation was sickening.

What would they do to him? He was half-expecting to get pantsed, except that he doubted he’d be let off that easy.

Knowing his partner, they wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for something as simple as that. Hell, they hadn’t even warned him when they stole the towel he was wearing and locked him out of their hotel room.

The thought of these things was a little more interesting than he should probably linger over in public, though. He liked wearing tight pants, but there were some things they simply couldn’t hide.

Which he also liked.

His mind continued its well-worn path, spinning in circles. His stomach was in knots.

What would they do to him? And when?

The party went on. It had been quite late when it started, now it was later still, and most of the people there were at least a little tipsy. The main common room was pretty loud.

And then, suddenly, his partner was louder.

“Attention, people! I have an announcement to make.”

The conversations died down as everyone looked their way.

His throat went dry. Oh fuck. This was whatever they’d been planning, he just knew it. His palms were sweaty. He felt his heart begin to race.

Whatwasitwhatwasitwhatwas--

“My lovely partner here,” they went on, gesturing in V’s direction, “made the mistake of losing a little bet he had going, and now he has to pay a forefeit. This will require an audience.”

They smirked. “Who wants to watch?”

Nobody left the room. Several of them were snickering and elbowing one another. Clearly something entertaining was in the offing, and they didn’t mean to miss it.

Roughly 15 to 20 people, men and women both.

His partner turned to him. “All right, love.”

The evil grin they gave him then made his hair stand on end.

“Strip.”

His heart skipped a beat.

Oh, Satan. How would he make himself do it? This was so much more than any of his little games had been. He’d known he was in for something like this, but now it was happening, now it was real. He swallowed hard.

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Pretend you’re alone. Don’t look.

He couldn’t. There was no ignoring it. Everyone was looking at him now, waiting to see what he would do. Some of them just looked amused. Some were squirming a little. A few looked like they’d been given an unexpected gift.

All he had to do was unwrap it.

His hands were shaking. It was difficult to manage the buttons of his shirt; he had to pull off his gloves first to do it. He could already feel the weight of their attention. He gritted his teeth, forced himself to finish it. Tossed the shirt aside.

Had the room gotten colder? His nipples were hard.

He pulled off his boots and socks. There was no more stalling he could do. This was it.

Moving his hands to the laces of his pants was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, they were so tight anyway and he was already hard and everyone could see it so would it really be so different?

He couldn’t fool himself. It was different. His face was flushed. His heart was pounding. He was going to have to do this. He was going to have to pull his pants down in an entire fucking roomful of strangers.

He undid the laces. The feeling of all those eyes on him was nearly unbearable.

Now or never.

He took hold of the waistband and slid them down in one quick motion. Stepped out of them.

Looked up.

That was a mistake.

Everyone was focused on him, some laughing, some blushing and giggling. He heard a few wolf whistles.

He squeezed his eyes shut and automatically covered himself with his hands as quick as he could, even though he knew it didn’t matter, everyone had seen him, and worse, they’d seen how achingly hard he was. His face felt like it was on fire, the rest of him felt cool air where it usually wasn’t and the unbearable weight of so many stares. He couldn’t stand it. He was dying of embarrassment, he’d never done anything like this, never deliberately exposed himself in front of so many people. He could hear their comments, their laughter, and Satan help him, he could feel their lust. It was agony, but it was so deliciously exciting.

All of this had been a matter of moments.

“No, sweetie. Eyes open. Hands down.”

Oh, Satan. He forced himself to look back at the crowd, to meet those stares, drinking him in, enjoying how embarrassed he was, some just openly longing. It was like being licked by tongues of flame on every inch of skin.

Moving his hands to his sides? That was even worse.

He’d always at least been able to cover himself that way. However pathetic a shield it might have been, it was something.

He was already blushing so much he thought he might faint. His self-consciousness was nearly unbearable.

When he forced himself to do it he had to dig his fingertips into his thighs a little just to keep his hands where they were, the urge to cover up was so strong.

All this time, there had been whistles and catcalls. Now there were more. It was bad enough to be forced to let strangers see his cock. The fact that he was painfully hard let everybody know how much he fucking loved it.

He bit his lip. Nothing in his life had ever been so humiliating, and it felt so incredibly hot that it just embarrassed him all over again.

He realized his partner was speaking.

“See how much this turns him on? Such a cute little slut. Don’t be fooled by those blushes, he craves the attention.”

Oh god oh fuck the shame of it too much he couldn’t he COULDN’T--

He felt his cock twitch, felt a bead of pre-cum form at the tip. Right out in the fucking open. Nowhere to hide.

“Tsk. Poor boy. You’re dying for it, aren’t you? You’d better take care of that.

Do it. Make yourself come.”

The room erupted. Some people were calling encouragement through laughter, some were red-faced, some were catcalling louder than ever.

His eyes flew open, went wide. He turned to his partner, gave them a wild-eyed look. Were they serious? Did they really mean--

“It’s that or your safeword, V. You decide.”

Unimaginable.

He was sure it would kill him. He was horrified. He couldn’t.

But he wanted it. Satan’s name, he did. It made no sense to him, but the worse the idea made him feel, the more he felt driven to do it. Fuck, the thought of it, stroking himself in front of a roomful of people, letting them see just how he liked it, letting them hear him--

He’d been through so much, so overwhelmingly much, that he was burning inside. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of minutes, but it felt like years. He’d taken all he could handle; he was a bundle of nerves. And still, despite the agony of it, despite his unending blushes, there was this. The core of this thing that he coveted despite himself.

He realized something, in that frozen moment.

He had an audience.

This was performance.

And no one, no one in the whole of the Unholy Church understood performance quite like he did.

He almost wanted to laugh.

How many nights had he been on stage in front of a crowd, teasing them for all they were worth, channeling every lustful impulse that was the birthright of his House just to make them scream his name?

If you follow me, I’ll give you everything you want, he’d told them.

Oh, yes. This he could do.

And wouldn’t his fans lose their fucking minds if they could see him now.

He knew he was still flushed. He bit his lip, lowered his head a little.

Looked up through half-lowered eyelids. Let his mismatched eyes burn, let them smoulder.

And then, slowly, he smiled.

His audience stilled a bit, at least the lustful ones did. He’d made them a promise with that smile.

Now he meant to deliver.

He arched his back a little, head thrown back, and ran his hands slowly down his chest. He lingered, teasing his nipples, let them hear his breath catch. He moved his hands down, bringing their gaze with him, highlighting the treasure trail, the soft curls below it. Everywhere he touched felt like it left a spill of heat in its wake, magnified by the feel of eyes on his every move.

Yes, he thought. Oh, yes. This. This was what he wanted.

He ran a hand slowly over his cock, stroking upward, lingering. Let out a moan, felt a shiver. He held nothing back. He heard a few gasps and caught breaths, and he knew he had them now.

They were his.

He took himself in hand, now, just the way he liked it. Slowly at first, drawing it out, all but edging himself, and fuck, it felt so good, it was so much more intense like this, sharing it with strangers. He heard himself making soft, pleasured sounds, he couldn’t help them, didn’t want to.

He couldn’t wait anymore and he stroked himself harder now, felt his breath go ragged, let it build. He was so close, he’d never felt like this, not alone, not even with a partner watching, this was beyond all that, amplified by every lustful gaze. He felt them wanting him and it broke the last of his restraint. He came hard, crying out from the force of it, spilling over his hand, breathless in its wake. He let his breath slow, and he opened his eyes.

His audience was a mess.

Some of the men looked pretty uncomfortable, but hadn’t looked away all the same. Some of the rest of the people there must’ve been taking care of themselves or each other, judging from the flushed faces and the hands that had been under skirts or down pants, only now being withdrawn.

Only the devil and he himself would ever know exactly how much it took to restrain the smug, shit-eating grin he’d otherwise have had on his face right then.

He turned to where his partner had been standing before all that. They were still there. They were just looking at him, slightly awestruck, judging from their expression. They shook their head and went to get him a towel for cleanup. He dressed calmly after that, saying nothing. Went to wash up a bit, and followed his partner out of the house without a word.

Only once they were back in the car did he permit that grin to show. His partner just gaped at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“Oh, you motherFUCKER. That’s what you were up to, huh?”

“Only at the end. I think-- I think I went through so much at first that I came out the other side, somehow. Like it burned out of me.”

“Satan’s name, V. That was…I don’t think I even know what that was. Actually no, I think I do. That was all you, wasn’t it? Your inborn House magic. You used it instinctively.”

“It’s part of me. I wouldn’t know where it ends and I begin. It was just-- my perspective changed. It was very strange. But very good.”

“Damn fucking right it was. I’m going to take you home, my love, and then I’m going to make a few demands of you myself if you don’t mind. You may have gotten off but I still haven’t, you know!”

He smiled, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry, angel. You will.”

[acid-ixx]

oooh so did we divorce Bruce, or is this an infidelity type of situation?

a loving family, an unpalatable desire: first meeting (unofficial)

— masterlist ! ; related post !

a/n: a tad bit nsfw. if this sounds messy, spare me. i'm running on like 4 hours of sleep and the will of a thirsty man in front of an oasis. i told yall im going insane for this plotline. ofc a&a still has my heart but I also love to occasionally write for smth else in the sidelines. send in more asks yall hehe.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

definitely an infidelity type of situation, anon! you see, the affair was caused by all mere coincidence. you were to attend with bruce in one of lex luthor's extravagant show of a gala, hold his arm for a brief moment when you walk out of the limousine, only to be abandoned right in the middle of the enormous room.

of course, the right reaction was to be pissed, to badmouth the very man who decided to court and entertain others in front of you; but you chose to stay silent, biting back choked tears by stumbling over the buffet table, only to be met with stupid, overbearing paparazzi and journalists.

so when clark kent rushes in to save you from stuttering over the dozens of microphones and cameras shoved right in your face, granting them access to your pathetic sobs— it's only right that your first reaction was to lean against his body, dismissing the hushed, harsh gossips of journalists.

it was at a time where you're not aware of his identity of superman. well, bruce barely permits you to enter the batcave, only if you stubbornly pester alfred does he let you, only to kick you, his darling spouse right out the moment you step on the cold, hard floors of the lair.

so it's not... a bad thing, right? your husband had a child with another woman, raised him as his own, didn't even bother to notify you with his infidelity— so is it your fault if you slowly start to fall for a man who promises you the world? who actually has the ability to give you the world in the palm of your hands? whose kid lets you pamper him without any fight?

sure, he's coping with... the loss of his previous wife but you're such a perfect spouse, so undeniably attractive, captivating in the hearts of many. your distant eyes, the way you bite the inside of your cheeks, the way your body sways back and forth as if begging for someone, your husband, to provide you a pillar of support in the suffocating heat of paparazzi.

he could be that pillar, could be your support.

when he first came up to you, his intentions weren't to obtain gossip about the oh-so silent spouse of bruce wayne. he didn't even want to acknowledge your marital status, palms already taking your wrist just so he could lead you off to somewhere quieter.

"it's an interview," he whispers an excuse to your reddened ears. but the buzz of his breath, the warmth, the caged arm on your waist tells you it's more than that.

but you don't fight back, you'd rather be anywhere than be the spotlight of a media that eats you up, makes you doubt your marriage even more.

so you're grateful that someone came to your rescue.

this would be the first time you ever saw someone as a savior, and it's not superman, no. it's clark kent, your resident, widowed, journalist.

and for clark's case, you warm his bed better than anything else. you allow clark this sense of respite, a break from heroic activities. allow him to be human, just as he allows you to play your fantasies of being a house spouse; you're perfect for each other.

to hell with useless marriage papers that don't even give bruce a sense of obligation to act as your husband, right? what can it do, when you're absolutely smitten with the current life you're living?

the first stages of your infidelity with clark is confusing, but very much welcomed into your already hectic life.

firstly, you convince yourself, it was all mere 'emotional cheating'. you began texting clark, he does too. an occasional greeting in messages, a passing congratulation for something, then the next it was good morning messages, 'have you eaten breakfast yet?, 'how'd the appointment go?'.

you don't know when it started, when your feelings started, when you began an intimate to romantic relationship with the man— all you knew was that the moment he revealed his superhero identity was the moment he decided to bed you for the night, the moment you grant the man, now your partner, access to every part of your depraved body, made him make you beg for more, giving him all the time in the world to kiss your imperfections, to fondle sensitive parts long untouched, to leave lovebites deeper and darker than the ones you caught bruce with.

you can't help it, he's unknowingly handsome, especially when he invites you over to his ma and pa's farm the next day, pretending to not notice the way your eyes hungrily flit over his topless body, sweat and budding pecs encased in a muscled form. over the course of dinner, you kept biting your lips, warm cheeks at the implications that clark merely wanted to sit next to you just so he could handfeed you, something about him being prideful that you'd definitely enjoy this week's harvest... but his fingers circling your thighs just seems to get you brain all haywired.

yet you stay, and continue visiting for long hours either way, enjoying the man's attention.

you know it's wrong, he knows it's wrong. but the way his son, jon looks at you like you mean the world, the way he's slowly starting to heal the longer you stay over at his place makes clark want to... what's the word? ah, he wants to turn you into his loving trophy spouse. all you need to do is provide jon with all the support in the world.

as for bruce... well, him and his family can deal with your absence for the first few months. but when the lingering feeling of emptiness becomes too much, when bruce no longer feels the worried gazes, or when dick can't hear anymore laughter in one of the supposed 'barren' rooms, or when tim's security systems tracked a missing device, one now in a completely different city.

that's when they start to yearn for someone they purposely let go

[saintobio]

daddy’s little devils.

when dealing with not only one, but two mini versions of your husband is a type of chaos you never saw coming. but with him by your side, there’s nothing else in life you could’ve ever wished for.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader genre. domestic fluff, slice of life, explicit smut cw. dilf!sukuna, profanity, explicit smut, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, fellatio, spitting, unprotected, creampie, 18+ notes. 4.5k. just bcos i had to write dilf!sukuna version of this fic. enjoy >:D i was smiling throughout writing this! reblogs are highly appreciated!

Sukuna as a husband was unexpectedly romantic. Despite his cold and indifferent demeanor towards others, sometimes bordering on snarky and arrogant, he displayed a surprisingly soft side when it came to you. A really, really soft and incredibly clingy side, one where he always wants you by his side and becomes grumpy the moment you leave him alone for even a few minutes, claiming and whining about how you no longer love him. That was a hidden facet of his personality that no one else knew, a side that made him appear submissive to his wife rather than the other way around. 

But to be honest, you loved that about him. You absolutely, with all your heart and soul, adored that about him. 

However, Sukuna as a father was quite the mischief-maker. And having to deal with three versions of him in your life certainly didn’t make things any easier. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… your sons,” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with exhaustion as you burst through the front door, “are a menace.”

Your husband was lounging on the sofa when you came home, an iPad in hand, watching as you kicked off your shoes and juggled with your bag and the twins’ belongings.

“Hey, baby,” he regarded you with a bemused expression. “What did they do this time?”

You didn’t even know where to begin. In all honesty, the question should have been: what did they not do?

“Ugh! My head hurts.” As soon as you released the bags onto the floor, you sank onto the couch, frustration evident in your visage as you ran a hand through your hair. “Raiden stabbed a classmate in the back with a crayon,” you recounted in disbelief, “And Ryuji drew your ‘tattoos’ all over himself with the teacher’s marker.”

Right on cue, the two little devils—his twin boys, his exact carbon copies—barreled into the house like the troublemakers they were.  

“Papaaa!” the twins chorused, leaping into their father’s lap the moment they saw him. 

Sukuna’s smirk blossomed into a grin, clearly amused and somewhat proud of his mini-me’s. “Aww, look at my little tattoo artist!” He applauded with amusement as he carried one twin on his lap. “That’s awesome, Ryuji!” Then, he turned to Raiden, who awaited his praise as well. “And Raiden, Mama said you stabbed someone? I bet your classmate was being a jerk, huh? Good job!”

The twins and their father bonded over the mischief, with Sukuna ridiculously acting as an instigator rather than reprimanding them. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse. Was he actually entertained with this whole ordeal?  Jesus. You shot Sukuna a glare, finding the situation far from amusing. And as soon as he caught sight of your serious expression, his face softened into an apologetic stance, silently mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

“Ryo, stop monkeying around,” you stated firmly, crossing your arms. “They’re causing trouble, and you do realize I had to endure a lecture about their unacceptable behavior, right?”

Only when he noticed the genuine concern in your voice did he shift his tone slightly, though you could see a hint of playfulness remaining. With your husband clearing his throat and adjusting in his seat, it seemed like he was merely putting on a show of being a ‘strict dad’ in front of you, while secretly shooting winks at his sons as if to say he was just playing around.

“Alright, alright,” he began putting on an act, addressing his twins, “You two are grounded. Go to your rooms. Now.”

Instead of showing any fear, the twins giggled as they dashed out of the living room without a care in the world—their tiny footsteps echoing all over the house as they ran recklessly. They didn’t even listen when you shouted at them to be careful. And now you couldn’t help but cross your arms, clearly dissatisfied with how your husband handled the situation in jest.

“Baby, come on,” he coaxed, drawing you closer and enveloping you in his strong embrace. You could feel his chin resting on your shoulder as he placed a kiss on your cheek. “I understand your frustration. They’re naughty when they want to be. But you have to admit, they’re showing some… initiative.”

Raising an eyebrow, you watched as he struggled to suppress a laugh at his own words. “Initiative? They’re supposed to be learning how to share and play nice, not how to terrorize their classmates!”

“Right, right. Of course,” he murmured, attempting to ease the tension with a gentle massage on your shoulders. “I understand. I’ll have a talk with them, mommy. Let’s not get angry now.”

The dilemma here was your desire to maintain the facade of a strict mom, to avoid the embarrassment of picking up your kids from daycare for causing yet another trouble. You loathed the judgmental stares from other parents, the silent accusation that you and your husband weren’t disciplining your children properly. It was as if they viewed you as terrible parents. Like you didn’t raise your kids right. 

At first, their opinions didn’t bother you; after all, they knew nothing about your family beyond the PTA meetings you’ve had to attend. But time and time again, after having to offer countless apologies to the parents of your sons’ classmates and the teachers who had to deal with them, their scrutiny was starting to get into your head—that perhaps you weren’t as strict as you thought. Perhaps you were too lenient. Perhaps you needed to assert your authority over your children so they’d learn to listen to you.

Yet, despite your resolve, you couldn’t resist the charm of your twins. They were just too adorable for their own good. And, well, their dad wasn’t exactly lacking in the charm department either.

With a sigh, you leaned against his chest. “I just want them to grow up to be good, not little terrors.”

Sukuna tenderly lifted your chin, planting a soft, affectionate kiss on your lips. “I promise, they’ll turn out great. Let’s not be too hard on them.”

~~

You had to acknowledge Sukuna’s efforts and give credit where it’s due. After he had promised to ‘talk’ to the kids, you did notice a marked improvement in their behavior since then. You and your husband used to take turns picking up the twins from daycare, but recently, he had insisted on doing it more frequently than you, saying that as his latest project had been completed, he now had more available time to pick up the twins after work.

You suspected the real reason behind his request was to alleviate your stress from constantly dealing with your sons’ antics. Knowing him, Sukuna also wanted to gauge the current atmosphere at the school by having conversations with the teachers and other parents to ensure there were no issues like bullying or other serious matters. 

With that solution in place, Raiden and Ryuji became much less of a handful, and the main reason being the reward system that Sukuna had implemented for the kids, where he promised to buy them expensive toys if they earned stars for good behavior each week.

So that was how it went for the next two weeks. No calls from distressed teachers, no calls from concerned parents. In fact, the twins eagerly showed you their progress and proudly displayed the stars on their hands each time they received them. You couldn’t help but swell with pride at their accomplishments, because as small as they were to some people, they were huge achievements for you and your husband as their supportive parents. 

At least, you could relax for now. With the twins having toned down their mischievous shenanigans, your mind was more at ease. To be fair, they might seem like little devils wherever they went, but when they were peacefully sleeping like they were now on the couch, they appeared as absolute angels in your eyes. 

The living room was bathed in a dim light, with the glow of the TV screen illuminating their cute, little faces as they snuggled up together on the couch, in their peaceful slumber sandwiched between you and your husband. They had dozed off before the movie ended, and now, with the credits rolling, your family movie night concluded earlier than expected.

“My precious babies,” you cooed in a hushed voice, gently stroking Ryuji’s cheek and planting a kiss on Raiden’s nose. Their eyes, their brows, their nose, their lips—every detail was taken from their father, and nothing from you. But you didn’t mind, because you knew just how strikingly handsome they would be when they grow up. “Looks like our little troublemakers couldn’t make it to the end of the movie.” 

Sukuna chuckled softly and glanced down at his sleeping sons with a fond smile. In holding his family close, he could feel that blissful warmth flooding his heart at the sigh of his wife and his kids snuggled together. “They’re tired today. Didn’t even last an hour into watching Megamind.” 

You smiled, carefully rising from the couch so as not to disturb the sleeping twins. The moment you caught your husband’s eye, you gestured for him to lift Raiden into his arms. “Let’s get them to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, scooping up Raiden, while you lifted Ryuji, and together you carried your kids to their room. 

After tucking each twin into bed and giving them a final kiss on the forehead, you motioned for your husband to quietly exit the room with you. He was still adjusting the AC for their comfort before following you out close behind. The lights in their room now completely switched off. 

“They’re out like a light,” Sukuna whispered as both of you made your way towards the master bedroom. 

You stifled a yawn, stretching your arms. “Finally, some peace and quiet.” 

“Nuh-uh,” countered your husband, who was now grinning mischievously as he stopped in his tracks and grabbed you by the waist. “Not so soon, wife.” 

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the wall, a mere few inches outside your bedroom’s door, caged between your husband’s toned arms as he looked down at you like a lion looking at its prey. His animalistic gaze never failed to send you into an orbit of weakness, like always. “H-Hey.” 

A teasing smirk then appeared on his handsome face. “You know, babe, now that the boys are asleep, we could really make good use of this time.” 

“Really, now?” You held back a chuckle, cheeks heating up from the wanton desire on your husband’s eyes. As you crossed your arms and leaned against the wall, you didn’t realize that such action only caused him to go even crazier than he already was. 

“Dammit.” His eyes danced in lust as he stared at your cleavage when you crossed your arms. He had good self-control, too. That was… until he couldn’t resist it anymore. He had to have his hand squeeze one breast gently, fondling the rounded mass like they were his personal stress balls. “Are you ovulating, honey? They look huge.” 

You weren’t sure as it had been while since you tracked it, but your breasts did feel heavier lately. And sore, too, because he was kneading them. “Hmm. I might be expecting my period soon.” 

Very playfully, Sukuna leaned forward to trail kisses along your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin as he spoke, “What do you say we add another one to the bunch?” was his whispered suggestion, “A little girl, maybe? I know a few positions.” 

“Are you serious?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. “With these two little devils wreaking havoc, you still want to add more chaos to the mix?” 

His finger was already looping around the strap of your nightgown, pulling it down with a salacious upward curve of his lips. “You know you love the chaos, babe.” You could feel his hands moving to grab a handful of your buttocks, squeezing your bum eagerly. “Plus, imagine all the mischief our little girl could get up to.” 

You couldn’t help it either—the desire, the tension. Not to mention, your husband was looking undeniably hot right now, with the muscles on his chest pressing against yours, making you want nothing but to see him shirtless again. Those toned abs, those muscular arms. God. His lips were also soft and sweet when he pulled you into an open-mouthed kiss 

“You are,” you mumbled in between kisses, breathing heavily against his mouth, “very naughty, mister.” 

You felt him smirking through your kiss before he grabbed your thighs, and lifted you up so you could wrap them around his waist. The kissing, the very intense kissing, with his tongue rolling against yours and you moaning against his mouth, was already as erotic as it could get. When was the last time you two had sex? Last week? You couldn’t remember which specific day it was, but you did recall it being only a quick one in the shower. This time, it definitely wouldn’t be a quickie as he seemed to have plans in giving you a sleepless night. 

Sukuna carefully placed you down in your king-sized bed, pulling his shirt off and once again crawling above you to hungrily meet your lips with his. And did you mention he was a good multitasker?  As he nibbled on your lower lip, breathing you in like you were an addicting drug he couldn’t get enough off, his fingers were also rubbing your clothed entrance, pulling your underwear to the side to touch your moist cunt. 

“Mhmm—!”

Two fingers entered you without warning, and he pulled away from the kiss to look at the face you were making as he used his digits to find your sweet spot. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Y/N.” 

You arched your back, spreading your legs wide open to give him full access to your core. The moment he was able to reach your g-spot, you could feel your lower abdomen coiling from the intense wave of pleasure that was coursing through your body. “Nghh—yes, daddy. That’s it!” 

A few more pumps, hard and fast, had you gasping for air like a fish out of the ocean. He seemed to have loved the sight too, as he kept his dark, sultry eyes fixed on you while he fingered you like there was no tomorrow. “You’re one hot mama, aren’t you?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers and sucking on them to taste your slick. “Can I fuck your mouth, baby?”

“‘Mmkay,” you answered, pulling yourself up to help him rid himself of his pajamas. The sight of his bulge—his big, angry bulge—made you all the more excited. You had seen him many times before and knew just how huge his member could grow when aroused, but it still didn’t change the fact that seeing his fully erect cock surprised you every single time. Because it was thick, it was long, it was meaty, it was veiny. “Gosh, lovey. You’re huge.” 

He obviously liked hearing that. Not only did you inflate his ego, it also made him desire you even more as he positioned his shaft on your face, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “Open your mouth.” 

Like a good girl, you did as told. And your eyes went wide as he forced his cock inside, thrusting balls deep in and out of your mouth. He was doing it roughly to the point where your eyes pooled with tears because your gag reflex kept on fighting back. You couldn’t even taste him properly because your saliva was coating his entire length, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling in satisfaction as you watched your husband throw his head back from the utmost pleasure of being inside your mouth. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck.” He cussed multiple times, jostling his hips before pulling his member out. “Your mouth’s so warm.” 

For a moment, you replaced your mouth with your hand, an elbow propped on the other as you stroked his girthy length. You jacked him off at the pace you knew he preferred, and placed your tongue flat on the swollen pink head like it was a lollipop. You were kissing the tip with your eyes staring back at him, ultimately driving him into insanity. “Like that, daddy?” 

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, his vulgar thoughts now consuming his actions as he grabbed your chin up, only to then spit in your mouth. “I’m gonna get you pregnant tonight,” he declared in a deep, raspy voice, “Gonna fill up that pretty little pussy with my cum.” 

Damn, he’s serious about it? 

As embarrassing as it may sound, you could feel your pussy clenching from his lewd words. “You want a baby girl for real?” 

Your husband lowered himself down to meet your level, undressing you impatiently like a rabid dog who was ready to bite its victim. And in your naked glory, he then spread your legs apart and rubbed his shaft in between your labia. “I do,” he said, puppy eyes hoping for you to say yes, “I want a baby girl, please. Please. Please.” 

Could you even resist this man? 

You gave him an answer by nodding, holding your smile by biting your lower lip as you watched your silly husband reach through the nightstand in search of the lube. Because he was too crazed with excitement, a couple packs of unused condoms fell out of the drawer as he grabbed the strawberry-colored tube. 

“Take it easy. Jeez,” you teased. 

“You’re driving me nuts here.” 

You decided to tease him even more by touching yourself, your fingers doing circular motions on your clit as your husband coated his entire length with the water-based lube. The smell of artificial strawberry permeated through the air, and with it being your favorite scent, you felt more stimulated than ever. “Mmm. I want you inside me now, lovey.” 

“What mommy wants, mommy gets,” he joked, manhandling both your legs into placing it above his shoulders and putting you into his favorite position. The classic missionary. “Ah, shit.” He buried his member agonizingly slow. “Why… are… you so damn tight tonight?” 

Maybe because you were clenching around his cock, squeezing his angry member with your velvet walls and giving him that extra good grip he always went absolutely wild for. “A-Aah! Y-You love it.” 

“Fuck, yeah.” He began thrusting now. Using his thumb to spread your slit apart, he delighted in seeing his cock go in and out of your entrance, watching the full length be swallowed by your cavern entirely. And he was going from slow and sensual, to rough and fast in less than a minute. 

He was just far too deep inside. Now, you were losing hold on your sanity as with every jostle of your body, your insides were also reacting more and more violently with your knees and thighs shaking. The skin slapping sounds were bouncing across the room, and you were hoping, praying, that your soundproof walls worked well enough not to wake your innocent twins. Because at this rate, you were going to squirt all over their father. It had been sometime since you felt the need to pee during intercourse, but that also speaks of just how intense Sukuna was plowing his hardened cock inside of you. 

“D-Daddy, I… I’m…” 

He attached his mouth on your right tit, playing his tongue around the nipple. “Mhm… You’re so sexy, mommy.” 

Two little boys. And your husband still won’t stop until he gets his little girl. 

Your mind was a whirlwind that night. The events that followed became such a blur because your pleasure overpowered your ability to think straight. All you could remember was Sukuna releasing his warm load into your womb after chasing his climax, and immediately after, he had your body twisted around and positioned into what he refers ‘the undefeated’ doggy style. 

Gosh, he was telling the truth when he said he was going to fuck you all night with no breaks in between. 

Because now, you were on all fours, being pounded from behind as you had your hands gripping the sheets each time he propelled his body forward. He was shoving his cock from behind like it was his day job, already familiar with the perfect angle and depth in which he had to rut you in. With his hands holding your hips in place, he raised one leg on the mattress, and the other knee still intact, to fuck you senseless. 

“Mmm—Aah! Haah!” 

The deeper he penetrated you, the lower your upper body went. You were now in a position with your chest down low, and your ass up high so that he could see your hole in a much, much better view. “You think you can take ‘nother round after this, babe?” he asked, breathless as he reached forward to squeeze your tit. “I don’t wanna push your limits.” 

“I-I don’t t-think I c-can…”

You could hear his deep chuckle despite your frenzied state, and soon enough, he was increasing the speed of his thrusts once more, cursing and moaning while doing so, before shooting thick ropes of seed inside your cunt. 

He collapsed next to you right after that, while you were completely limp in labored breaths as you lay beside him. The feeling of his semen dripping out of your pussy had you reaching for your husband’s arm, pointing towards the box of tissue with your half-lidded eyes. You were too sore to move. 

Sukuna immediately got the cue. “I got it,” he said, pecking your lips before doing the task of wiping the mess on your body. And as soon as he was able to clean you off, he quickly went back beside you, pulling you into a sweet, husbandly embrace. “Good night, beautiful.” 

You hummed in your drowsy state, his chest becoming the perfect pillow for your head to sleep on. “Night, night, handsome.” 

~~

Good lord was his body sore. 

But was that the greatest fucking sex he has ever had? Hell yes. It was so good that he even dreamed of it. 

As the morning sun streamed through the curtains, the aftermath of your passionate night was evident in the tousled sheets and sleepy smiles that you both had that morning. He still had you in his arms, your body secured around his as he pressed his lips into your temple. 

“Good morning, my love.” 

You stirred awake, blinking sleepily as you stretched beneath the warmth of the covers. He could tell you were still groggy from last night’s events, and he was a hundred percent certain that you were also too sore to walk. “Morning, lovey.” 

But before he could savor the domestic moment with you, the bedroom door burst open, and a fully awakened Raiden and Ryuji came in with their energy back at 100%. Oh, boy. Sukuna just had to forget locking the door last night. 

Raiden, in his polka pjs, was jumping up and down excitedly. “Mama! Papa! Wake up!” 

He was joined by his twin brother, Ryuji, who was in his striped pajamas, skipping around the room. “We want pancakes, pwease!” 

Sukuna could feel you stiffening next to him, and he saw the look of panic in your eyes upon realizing that you were very much naked under the sheets. So, hastily and frantically, your beloved husband pulled the duvet, covering your chest from being exposed and hoping to conceal any tell-tale marks. 

“Shh! Keep it down, boys,” he reprimanded the twins, “Mama and Papa are still sleeping.”

The stubborn Ryuji placed his hands on his hips. “But you’re awake, Papa!” 

On the other hand, Raiden, who climbed the king-sized bed, was pointing towards his mother. “Mama, what’s on your shoulder?” 

At the sight of the marks, Sukuna’s eyes widened in alarm and his cheeks were limned with a crimson hue. His mind raced for a plausible explanation because those exact bruises on your shoulder were, in fact, hickeys. So before you could speak, he took it upon himself to handle the matter. “That... It’s, uh, a battle wound.” He mentally kicked himself for such a ridiculous lie. “Mama’s very brave, you see. She fought off a giant mosquito last night.”

You stifled a laugh, burying your face into the pillow for a moment, and later deciding to play along. “That’s right,” you agreed, nodding seriously. “Mama’s a warrior.”

Raiden and Ryuji, however, were too smart for this as the twins exchanged skeptical glances, clearly not buying their parents' explanation. And with Raiden being the more vocal one, he pointed it out first. “But why does it look like a bunch of tiny kisses?”

Sukuna struggled now, and while he was still thinking of another excuse, you finally stepped in to try and save the day. 

And thank the heavens, you handled it a lot more casually than he did. “It’s a secret,” you said, smiling at your kids, “Mama and Papa have a secret game they play sometimes. Right, Papa?”

Your husband quickly joined in on your little antic. “That’s right, it’s a secret game! But it’s only for grown-ups,” he clarified to the curious twins, who were clearly intrigued by this mysterious ‘game’. “You two aren’t old enough to play yet.”

The twins exchanged curious glances, their skepticism giving way to fascination. “Okay,” Raiden said slowly, still pondering the explanation. Ryuji just shrugged, accepting it more readily. 

Only then did Sukuna breathe a silent sigh of relief as he was grateful for your quick thinking. But with children like these two, the interrogation was clearly far from over because Ryuji decided to make things even more complicated when he picked up an unused packet of condom on the floor, its bright red color attracting his interest. “Mama, is this candy?” asked your son, pointing to the strawberry logo, “Can I have it?” 

“No, sweetheart, that’s not candy,” you softly spoke. The composure in your voice was outstanding. Sukuna should definitely learn a thing or two from you. “Give it to Mama.” 

And while you dealt with the other twin, Raiden jumped out of bed and tugged at his father’s arm persistently. “Papa, pancakes!” he demanded, throwing a tantrum as he chanted. “Pancakes! Pancakes! We want pancakes!” 

“Okay, okay!” The father sighed inwardly, shooting you a look for help as if he was their slave for the day. All you could do was chuckle and mouth ‘you got this’ back to him. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? “Coming right up, you little monsters.” 

“Yayy!” 

“Woohoo!” 

You, barely handling the noise at six in the morning, groaned playfully next to your husband. “See? Having another kid isn’t as easy as you think,” you told him, “We can barely handle these two.” 

Sukuna displayed a grin, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his wife and your little ones. “Boys, do you want a baby sister? Yes or yes?” 

Raiden and Ryuji, in unison, answered giddily. “Yes! We want a baby sister!” 

A look of defeat clouded your eyes, while your husband laughed and kissed your forehead. “You heard them, love,” he reminded, softly, “I want my baby girl soon.” 

He knew that, despite your playful protest, having a daughter was a shared desire. “Fine.” 

So in swift movements, your husband slipped into his pants beneath the covers, then got out of bed to scoop up the twins in his arms. “Alright, breakfast time you two!” he announced, heading towards the door with his sons cheering together. And just before leaving, he cast one last tender smile in your direction. 

“I love you, Y/N. Chaos and all.” 

[hhaechansmoless]

OFF THE GRID PT.3

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series: Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k Part 3 - 19.5k

glossary taglist

a/n: the final installment!!! writing this fic out of all the ones I have in my series was probably the easiest and at the same time the trickiest to deal with. not just because it's an e2l but just also because of the f1 bits of it. while it's always challenging to write the race scenes, purely because most of the time i'm just spewing words and hoping they make sense while also trying to make sure that the stuff happening is stuff that actually happens, the most fun part was to put forth how one may feel shunted in their own team and what that does to a person. it’s lonely and quiet in the worst ways and sometimes you start to believe it’s your fault. that maybe you were always meant to be on the outside. writing that part felt very real and if you’ve ever felt like that, i hope this story sits with you a little. i love this one a lot and i hope you do too! please don't hesitate to reblog/comment/send an ask with your thoughts!

HOME

The cold air bites at your skin, but you barely feel it.

You sit on the porch steps, phone pressed tightly to your ear, listening to the monotonous ring of a call that you already know isn’t going to go through. It’s the fourth time you’ve tried the number your dad gave you. The fourth time it’s gone straight to voicemail.

You press the heel of your free palm to your eyes, rubbing at them. Great. Just great.

A pipe leak. In the middle of winter. Water pooling under the sink, seeping through the cabinets, creeping toward the floor faster than you know how to handle. And now, the only plumber you know isn’t even picking up. 

Really, your luck must be fucking terrible. How could this happen exactly when your parents weren’t at home?

Your head pulses with another wave of pain as you weigh your options. Do you try fixing it yourself? Do you just shut off the main water supply and deal with it later? Do you-

No.

You’re not calling Seungcheol.

You refuse. You won’t.

You grip your phone tighter, swallowing hard, trying to think. You can figure this out. You have to.

But then to your luck, or rather, the lack of it you hear the sound of tires rolling over, a door opening and slamming shut, paper bags rustling.

And before you even have to look up, you know.

Seungcheol.

You curse internally, willing him to keep walking, to go inside, to not notice the way you’re sitting here, hunched over, stress radiating from every inch of your body.

But of course, he does.

“Hey,” he calls out casually at first.

You don’t answer right away. You keep your gaze on the phone screen, like if you just focus hard enough, the plumber will just magically call you back.

But Seungcheol isn’t an idiot. And he knows you well enough to tell when something’s wrong.

The porch creaks under his weight as he steps closer. “What’s going on?”

You sigh, finally glancing up. He’s standing at the foot of the steps, a grocery bag in one hand, the other stuffed in his jacket pocket. His hair is still slightly damp from the snow, and the cold has left a faint pink tint across his skin.

You look away quickly. Not the time.

“Nothing,” you mutter, voice tight.

Seungcheol doesn’t buy it. He tilts his head slightly, glancing at the phone in your hands, to the way your grip is a little too tense.

You see the exact moment he puts the pieces together.

“…Something’s broken.”

It’s not a question.

You let out a sharp breath, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol exhales, setting the grocery bag down on the step. “What is it?”

You hesitate. If you tell him, he’s going to fix it.

But the alternative is letting the house flood while you sit outside, pretending you don’t need help.

You purse your lips, debating. Then, finally you answer. "Pipe’s leaking under the sink."

Seungcheol’s brows lift slightly. “Bad?”

“Water’s spreading. That bad enough?”

He glances toward the house. “Did you shut off the valve?”

Your throat dries up. You should have. You know that. You know enough to do that. But you were so fucking stressed, so caught up in trying to call the plumber, that you didn’t even think about it.

Seungcheol immediately clocks your hesitation.

His expression almost morphs into amusement. “Come on.”

You shake your head immediately. "No."

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “You want to let it keep leaking?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. "With what tools?"

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Okay. Fine. Maybe you don’t have a plan.

But that doesn’t mean you need him.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, hand reaching down to loop through yours and pull you up. "Just let me do it, alright? It’ll take ten minutes."

You hesitate for a second too long, brain switching off at the way he effortlessly manages to lift you up. No, you willingly stood up. You shake your head

A moment of hesitation is all that he needs.

With a small shake of his head, Seungcheol picks up his grocery bag and walks past you, shoulder just barely grazing yours as he makes his way inside.

You hover near the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching as Seungcheol shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair before crouching down in front of the sink.

The water hasn’t fully spread to the floor yet, but it’s bad enough, a slow but steady trickle pooling at the base of the cabinet, seeping into the wood.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue. "You should've shut the valve off earlier."

You bristle. "I was trying to call someone."

He doesn’t argue, just sighs loudly before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, forearms flexing slightly as he moves.

“Where’s your wrench?” he asks, already reaching under the sink.

You blink. Right. Tools.

Your mind scrambles for an answer, but it comes up empty. You have no idea. Your dad always handled these things before. 

“I-” You hesitate, shifting on your feet.

Before you can figure out what to say, Seungcheol just sighs. Then, without looking up, he mutters 

“Still in the laundry room?”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He just pushes himself up and walks off, heading straight down the hall, like he already knows exactly where to go.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

You swallow, fingers tightening around your arms as you listen to the sound of him opening the cabinet, rummaging through old tool boxes like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like he still remembers where everything is.

When he comes back, wrench in hand, you don’t say anything.

And neither does he.

He just crouches back down, one arm reaching under the sink, the other bracing himself against the cabinet. His shirt rides up slightly at the hem as he shifts into position, and you immediately snap your gaze to the ceiling.

A few minutes later, when he's almost done,  Seungcheol's phone rings from where he threw it onto the kitchen island. Your eyes flicker to the screen before you look away just as quickly, not catching the name.

“Who is it?” Seungcheol's voice comes out muffled from below.

“Uh, wait,” You mumble before shifting over to see the caller's name. It makes you stop, hand frozen in air for a few seconds before you shake yourself out of it. “It's someone from Aston Martin. Do you want me to bring it over to you?” You observe him as you reply, eyes sharp.

You can see Seungcheol stop for a moment too, like a kid caught stealing candy before he resumes, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, just leave it.”

No.

No, it's been way too long to let this slide again.

You fold your arms tightly over your chest, jaw tight. “Seungcheol.”

His name comes out sounding sharp from your mouth, maybe a little more than you intended, but still, stern.

Slowly, he exhales. Then, bracing a hand against the cabinet, he pushes himself up. Straightens. Stretches his shoulders. But he doesn’t look at you.

Your fingers curl against your sleeves. “What is going on with you?”

He sighs before running a hand through his hair, still refusing to meet your gaze. “It’s nothing. I don't know why they're calling either.”

“Are you done with the leak?” You point at it, already moving past him to the cabinet above the stove where you keep your kettle.

He nods, albeit a little confused before he checks, washing his hands after the water doesn't leak again.

“Okay, good.” You mutter as you start it up, preparing to make tea. This conversation is something that's been avoided for way too long. “Because you're going to sit down, drink this tea and fucking explain what you've been doing in this past one year.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you interject before he can, “Don’t you think we deserve to know what’s going on?”

Seungcheol exhales, shoulders rising before he lets them fall. He looks like he wants to argue. Like he wants to say no, like he wants to leave, like he doesn’t owe you this conversation.

But you’re not letting him.

Not this time.

So you turn toward him, crossing your arms, eyebrows raised in challenge. "Well?"

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his temple. But after a moment, he drags a chair back and sits.

He leans back against it, arms crossed, gaze dropping to the counter. "What do you want me to say?"

You huff, setting the cups down harder than necessary. "How about the truth?"

Seungcheol scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," you agree.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy, frustrating. The only sound is the quiet hum of the kettle as steam starts to rise.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the counter, fingers tapping lightly against his arm. Like he’s debating. Like he’s deciding how much to say.

When Seungcheol finally begins to talk, his voice is the quietest you’ve heard it in a while.

“Where do I even start? I guess it began last season itself, after I won the world championship. After COTA, I didn’t have much to fight for, other than the constructors. The team started the orders in Mexico and back then it didn’t feel like I was losing out on anything. I’d already made enough points and they wanted to make sure Jaehyun ended up P2 in the driver’s standings to help with the constructors. So I agreed.”

You nod. You remember the second half of the season in 2024. It wasn’t unlike Seungcheol to go a little easier on his teammate once he’d won, so you hadn’t thought anything was off either.

“And then into winter break,” Seungcheol continues, “One of the reasons I didn’t come back home was, yes, because it would be really awkward with us, but the team had kept me really busy too. I’d done so many tests and runs for them that you’d expect the car to come out in a way that suited my driving style a little more.”

“It wasn’t entirely off,” Seungcheol shrugs as you pour a little honey into his cup, “Just, it was quite obvious that Jaehyun was more comfortable in there than I was. Felt like the work I’d done was useless, almost. Pre-season testing too. They were a lot more proactive when it came to Jaehyun’s feedback, but I just assumed it was because he was relatively newer to the team and that they’d have to learn his preferences a little more because they already knew most of mine.”

You settle down into the chair beside him, a soft hum leaving your lips as you listen.

“And you know, for the first few races it felt like things were back to normal in the team itself. I was still qualifying better, still the first one to bring the fight. Yeah, Red Bull were insanely quick and we were—from the start—second to them, but it felt alright inside. So I let it go, thinking I was just being paranoid.”

"And then?" you prompt gently.

Seungcheol exhales, the sound barely audible over the quiet clink of your teaspoon against the ceramic rim of your cup. His fingers drum the outside of the mug.

“And then the calls started,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing major at first. Just small things. Strategy tweaks that didn’t make sense but weren’t outright sabotage. Early pit stops that put me in traffic. Tire compounds I hadn’t preferred. I wasn’t the only one noticing it either—my race engineer, the mechanics, even some of the guys in the factory. But no one wanted to say it outright.”

Your brows furrow. “But you knew.”

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, not in amusement, but in resignation. “I had a feeling. But when you’re fighting at the front, you can’t afford to doubt. You just drive.”

You nod, thinking back to those early races. From the outside, nothing had seemed blatantly wrong. Ferrari was still Ferrari with their fast cars, quick pit stops, a strong driver lineup. And Seungcheol was still the one leading the charge. If anything, it had looked like he was comfortably holding onto his position as the team’s priority.

But now that he says it, you remember. The radio messages that had sounded just a little too forced. The hesitation before the pit wall gave him the go ahead on certain strategies. And then later, when Jaehyun’s results started coming together, how the dynamic had shifted ever so slightly.

“Monaco,” you murmur, realization settling in.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. Miami. By Monaco, I already knew. But it was Miami where the doubts started.”

You know what he means. That race had been his to win. Fastest all weekend, pole secured by two tenths, an aggressive but clean first stint. And yet, somehow, Jaehyun had come out ahead after the pit cycle. The team had called it an unfortunate timing issue, but Seungcheol had looked more confused than upset in the post-race interviews. Like he wasn’t sure how it had slipped through his fingers.

He rubs a hand over his face, leaning back into the chair. “That’s when I started realizing it wasn’t just paranoia.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug. “But you still let it go.”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh. “What else could I do?” His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable. “I drove for them, remember? They made the calls.”

“I wasn’t okay. After Monza, when you called,” He tries to sound slightly nonchalant. But you know. 

“That’s why I called,” You sigh, “Were there more problems because of that crash? Between you two?”

Seungcheol almost laughs, “You know, throughout this entire season, I don’t think we’ve actually ever argued about all this stuff. The next race weekend was shit. Both of us were absolutely blasted by the team. But most of this isn't his fault. I mean, the crash probably was, but it happens. It's not like I’ve never crashed into a teammate before. ” He admits. You can see that it takes a lot out of him to say that.

You understand. It would be so much easier to blame someone else, someone newer instead of the people who’ve been around you for so long.

“He’d be fucking stupid if he kicked and yelled and made everyone stop to treat us both the same.”

Sighing, you contemplate reaching a hand out to comfort him. Seungcheol sits with his shoulders slumped and head down, fingers fiddling with the cup in a restless way. But you stop yourself. You're listening to him to understand and to clear up things, that's it.

“So you made the decision to leave Ferrari,” You say, humming for him to continue.

“After Monza, I kind of knew, but it was Singapore where I made my decision.”

You remember that race. The tension, the buildup. The entire grid waiting to see if Haechan would clinch the title.

“It wasn’t like some big revelation,” he continues. “I think I’d already been telling myself for weeks that it was over. But that night, it just… solidified.”

His fingers tap lightly against his arm, like he’s still turning the memory over in his head. “They pitted me early. Said it was to put pressure on Red Bull, to force Haechan into an earlier stop. But I knew what it was. It was about Jaehyun. Making sure he didn’t lose time, making sure he had the advantage when it counted. That was my job now.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And then Haechan crossed the line, took his title, and I was standing in that media pen, listening to everyone talk about the championship fight and the future, and I realized I wasn’t part of that anymore. Not with Ferrari.”

“So I told my manager that night. Told him I wasn’t going to re-sign.”

It’s said so simply, so quietly, but you remember twenty two year old Seungcheol when he got his first Formula 1 seat. You remember twenty three year old Seungcheol when he got the Ferrari offer, his biggest dream coming true. You remember seventeen year old Seungcheol, arguing with his school teachers that, yes, racing is what he wants to do. Not school. “I’m serious about this. You can just watch, I’ll get there.”

It must have been one of the hardest decisions he’s ever made. 

But there’s just one more thing you don’t understand.

“But if not with Ferrari,” You begin cautiously, softly, “You could’ve done it with any other team. They’d be scrambling to sign you. Why’d you leave the entire thing, Cheol?”

Seungcheol slowly shake his head. “It wasn’t just about Ferrari.”

His fingers begin to drum lightly on the counter again. “I thought about signing somewhere else. It would’ve been easy—hell, my manager already had teams lined up before I even told him I wasn’t re-signing. But after Singapore… I just didn’t know if I wanted to anymore.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why?”

For a second, you think he won’t answer. His fingers tighten around his mug, his shoulders tensing slightly. But then he sighs, the weight of it heavy.

“Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I still had it in me.”

His voice is quieter now, but there’s no hesitation. No bitterness. Just quiet exhaustion.

“I always knew what I was fighting for. Even in my worst seasons, even when everything felt like shit, I still wanted to be in the car. I still wanted to be in the fight. But after Singapore, I wasn’t sure if I did.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly. “Not because I don’t love it. Not because I don’t think I can still win. But because I didn’t know if I could give myself to it the way I always have.”

“You know, for years, I thought that as long as I kept pushing, as long as I proved myself over and over again, everything else would fall into place. That it would always be enough. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like it was.”

You don’t say anything.

Because what do you even say to someone who’s spent their entire life chasing something only to realize they don’t know if they still want to chase it anymore?

Seungcheol leans back slightly, glancing down at his mug. “I needed time,” he says simply. “To figure it out.”

You hesitate for a moment, watching him. He’s not looking at you, eyes still on the mug in his hands, fingers tracing the rim like he’s still lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

Then, quietly, you say, “That makes sense.”

Seungcheol glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat. “I mean… you’ve never really stopped, have you?” You tilt your head. “Since we were kids, it’s always been about the next thing. The next race, the next win, the next goal. You never let yourself slow down. Maybe—” you pause, choosing your words carefully. “Maybe it’s okay that you needed to.”

His fingers still against the mug. He doesn’t say anything, but something in his expression softens, just slightly.

“You’re allowed to figure it out, Cheol,” you say, quieter now. “Even if it takes time.”

For the first time since he started talking, he really looks at you. Like he’s trying to figure out if you actually mean it.

And when he doesn’t find doubt in your face, when all he sees is quiet understanding, something inside him loosens.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that.

It’s stupid, maybe. He’s had months to sit with this, to justify his decision to himself, to convince himself that taking a step back wasn’t weakness. That it didn’t make him any less of a driver. Any less of himself.

But it’s different, hearing it from you.

Hearing someone else say it—you say it—makes it feel real.

He exhales again, deeper this time, like something heavy has finally slipped off his shoulders. The tension in his posture eases just a little.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice lighter than before. “Maybe it is.”

And for the first time in a while, he almost feels like he can breathe.

You shut your laptop with a quiet sigh, leaning back into your chair to give yourself a moment before you start packing up to go home. You stretch your fingers out, rolling your wrist absentmindedly, the stiffness a reminder of how long you’ve been working.

At least you’re leaving earlier than usual today. It’s rare, but you’d wrapped up the project that had been eating up most of your time this past month—sent the final files off, double-checked every detail, and even managed to get your inbox down to something manageable. It’s a relief, a quiet kind that sits at the back of your mind, knowing that for once, you won’t have to think about work the second you step out of the office.

You take your time packing up, sliding your laptop into your bag a little more carefully than usual, making sure everything’s in place before zipping it up. The usual rush to leave isn’t there tonight; instead, you pull on your coat at a slower pace, looping your scarf around your neck as your phone vibrates on your desk.

A quick glance at the screen shows a text from Seungkwan in the group chat.

Seungkwan: jihoon and cheol are you guys free my manager just asked to sit through another client call and it’s going to take at least 45 more mins can ya’ll go pick her up i promised to but i can’t rn [16:48]

Jihoon: yeah sure [16:50]

Seungcheol: i can [16:50]

Seungcheol: oh nvm u can go then [16:51]

Jihoon: no actually i can’t  my meeting got extended too Seungcheol? [16:58]

Seungcheol: omw [17:00]

You shake your head slightly as you scroll through the chat. You could’ve taken the bus ride home, but Seungkwan had sent his car for servicing and had driven the two of you to work in your car today. He’d have fussed about it if you took the bus and, honestly, you didn’t mind the ride back. At least it’d be warmer.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way out of the office. Most of people in your team are still at their desks, wrapped up in whatever they need to finish before they can call it a night, but you get a few nods and murmured goodbyes as you pass. The elevator ride down is uneventful, and by the time you step outside, the sky is a dark shade of blue with streaks of fading orange and pink clinging onto the horizon.

You don’t have to wait long before a sleek black car rolls up to the curb, headlights cutting through the dimming evening. You spot Seunghceol through the windshield before he even pulls to a full stop, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, fingers drumming idly. His hair falls slightly over his forehead, and he’s got that same relaxed-but-not-really posture you know so well.

The door unlocks with a quiet click, and you pull it open, slipping inside.

"Hey," you greet, settling into the passenger seat.

Seungcheol glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Hey. Seatbelt."

You roll your eyes but comply, the buckle clicking into place as he merges back into traffic. It’s only when you hit a red light that Seungcheol speaks again, eyes flitting over to you.

"You finished your project, right?"

You blink, turning to look at him. "How’d you know?"

He shrugs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "You only leave early when you finish something big."

You press your lips together, caught off guard. He’s not wrong.

"Yeah," you say after a moment. "Finally. Feels kind of weird not having it hanging over my head anymore."

Seungcheol hums, driving forward as the light turns green. "Bet that’s nice."

"It is," you admit, nodding as you slump back into your seat. "Kind of don’t know what to do with myself now, though."

He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. "Is that why you let me pick you up instead of just taking the bus? Needed something to fill the time?"

You scoff, nudging his arm lightly. "Shut up."

His chuckle is soft, barely audible over the low hum of the car, but you hear it anyway.

“Can we stop at a convenience store, by the way?” Seungcheol clears his throat after a few minutes of silence.

You hum in response. “Sure, you’re driving anyways.”

He nods, taking the next right turn without another word. The neon glow of the store comes into view a few minutes later, its sign flickering slightly against the darkening sky. He pulls into an empty parking spot, shifting the car into park before turning to you.

“You want anything?”

You shake your head, already reaching for your phone. “I’m good.”

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out. You watch as he stretches—arms over his head, a quick shake of his shoulders—before heading inside.

A few minutes later, Seungcheol returns, a plastic bag in hand. He slides into the driver’s seat, the faint rustling of wrappers filling the car as he rummages through it. Without a word, he pulls out a bag of chips and hands it over, like it’s second nature.

You blink, looking down at the bag in your lap, then back at him.

You narrow your eyes at him as you open the bag, pulling out a chip and popping it into your mouth. “What if I didn’t want this today?”

Seungcheol hums, setting his drink down before shifting the car into reverse. “Then you’d tell me to go back inside.”

You make a face, annoyed that he knows you too well, but let it slide. Instead, as he pulls out of the parking lot, you reach into the bag again—this time, holding a chip out toward him.

Seungcheol glances at it briefly before flicking his eyes back to the road. “What?”

“You want one?”

He hesitates—just for a second. And that’s when it hits you.

Your hand hovers in the air, and for a moment, you almost pull back. But then, Seungcheol leans in just slightly, just enough.

And without a word, he takes the chip from your hand.

Neither of you say anything after that.

—

The evening is loud, the kind of easy chaos that comes with Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Seungcheol crammed into your living room, half-watching something on TV while bickering over absolutely nothing.

Seungkwan had claimed his usual spot on the couch, legs kicked up onto the coffee table despite your protests. Jihoon sat on the floor, leaning against the armrest, scrolling through his phone but still chiming in whenever Seungkwan said something particularly stupid. 

It’s normal. Stupid jokes, Seungkwan laughing too loud, Jihoon threatening to leave but never actually moving. And for a while, you let yourself fall into it, let the noise drown out the things you don’t want to think about.

But then, Jihoon stands, stretching his arms overhead. “I should go,” he says, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Seungkwan groans dramatically but stands up too, stretching in sync with him. “Yeah, yeah. I should head out too.”

After Jihoon and Seungkwan leave, you linger by the door for a moment, listening to their voices fade as they walk down the street. When you turn back, Seungcheol is still there, getting off the couch to walk into your kitchen.

You hesitate, then exhale, shaking your head as you make your way back to the couch. The house feels different now—quieter, heavier.

You sink into your usual spot, pulling your legs up beneath you, reaching absently for the TV remote even though you’re not really paying attention. But after a few moments of silence, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Is it just me, or do I keep running into you everywhere?” You scoff, finally turning to face him. 

Seungcheol stands behind your kitchen counter, filling a glass of water before he stops at your words. He searches your face for any signs of playfulness, but finds none. Your eyebrows are knitted, a slight scowl on your lips and your words come out sharp and almost irritated.

“What?” He asks, a little confused, “I mean, I am living next to your house. Would be weird if you didn’t see me around.”

"You know that's not what I mean." You cross your arms, getting off the sofa.

“Well, for starters. Everyone was here today, so you kind of invited me over.” Seungcheol shrugs. “I was going to leave anyway, sheesh.”

"Yeah, this time," you say. "But what about the rest? It’s like things are just happening again, like nothing’s changed. You keep showing up, and it’s not just at work or around the neighborhood, it’s—" You pause, shaking your head before scoffing. "God, I don’t know. It’s confusing."

Seungcheol only watches you, setting his cup down with an unreadable expression. 

So you continue.

“It’s been over a year, Seungcheol. And then you come back and suddenly we’re going back to whatever this was. As if that entire period of our lives didn’t even exist. We didn’t talk to each other, Cheol. Didn’t talk, didn’t check in, didn’t even pretend that we existed and now—” You huff out, shoulders dropping, “Don’t you think this is strange? That we can just pretend like nothing happened and fall back into line like this?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, fingers tapping idly against the counter. Then, finally, he says, "Maybe it’s not that strange."

You groan, running a hand through your hair. It seems to tick him off a little because he speaks up again.

“You were the one that said that we were best friends, and that you wouldn’t stop treating me like that because we broke up,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “You told me that none of it would change, that we’d figure it out. And now you’re acting like it’s weird that I’m here, like I’m some stranger you keep running into instead of the person who—” He stops himself, shaking his head before he can say too much. His fingers tighten against the counter. “I’m not pretending nothing happened. But I’m not the one who changed their mind.”

“Fuck, I know!” You exclaim, a little louder than before, “God, I know and I’m sorry, okay? I thought it would be fine. I thought I could handle it but it’s not, Cheol. It’s not.” Swallowing, you hesitate. “It’s just hard, okay? Seeing you, talking to you and being around you like this just reminds me of everything and I don’t know how to act like it doesn’t hurt.”

You look up at him to gauge his reaction, but the way his jaw tightens just makes you feel worse.

“You think it wasn’t hard for me? That it still isn’t?” His voice is low, but his eyes are bright, anger slipping into them. “The difference is, I didn’t choose this. I didn’t wake up one day and decide we shouldn’t be together anymore.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was you.”

You throw your head back, eyes scrunching in frustration before you snap back, “Do you really think I didn’t think it over? That I didn’t even try or want this to work? I wanted it to. But it always felt like I was waiting for you, Seungcheol. Waiting for the next race to end, waiting for your next flight home, waiting for a moment that never lasted long enough before you had to leave again." You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And I know it wasn’t your fault—I never blamed you for any of it. But you have to see how unfair it was, too. I was the one adjusting, always making room in my life whenever you had the chance to come back, and when you left again, I was the one picking up the pieces."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. "You think I didn’t try? That I didn’t want more time with you?" His voice rises slightly, rough around the edges. "I missed things too, you know. I missed birthdays, I missed stupid little inside jokes, I missed you. But I tried. I called every chance I got, I stayed up even when I was dead tired just to hear your voice, I—" He cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I know it wasn’t enough. But it wasn’t like I didn’t care."

"I know you cared, Seungcheol," you say, voice quieter now but strained nonetheless. "But caring wasn’t the problem. It was never just about missing each other—it was about how impossible it felt to keep up. You were gone all the time. I couldn’t call you whenever I needed to, I couldn’t just show up when things got hard. And you—you were so busy, and I didn’t want to be just another thing on your list to worry about."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not fair," he mutters. "You were never just some obligation to me."

"But that’s what it felt like!" The words leave you before you can stop them, your voice cracking and your chest heaving. "Not because of you, not because of anything you did, but because of the way things were. I felt like I was trying to hold on to something that was slipping away no matter how much we wanted it to stay."

Seungcheol’s eyes darken, frustration clear in the way his fingers ball into fists at his sides. “So what, then? We just give up because it was hard?” His voice is louder now, the calm he’s tried to hold onto starting to slip away. “You think I didn’t feel like I was losing you too? You think I didn’t sit there in hotel rooms on the other side of the world, wishing I could be home with you instead?”

“Well, you weren’t home, Seungcheol!” you shoot back, eyes stinging. “And I couldn’t keep waiting for something that wasn’t going to change! I had to live my life too, I had to stop putting everything on hold for a relationship that—” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, willing your voice not to break. “That wasn’t going to work no matter how much we wanted it to.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s bullshit,” he mutters. “You didn’t even let me try. You made the choice for both of us.”

 “Are you serious right now? You did try, Seungcheol. We both did! But you were never going to have a life where you could just stay, and I never wanted you to give that up for me. I just—I wanted to feel like I wasn’t the only one adjusting, like I wasn’t always the one left waiting.”

His whole body goes rigid, and when he speaks next, Seungcheol’s voice is clear but scalding.

“Well, I quit,” he says, the words sharp and deliberate. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to look away. “So are you happy now?”

It hits you like a slap to the face—sharp, stinging, and almost disorienting. You blink at him, air knocked out of your lungs, stunned, mouth opening slightly but finding nothing to say.

Because this isn’t what you wanted. Not like this. Not for you. Not because of you.

But Seungcheol is still looking at you, chest rising and falling, waiting for you to say… say what? What do you even say to that?

“That is not what I said, and you know it.” Your voice is quiet but fierce when you finally reply, unyielding.

Seungcheol scoffs, running a hand over his face, but he doesn’t respond.

You shake your head, throat tightening. “I don’t want to talk to you like this.”

He laughs dryly, shaking his head as he looks away. "Right. Of course, you don’t."

You clench your jaw. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" His gaze snaps back to yours, frustration smeared across his features. "You get to throw all of this at me, tell me how impossible it was, how you couldn’t keep up. And then the second I react, you decide you don’t want to talk anymore?"

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. "Because you’re twisting my words, Seungcheol! I never wanted you to quit. I never wanted you to throw everything away for me.” You breathe in, feeling the tears fill your eyes as Seungcheol’s figure starts swimming in your vision. You look away, quickly wiping them and willing your voice to come out calm before you continue.

“I only ever wanted to be equal, Cheol. Just equal.”

His brows furrow, the sharp edges of his anger dulling into something heavier and blunt. His lips part like he wants to argue, to fight back, but nothing comes out. Instead, his shoulders drop just slightly, like the weight of everything between you is finally settling in.

"I would’ve done more," he says finally, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. "If you had told me, I would’ve done more."

You sigh, feeling all the fight and adrenaline draining out of you, leaving only exhaustion and regret. “I know. But I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “For not talking to you about it properly before. For not giving us a real chance to figure it out together.”

Seungcheol stands still for a few beats, looking unsure. Then, he grabs the glass he’d left full on the counter before turning around to dump it in the sink. The sound of water slinking down the drain fills the heavy atmosphere between you, and for a moment, it feels like neither of you knows what to say next.

His back is to you, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is dull and subdued.

“I should go,” he murmurs, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you. Seungcheol sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head, almost like he’s trying to shake off everything this conversation has brought up.

You don’t know what else to say, so you swallow hard and nod, even though he can’t see you. When he pushes himself out of the kitchen, you step aside. He walks slowly, almost like he doesn’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s not surprising. You’ve never felt this exhausted and on-edge around him either.

A muted, confused voice in your head, tells you to stop him before he goes. This isn’t done. Even if it is, you don’t feel like it is anyway. With the way Seungcheol hesitates, you can tell he doesn’t either. 

But you ignore it, for now. 

Seungcheol walks out of your door, closing it softly behind him. You think it’d be a little easier if he’d slammed it instead.

—

Seungcheol remembers being sixteen, sprawled next to Jihoon on the floor of your room. He can hear your dad watching the news on the TV, the loud and clear voice of the anchor cutting through the house.

“Seven-time Formula 1 world champion Lewis Hamilton has announced his retirement from the sport, shocking fans and experts alike. The Mercedes driver, widely regarded as one of the greatest of all time, confirmed in a press conference earlier today that this season would be his last."

Seungcheol barely pays attention. He’s freaked out over it already and so he idly flips through one of your textbooks, while Jihoon hums to himself, distracted with his guitar. Meanwhile, you sit straight next to him on the floor, biting on your lower lip in concentration as you try to tackle the integration worksheet your class was handed today. You twirl a yellow mechanical pencil between your fingers as you scan the page in front of you, brows furrowed. The dim yellow glow of your lamp casts soft shadows on your face, and Seungcheol finds himself staring without meaning to.

It’s nothing new—you studying, the three of you lazing around in your room, wasting away a slow evening together. But something about this moment feels different.

Your hair slips over your shoulder as you reach for another page, and for some reason, he can’t stop staring.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you before. You’ve been best friends since you were kids, growing up side by side, running through the same streets, bickering over stupid things only to make up a few hours later. You’ve always been there, always been you.

But right now, in this quiet moment, you look—

Pretty.

The thought creeps in so naturally that it startles him. His grip tightens on the textbook.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it before. He’s not blind. But this is different. Because it’s not just pretty, it’s you. And it feels important. Like something’s cracked open, like something’s about to change.

He quickly tears his gaze away, back to the textbook in his lap, but he doesn’t see a single word. His heartbeat is suddenly too loud in his ears, his skin warm under the collar of his hoodie.

Jihoon groans again, shoving his guitar aside. “I give up. This song is cursed.”

Seungcheol almost laughs, almost lets himself be pulled back into the moment. But then he glances at you one more time, catching the way you tuck your knee to your chest, biting your lip as you concentrate.

And just like that, he knows.

Knows that something is different now. Knows that, no matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to unknow it.

Seungcheol remembers finally, finally telling you that he likes you. He does it on a call, early morning on a Friday in Australia. Not ideal, not how he pictured it, but the words are there, pressing against his throat, demanding to be let out.

You look so soft on the screen, eyes half-lidded from sleep, cheek pressed into your pillow. It’s late where you are, but you still picked up when he called, even though you had work in the morning. The thought makes something warm settle in his chest, until he realizes he’s been staring at you too long, silent for too long, and you’re blinking at him now, confused.

"Cheol?" your voice comes through the speaker, quiet and a little groggy.

He sighs, shaking his head softly. He should wait. He should do this in person. But waiting has never been his strong suit, and the thought of another day, another week, another month of keeping this to himself—

"I like you."

The words fall out before he can stop them, before he can overthink them.

You blink slowly, drowsiness slipping away. “You what?”

He huffs out a little nervously.

"Say it again." You stare back at him with wide eyes, your head raised to get a better view.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I like you.”

Your breath catches. He sees it, sees the way you bite your lip like you’re trying not to smile, like you knew but needed to hear it anyway.

“You’re insane,” you say, but your voice is barely above a whisper, “Come back home, Cheol.”

Seungcheol grins, relief rushing through him. He laughs, a little breathless. “I will.”

“No,” you shake your head, firmer this time. “Come home soon.”

When Seungcheol comes back to you on Monday, you’re already waiting. 

You stand near the arrivals exit, arms crossed, watching the steady stream of passengers trickle out. You spot him before he sees you—hood up, suitcase rolling behind him, duffel slung over one shoulder.

And then his gaze lifts, finds yours, and stops.

Surprise flickers across his face followed by something softer, closer to relief. He lets out a quiet laugh as he stops in front of you.

“You look exhausted,” you say, voice calm, but your fingers twitch where they rest against your arm.

His lips tilt, but you can see it now—the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion clinging to his shoulders. Still, his eyes don’t leave yours, like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he murmurs.

You shrug, glancing away for a second. “Didn’t think you’d tell me you like me over the phone.”

He laughs, softer this time. The duffel slips from his shoulder, forgotten, as he takes half a step closer. Close enough that the warmth of him seeps into the space between you, close enough that you feel the weight of his gaze settle over you.

“Missed me that much?” he teases, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

You scoff. “You wish.” But your voice lacks bite, and he sees the way you shift from one foot to the other, like you’re holding yourself back.

So he doesn’t.

Seungcheol reaches for you, one hand cupping the side of your face, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. And before you can react, before you can even breathe, he kisses you.

It’s not cautious. Not nervous. Not testing the waters. It’s sure, like he’s known this is where he’s meant to be all along.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling against his lips like you’ve been waiting for this too. Like all the late-night calls, the moments of hesitation, the unspoken truths were leading to this.

When he pulls back, just slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

Your heart stumbles, and for once, you don’t pretend to fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “Took you long enough,” you whisper.

He laughs, soft and warm, before kissing you again.

Seungcheol remembers the countless races that you’ve flown in for, without him even asking. The paddock is still buzzing when he finally steps into his motorhome, his race suit unzipped to his waist, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. The adrenaline from qualifying still lingers in his veins, a familiar and electrifying hum of energy that usually takes hours to fade.

He breathes in deeply, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. P3. Not bad. Not what he wanted, but not bad. Tomorrow would be the real fight.

But when he finally looks around, Seungcheol’s eyes land on you before anything else.

You’re sat on the small couch in the corner of his motorhome, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through something on your phone. His jacket is draped over your shoulders, the red standing out starkly against your skin. Your hair is tied up loosely, like you’d done it without much thought, and there’s a half-empty water bottle on the table in front of you.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, momentarily stunned. He calls out your name, making you perk up as you notice him.

“You flew in?” he asks, still slightly breathless.

Your lips curl up, “Yes, as you can see.”

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s called a surprise, Cheol.” You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head playfully. “You’re supposed to like it.”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course I do.”

You grin, setting your phone down. “P3’s not bad.”

Seungcheol hums, rubbing a hand over his nape as he exhales. “Not bad. Could’ve been better.”

“It’s always ‘could’ve been better’ with you,” you tease, nudging his knee lightly with your foot. “You’re still starting from the second row. That’s a win in my books.”

He glances at you again, still not entirely believing that you’re actually here.

“How long have you been here?”

“Landed this afternoon and came straight to the track.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow slightly. “And you’ve just been… waiting here?”

You shrug. “I wanted to see you.”

Something about the way you say it, so simple and matter-of-fact, makes his throat dry up.

He doesn’t say anything. Just steps forward, reaching for your wrist, fingers wrapping around it gently before tugging you up onto your feet. You let him pull you in without resistance, your hands naturally finding their place against his sides.

And then he hugs you.

It’s steady and comforting—the kind of embrace that feels less like holding on and more like coming home. His arms wrap around you with quiet certainty, like this is where you’ve always belonged. He feels the way your body relaxes against his, the tension melting away, and it makes him hug you a little tighter. You breathe out softly, the sound barely audible.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

Your arms tighten around him. “I know. Me too.”

Seungcheol thinks he remembers when it all started to go wrong too.

He remembers staring at the screen, waiting.

The call rings once, twice, three times before it cuts to voicemail. Again.

He sighs before locking his phone. It’s past 2 AM where you are, but he’d hoped—just maybe—you’d still be awake. It’s been getting really hard to deal with the timezones, especially with all the new tracks on the calendar and more added races. He hasn’t been home in over two months.

His eyes droop with exhaustion as he types out a quick message. Call me when you wake up. Miss you.

You don’t get to reply until the next day.

By then, he’s already on track, already somewhere else.

Seungcheol remembers that the first thing he does after winning is look for you.

His team is cheering, his engineers clapping him on the back, cameras flashing in his face. But none of it matters until he sees you.

But he doesn’t.

His phone buzzes in his race suit pocket. He pulls it out, fingers clumsy from the adrenaline. A message from you.

I don’t know when you’ll see this but can’t make it today Cheol. I’m so sorry. I love you.Congrats on the win!!!

He exhales slowly, staring at the words.

You’d told him just last week that things were piling up at work. That you were barely getting enough sleep, that you’d skipped lunch twice because there was too much to do.

He’d told you to take care of yourself, his voice soft but firm. And you had laughed it off. But now, reading your message, the unease settles back in.

He wants to call. Wants to hear your voice, wants to check if you’ve eaten, if you’re resting like you should be. But there are cameras on him and a team waiting to celebrate.

So instead, he just types out a reply.

Love you too. Get some rest, yeah?

Then, he puts his phone away, and forces himself to smile.

Seungcheol remembers the last time he came back home before it all ended. March of 2024. You’re in his arms, holding on tighter than usual, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie.

“You’ll be back soon, right?” Your voice is quiet against his chest.

“Of course,” he says, pressing his lips to your hair. “Two weeks.”

You nod, sighing against his shoulder. “Okay.”

He should’ve kissed you longer. Should’ve told you he’d make it work, somehow. Should’ve said ‘I love you’ one more time.

Because two weeks turns into a month. A month turns into two and in the way that things go—

Seungcheol remembers the day you broke up with him too. He doubts he’ll ever forget it.

He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His race suit is gone, replaced by a plain t-shirt and joggers, but he still looks tired. Not from the race but from everything else.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, staring at the city lights outside. You don’t know how long the two of you have been sitting in silence, but it feels like forever. Like neither of you wants to be the first to say it.

But eventually, you do.

“Cheol, I don’t think this is working.”

Seungcheol inhales sharply, looking down at his hands. He nods once, slow, like he’s known this was coming but still hoped it wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

That should make it easier, but it doesn’t. It only makes your chest feel heavier.

“I love you,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “I love you so much.”

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

But the lack of love had never been the problem. Maybe the distance would’ve been easier if it were.

Seungcheol exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is there…” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Is there anything I can do?”

You should say no. Should shake your head and leave before you change your mind. But your breath hitches, your body betraying you before your mind can catch up.

Because even now, even after everything you don’t want to leave. Maybe you never have.

And maybe Seungcheol sees it, or maybe he’s just desperate, but then he says, so quietly, his voice cracking.

“Stay.”

It’s one word. Small. Fragile. But it’s a plea that sends your heart leaping for one last time before it falls flat again.

You should walk away. You know that. But your feet won’t move. And when Seungcheol shifts slightly, when he finally reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, you don’t pull away.

“Just tonight,” you whisper, almost like you’re convincing yourself.

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Just tonight.”

So you stay.

You let him pull you toward the bed, let him press his forehead against yours, let yourself sink into the warmth of his arms, into the quiet safety of him.

Seungcheol tries to memorise you in the last few hours that he gets. He doesn’t know if you’re pretending to be asleep or if you actually are, but he needs to remember the way you feel in his arms, the way your body curls against his like it’s instinct, like it’s habit. He presses his palm against the small of your back, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing, trying to sync his with yours. His fingers brush lightly over your shoulder, tracing absent patterns into your skin, committing the warmth of you to memory.

Your hair spills across the pillow, a few strands tickling his chin, and he doesn’t dare to move them away. He doesn’t want to disturb anything, doesn’t want to break the illusion that this is just another night. That when morning comes, you’ll still be here.

Seungcheol knows that in a few hours, he’ll wake up, and you won’t be here. That he’ll turn over in bed, reach for you out of habit, and find nothing but empty space.

Now, Seungcheol sits at the desk in his room. The house is quiet—too quiet. The kind that settles over you like a weighted blanket that you don’t want on you. He thinks about knocking on your door. Thinks about standing outside your house like an idiot, waiting for you to let him in. Thinks about calling you, but what would he even say?

I love you. I never stopped. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Instead, he breathes in, slow and deep, massaging his temple like he can will away the headache that is forming. He knows sleep won’t come easy tonight.

The next day, when Jihoon calls you, asking if you’ll come with him to your old school, you have half the mind to refuse. You’re still exhausted, maybe not ready to face people yet. But Jihoon doesn’t usually ask for favours and maybe a little contradictingly, you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts right now. 

So you say yes.

The sun’s begun to shine a little brighter these days, so when you walk out, locking your door behind you, the cold doesn’t bite too hard. 

Jihoon’s car is already parked by the curb, Seungkwan in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you approach, breaking into a grin.

“Well, look who decided to be social.”

You roll your eyes, pulling open the door and slipping into the back seat. “Jihoon made it sound urgent.”

Jihoon, hands on the wheel, scoffs. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you to come. You could’ve said no.”

You hum, settling into your seat. “Could’ve.”

But Jihoon doesn’t start the car. Instead, he just drums his fingers against the wheel, glancing at Seungkwan, who is still scrolling through his phone like they’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You frown. “Hello? Can we go?”

Seungkwan barely looks up. “Do you want to leave Cheol here then?”

Your stomach dips before you can stop it. “What?” You shift forwards in your seat, grabbing onto Jihoon’s headrest. “You didn’t say he was coming.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jihoon asks, a little perplexed.

“Did he not say anything to you?”

The boys go quiet for a good three seconds before Seungkwan turns in his seat to face you.

“Don’t lie. Did you two fight? Come on, you’re not kids anymore!” He nags, an exasperated look on his face, “What did you fight over, hmm? Him rattling around all the washed utensils? Did he spoil that stupid book you’ve been reading? Or was it—” Before Seungkwan can continue, the door on your left opens, making all three of you look that way. 

Seungcheol slides into the seat next to you, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet click. He huffs, brushing his hair back before glancing around—first at Jihoon, then at Seungkwan, and finally at you.

And then he pauses.

Just for a second, his eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to see you here. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that, of course, you would be here. His lips part as if to say something, but then he presses them together, looking away slowly.

“Morning,” he says, voice a little careful.

“Morning,” Seungkwan and Jihoon reply in unison.

You hesitate for a split second, but you don’t want Seungkwan and Jihoon to start poking their noses in right now, so you mumble out a small greeting too.

Jihoon exhales, twisting the key in the ignition. “Alright. Now we can go.”

The drive isn’t long, but the silence stretching between you and Seungcheol affects the two sitting up front and you know it too. Seungkwan—usually never quiet during car rides—sits a little slumped, eyes trained on the scenery outside the window. Jihoon doesn’t talk much anyways, but this early in the morning, he usually has a complaint about not picking up coffee that doesn’t come out either.

You don’t know if Seungcheol looks at you through the ten minute drive. You’re too on-edge, too awkward to even turn in his way. 

When Jihoon finally pulls up to the school, parking in the visitor’s lot, Seungkwan stretches his arms over his head. “Alright, children. Let’s go relive our glory days.”

“Glory days?” Jihoon snorts, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You mean the years you spent crying over exams and losing bets?”

Seungkwan whines in response as he gets out of the car. Jihoon sighs, shaking his head before continuing.

“I’m going to be in 11C. Think it’ll take maybe an hour? Ya’ll go do whatever, I guess.”

Jihoon leaves without much more to say, disappearing down the hall with a lazy wave of his hand. You watch him go, resisting the urge to call him back when you realize that leaves only three of you.

You turn to Seungkwan with a silent plea, hoping he’d pick up on it. He does. But he just doesn’t care.

“I think I’ll go look for Ms. Kang,” he announces, stretching his arms out. “Haven’t seen her in ages. She always liked me the best.”

“She liked you because you were a teacher’s pet,” you point out.

Seungkwan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “I was charming.”

You shoot him a look, unimpressed, but he only grins before waving over his shoulder. You don’t have time to reply before he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, painfully aware of the fact that there’s only one person left beside you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The school is quieter than you remember, the halls emptier now that classes are in session. Sunlight filters in through the old glass windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors, on the familiar blue doors, on Seungcheol as he sighs softly beside you.

You steal a glance at him. He looks at home here, in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You nod, fingers unconsciously picking at your nails. “Me neither.”

He hums, before taking a slow step forward. “Guess we might as well look around.”

And then he’s walking ahead, and you find yourself following without a word.

The school’s gym is exactly how you remember it—high ceilings with fluorescent lights that cast a slightly harsh glow, the faint scent of sweat and polished wood lingering in the air. The basketball court is lined with scuff marks from years of games, sneakers squeaking against the surface. The walls are still adorned with the same faded banners, boasting school mottos in bold, challenging letters. The chatter and yells of students already in there make you feel sixteen again.

You watch as Seungcheol quietly makes his way to the top of the bleachers, away from all the noise. For a moment, you stand still. You don’t know what this means. But you can’t just stand here near the entrance like some weirdo, so you walk up the stairs too, before sitting down at a respectable distance from him. When you do, Seungcheol glances over at you.

Your breath catches at the way you can still see the seventeen-year-old Seungcheol in him. The way he leans back slightly, palms on his knees, eyes trained on the court in thoughtfulness. You remember when Seungcheol told you he’d found a seat in Formula 2. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you look around. The two of you were probably sitting only a few seats to the left when he broke the news. The memory comes back to you so clearly, like it’s been waiting for the right moment to resurface. You can almost hear the way his voice had wavered just slightly when he said it out loud for the first time, the way your heart had lurched in your chest. 

You remember the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sports uniform. It had been the last step before the dream he’d spent his entire life chasing. And when the realization had fully settled in, you had grinned, throwing yourself at him in excitement.

Now, thirteen years later, you turn back to the Seungcheol in front of you. All the mistakes, all the dreams, all the unfinished businesses lay in the space between you two.

You shift behind, your fingers pressing against the cool concrete of the bleachers.

Seungcheol had always wanted this. This life, this dream, the career he chased relentlessly since you were kids. He was the boy who never stopped moving forward, never once looked back—not because he didn’t care, but because the only way to reach the top was to keep climbing.

And yet, here he is, sitting beside you in a school gym, watching a bunch of kids play basketball like he has nowhere else to be.

The thought unsettles you.

You want to ask. Want to say, And what now, Seungcheol? Where do you go from here?

But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, leaning back into the seat like it’ll smooth over the tension from last night’s argument.

Seungcheol drums his fingers against his knee, his gaze steady on the court below. “Feels smaller now,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

You hum, glancing around the gym. “Well, you were always made for bigger things.”

You don’t mean for it to sound like a reminder of everything that’s already happened, but maybe it is. Maybe it always will be. Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, just breathes out slowly, his fingers curling into his palm.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I got an offer from Aston Martin,” He says, finally looking up at you. “For 2027. I don’t think I’ll take it.”

You can’t do anything but nod, slowly. It’s not relief, not exactly. Because you know him. You know how much he loves this, how racing is such a big part of him. And if there’s one thing about Seungcheol, it’s that he doesn’t just walk away from the things he loves that easily.

When you don’t say anything, he turns away before muttering, “Do you ever think about how it would’ve been if I never left? If I never started racing in the first place?”

You pause, taken aback. “No.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a small, bitter smile on his lips when he glances at you, “No? Really?”

“No,” You assert again, “Because you were always going to leave. You were made for something bigger than all this—this mediocrity and this small-town life. This was never going to be enough for you and I’ve always known that, Cheol. Everyone does.”

Seungcheol looks like he wants to retort, but you continue speaking.

“And I never wanted it to be enough for you. Racing, that adrenaline, that feeling of winning—that is your sun, Seungcheol. You will forever revolve around it.  I can’t take that away from you and I have never wanted to.” You emphasize, looking into his eyes and hoping, pleading that he understands what you mean, “But I can’t leave with you either. I can’t live my life on flights and airports just to be with you, Seungcheol. My work, my life is equally as important to me. I have always, always loved you, but I can’t live like that.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his voice coming out with an edge of desperation when he speaks. “I never wanted you to do any of that. I never wanted you to give up anything for me.”

“How else was it supposed to work, Cheol?” You let out softly, “It wasn’t like you were in a position where you could just get up and come on a whim either.”

He doesn’t reply, but you see the way his figure slumps slightly. You hate all the exhaustion that you’ve been feeling around each other lately. What are you even doing this for? You force yourself to think about what you want from this, from him.

Even though you don’t dare to admit it, you know. It’s always been the same answer. You want him. And it’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid. You’re the one who decided that it wasn’t going to work.

But what if it had? 

The thought lingers in your head. But there’s no point in thinking about that now. Even if Seungcheol still loves you, even if you decide to try again, what reassurance do the two of you have that it won’t end in the same way? 

You don’t even think about Seungcheol rejecting Aston’s offer. You know that it’s only him trying to convince himself. He will agree to it and you want him to. But what will it mean for the two of you?

—

Seungcheol doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he unlocks his phone to listen to a different playlist. His sleeves are rolled up, hands slightly dusty, and the room smells like old cardboard boxes.

He’d only planned to put away the clothes piled up on the chair in the corner of his room, but one thing leads to another and now he sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, with his closet half-emptied out. The floor is littered with old clothes, forgotten magazines and other things that he once thought he might need again.

Seungcheol grunts as he gets up, his numb legs making him stumble a little as he walks over to the last drawer in his closet. Just clean out this one and we’ll be done, he thinks, sliding it open and reaching in.

There’s a bunch of ticket stubs from concerts, two used passports, filled to the brim with stamps, worn because of years of constant travelling, and a bunch of receipts and paper clippings that Seungcheol should probably throw away. There’s one of his first career wins, some from his championships and some from his debut. He smiles with slight fondness before letting them drop onto the trash pile on the floor. Noticing one more, he tries to pull it out from the depths of the drawer only to realize that there’s something on top of it.

Seungcheol shoves his hand in further, but when his fingers touch the box, he freezes.

He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. He knows because he never threw it away. Never even considered it. Just stuffed it into the back of the drawer and left it there, like hiding it could make it mean any less.

His hand tightens around the edges of the box as he slowly walks back to the edge of his bed. The velvet is slightly worn now, its shine being dimmed by time and neglect, but it still feels just as heavy as it did the first time he held it. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but Seungcheol flips it open anyways.

The ring is exactly how he left it. Silver, simple, but deliberate. Something he picked out after months of indecision, after staring at a dozen options and thinking, No, not that one. Not yet. Until he found this—the one he could picture on your hand, the one that felt right.

Seungcheol runs his thumb over the navy blue, velvet lining.

It’s been over a year since he’d meant to give it to you. He had meant to ask. He’d meant for so many things to happen that never did.

Seungcheol had a plan. A future. A moment he thought would belong to you two for the rest of your lives. Now, he just sits, staring at something that never got the chance to be what it was supposed to be. 

He closes the box shut quickly, setting it onto his bed and shaking his head like it’ll push away the image of your hand with the ring on.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at it, caught between regret and mourning before his gaze finally shifts to the notebook on his desk.

For the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements as he gets up from his bed with the box in hand and walks over to the desk. He keeps it, right next to his laptop, before grabbing the first pen he sees.

Hey. So.

I should’ve said this a long time ago. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.

And I don’t know if it makes any difference now, if any of this still matters and if you’ll even finish reading this letter. Maybe you’ll see my handwriting on this, sigh and put it away. Wouldn’t be surprised if you threw it away, either.But if you’re still here and reading this, then I need you to know something.

I found the ring today. While cleaning my closet, I found it buried under old ticket stubs and some rubbish paper, stuffed into the back of my closet, untouched for over a year. I don’t know why I kept it. I don’t know why I never got rid of it. 

I had this entire plan to ask you once the season was over, during the winter break in 2024. I thought about it for months. Where I’d do it, what I’d say, whether you’d laugh at me for being so nervous. I had imagined a hundred different versions of it in my head—sometimes in a place that meant something to us, sometimes when you least expected it, sometimes in the middle of some ordinary moment, because you always made the ordinary feel like more. But well, by the time we reached December, we weren’t the same anymore.

I’m sorry if hearing this makes you uncomfortable, but when I found it today, it still felt like it belonged to you.

It’s strange, the things you think you’ve moved past, the things you tell yourself you’ve let go of. You move forward, you keep busy, you fill your days with schedules and noise and people who don’t look at you the way you used to. You convince yourself that you’re okay. That it’s just life. That this is how things were meant to be.

And then you find something like this—something small, something tangible, something that holds the weight of everything you never said—and it knocks the air out of you.

I used to think that no matter how many flights I had to take, no matter how many nights we spent apart, no matter how much we had to bend to fit into each other’s lives, we would make it. That as long as we loved each other, we could find a way.

But you knew better, didn’t you?

You always saw things more clearly than I did. You knew that love alone wasn’t going to be enough to hold us together, not when I kept asking you to meet me in the middle without realizing my middle was always shifting. Not when I couldn’t give you the things you needed and I swear—it was not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how to.

I should have told you that I never let you go without a fight because I wanted to. I walked away because I thought it was the only way we’d both get what we deserved. You always told me I never knew how to slow down. I used to laugh it off, but maybe you were right. Maybe I only realized it too late.

You deserved someone who could put you first. Someone who wouldn’t spend half the year in different countries, someone who didn’t come home exhausted and drained, someone who wasn’t constantly pushing you to adjust to his life without knowing how to meet you halfway.

And I don’t even know what I deserved. But I know what I wanted. I know what I still want.

You.

It’s always been you.

And I know that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for me to say this now, after all this time, after we tried and tried and still fell apart anyway. But the truth is, I never stopped trying. Even when I convinced myself I had. Even when I told myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. So forgive me for being selfish.

I think about you more than I should. I think about you when I land in a city I know you’d love, when I hear a song that reminds me of you, when I open my phone and my first instinct is still to tell you something before I remember I can’t.

So here’s what I need you to know—what I should have told you then, what I should have promised you when I still had the chance.I won’t ask you to adjust to me anymore. I won’t ask you to bend, to compromise, to give up parts of your life just to fit into mine. I won’t expect you to be the one making all the sacrifices, the one who has to keep up with the way my life moves. If we try again—if you let me have this chance—I promise I will learn how to meet you where you are.

And if you’ve reached here, but still don’t think this is worth it, I won’t try to change your mind. I won’t ask you for something you don’t want to give. But if there’s still a part of you that trusts me, that thinks this could work, then tell me. I won’t ask for anything more than that. Because I don’t want to let this slip away without knowing if there’s still something left to hold on to.

I can’t promise that things will be perfect, that we won’t have to figure things out as we go. But I can promise that I’ll try. That I won’t let the things that pulled us apart be the same things that keep us from trying again. I don’t know where this leaves us. But if there’s something still left here, I want to figure it out with you.

Lastly, I did not write this letter because I was too scared or not sincere enough to say this to your face. I wrote it because I needed to get it right, because if I tried to say all of this out loud, I don’t know if it would come out the way I wanted it to. Maybe I’d fumble my words, maybe I’d get caught up in everything I’m feeling and forget half of what I need to say. But this is everything, exactly as I mean it.

I’m sorry, I love you.

Seungcheol.

You read the letter once, twice, thrice, sitting down on the floor of your room. 

The first time, it doesn’t fully sink in. The second time, your eyes catch on certain words—the ring, I never stopped trying, I love you. By the third, you realize your fingers are gripping the pages too tightly, creasing the paper in places you shouldn’t.

You inhale, slow and shaky.

You should have expected this—you don’t know why, but you should have. Seungcheol was never the kind of person to leave things half-finished. He always had something to say, always had one more thing left in him, and now, even after everything, even after all this time, he’s still here. Still reaching for you in the only way he knows how.

The truth is—you believe him.

You believe that every word on this page is real, that he isn’t saying this just to pull you back into something fleeting. You believe that when he says he’ll meet you where you are, he means it. That when he asks if there’s still something left to hold on to, he’s not asking out of desperation—he’s asking because he’s ready to try.

And you trust him. 

The thought doesn’t surprise you much. You always have. Even when things fell apart, even when you told yourself it was better this way, even when you tried to move forward without looking back.

But now?

Now, he’s standing at the other end of the bridge, waiting. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re the only one crossing it.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fold the letter along its creases. You stare at it for a little longer as if the words might change. As if you haven’t already memorized them.

But nothing changes. And deep down, you know—you don’t need to read it again. You already have your answer.

You inhale sharply, then push yourself up from the floor, legs stiff from sitting too long. Your head feels heavy, maybe from the lack of sleep, or from the toll this has been taking on you. But as you grab your keys from the kitchen counter downstairs, you realize you feel lighter than you have in a very, very long time. You’re sick of being uncertain, of hesitating.

So you open the door, step outside, and let yourself believe.

—

Seungcheol hears the knock, quiet but firm.

It’s late—too late for visitors. Still, he moves.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s you and for a moment, he’s surprised that you’re already here.

You stand there, breathing a little hard, arms wrapped around yourself like you only just realized how cold it is. No jacket, no hoodie, nothing but the clothes you must’ve been wearing at home. Like you didn’t even think before coming here.

And in your hand, his letter.

Neither of you speak.

Your fingers press into the paper, grip just tight enough to crumple it. The porch light flickers slightly, your eyes flitting to it quickly, before they settle back on him.

Seungcheol holds his breath and steps aside wordlessy to let you in.

You step inside without a word, the warmth of his house settling over you the moment the door clicks shut behind you. It should be a relief after the bite of the cold, but it isn’t—it barely registers.

Because Seungcheol is right there.

Close enough that you can hear his breathing, see the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t say anything—not yet. He just watches you, gaze flickering from your face to the letter still clutched in your hand.

For a moment, neither of you move.

The silence isn’t unfamiliar. You’ve had silences like this before, the kind that stretched between phone calls, between airports, between too many things left unsaid. But this one is different. This one is hopeful—you can sense it.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the letter before you finally hold it out to him.

“I read it,” you say, your voice quieter than you expected.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing as he glances at the paper, then back at you.

He doesn’t ask what you think or demand an answer. He just waits. It’s something new, this patience of his, and it makes your heart twist in your chest. Your fingers finally let the letter slip from your grasp, setting it down beside you without looking away from him.

"You meant all of it?" Your voice is quieter than you expect, calmer than you feel.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing slightly. “Yeah,” he says, “I meant all of it.”

You nod, shifting slightly on your feet. The warmth of his house is pressing into your skin now, but it’s not the heat from the room that’s making your heart spike—it’s him. It always has been. It’s the way he’s looking at you, careful but so open, like he’s letting you see everything without saying a single word.

And the truth is, you already know.

You’ve always known.

The realization settles over you, sinks its teeth into your skin, and for once, you let it.

You step forward, closing the space between the two of you, hesitating only for a split second before reaching for him, locking your hands behind his back. It’s instinct more than anything else, something your body remembers even if your heart has spent so long pretending to forget.

Seungcheol stiffens—you can feel it. But before you can pull away, his arms come up to encircle your waist, warm and familiar. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that, but it’s long enough for the tension to slip from your body, for his hand to smooth over the curve of your back, for the ache in your chest to settle into something more subdued. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his breath fanning against the side of your face as he holds you like he’s afraid to let go.

And then, slowly, carefully, you pull back just enough to look at him.

His arms stay where they are, his hands settling lightly at your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

His gaze flickers down, just briefly, before finding yours again.

You lean in first, but Seungcheol’s quick to meet you down, half-way.

He reacts immediately, like he’d been waiting for this—for you. His hands tighten on your waist, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he kisses you back, like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

His fingers slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just right, pulling you closer. You let him, let yourself get lost in it, in him, in the way he still kisses you like he knows you, like he’s never forgotten what you like, what makes you sigh against his lips, what makes you grip onto him just a little tighter.

And then, slowly, the urgency fades.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, your fingers relax where they’ve been fisted in his shirt, and for a moment, all you can hear is the quiet sound of your breathing mixing in the space between you.

When you finally pull back, it isn’t all at once. Your lips part, but your foreheads stay pressed together, noses barely grazing. Seungcheol exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself.

Your fingers loosen where they’d been clutching his shirt, but instead of pulling away completely, his hand finds yours. You let his fingers slip and tighten between yours, a small, relieved sigh leaving your lips.

Eventually, Seungcheol leans back slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

He exhales, then nods toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You glance at it before looking at him again. He probably sees a sliver of hesitation, but it’s not because you don’t want to. Rather because it feels surreal, too easy after everything. But then his fingers squeeze yours, just barely, and it’s enough.

So you go.

You settle beside him, not pressed together, not too far apart—just close enough. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and absentminded, like it’s second nature. It is, you suppose. It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into old habits after trying so long to ignore and forget them.

“You’re freezing,” Seungcheol murmurs after a beat, squeezing your hand lightly.

You hum, shifting a little to get comfortable. “I kind of didn’t think too much after I read the letter and just, well, came.”

Your gaze flickers to the coffee table, where a motorsport magazine sits at the top of a messy stack. The cover is creased, the pages slightly bent from being flipped through too often.

“You’ve been keeping up?” you ask.

Seungcheol follows your gaze before sighing, almost guiltily. “I tried not to.” He pauses before slowly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Didn’t really work.”

You know how it feels. You never stopped watching his races either, even when you tried so hard to convince yourself that it was possible.

“Have you decided yet?”

He doesn’t pretend not to know what you mean. He breathes in deeply, tilting his head back against the couch.

“I told myself I wouldn’t take it.” Seungcheol says it with a sense of fake surety. He may believe it now. 

But sometimes you know him better than he knows himself. You know that Seungcheol has always had that fire in him. The burn to win, to be bigger, better. That ambition that you once respected, still do, but the same one that’s torn the two of you apart. The worst thing is that it is not something that can be dampened out. You can see it in his eyes, even now. His body is on a break, but you know that Aston offer has been running in his mind. Once you get addicted to that adrenaline, to that feeling of being the fastest person in the world, you can’t ever let it go. And Seungcheol isn’t anywhere close to being done. You know it.

And it hurts. Just a little, because you know he is about to leave again. Even before he’s made his decision, you know. But you have always loved Seungcheol and racing has been a part of his life almost as long as you have. You cannot take that away from him. You won’t. He belongs there, on track, in a car, fighting for his dreams and proving his worth.

You can only hope that he belongs here too, beside you on his couch, fingers running through your hair as he hums an old song under his breath.

But it’s about time you take that leap of faith again, and something tells you that you won’t fall down and scrape your knees this time.

The first time Seungkwan notices that something’s off, it’s on the late night coffee run that he drags the two of you to. 

Initially, he’d only meant to call you since you’re the only one who’d even come. So it surprises him to see Seungcheol behind you when you open your front door. Seungkwan doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just here to give you something, or help you with something. Maybe there was a bug in your room and you yelled for him to come over and kill it. You do that sometimes. 

What other logical explanation would you have for him to be in your house past 10?

So thus, Mister Muscle ends up coming with you two, too.

In the convenience store, the cashier barely raises his head to look up at you guys, the glass door swinging shut behind you. Seungkwan heads straight for the coffee dispenser, mind running through all the tasks that he needs to complete before this week ends. File that report, write an email regarding missing documents from the 5th floor. Ask for an increase in vacation days. He needs to fix that printer tomorrow morning.

He notices you and Seungcheol move in sync without a word, making your way to the refrigerated drinks. He doesn’t follow immediately, and only watches for a few seconds as you pick out different drinks.

The store’s window seats are empty, so you slide into one, Seungkwan and Seungcheol taking the spots beside you. The glass reflects the neon signs outside, a soft glow spilling onto the counter in front of you.

Seungkwan tears open a protein bar, already mid-rant about something, while you set your drink down with a quiet thud, a mildly disgusted expression on your face.

Without a word, you reach for Seungcheol’s bottle instead.

You take it from his hand, twist the cap, and drink.

Seungcheol doesn’t react. Like it’s nothing, he just picks up your iced tea and takes a sip, barely glancing your way.

Seungkwan stops mid-chew.

Since when did you two start getting along so well? 

As the two of you look at him, expecting him to continue his rant, he convinces himself that it’s for the better anyway. At least some things are coming back to normal.

The second time, Seungkwan’s too sleepy to care at first.

He breathes out as he steps outside, barely awake, iced coffee in his hands but not doing much yet. His morning routine is automatic—walk out, wave to you, go to work. No thinking required.

But today, when he looks up toward your driveway, Seungcheol is there.

Seungkwan blinks, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’s still dreaming. But no, you’re definitely there, your metal water bottle in hand, listening to Seungcheol say something with that too-casual, too-familiar ease.

Seungkwan slows his steps.

You shift your bag higher up your shoulder. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly. 

Maybe Seungkwan’s still sleepy and bleary eyed, because for a second he swears he sees Seungcheol lean down to you. He also thinks you don’t move away either.

What was that?

And then it’s gone.

By the time Seungkwan gets close enough, you’re stepping back, tucking your keys into your pocket, like nothing just happened.

Seungcheol shakes his head, stretches his arms overhead like he’s just waking up, and steps away from the car when you finally notice him.

Seungkwan thinks you wave a little over-enthusiastically at 8 in the morning. Maybe you just slept well.

The third time, it’s at Jihoon’s house, just a casual hangout. The man had been isolating himself in his studio all week, and Seungkwan had thought that it was about time he came out of his hibernation.

Seungkwan sits cross-legged on the floor, next to the coffee table, searching for movies to play tonight. But when he looks up at you, his eyes narrow in on the way you and Seungcheol sit, way too close to each other when there’s so much space around you two.

It’s not even the way your legs bump every few minutes, or the quiet conversations you have that seem just a little too easy for two people who supposedly haven’t been together in a year.

Seungkwan finally begins to understand when he catches Seungcheol reaching for your hand. It’s so casual and normal that he doesn’t even think anything of it at first. It’s only when you glance up at him, after he fixes the bracelet on your hand that’s about to fall off, that he realizes.

It’s not a surprised glance, not a startled reaction, just a look that lingers. Like this isn’t the first time, like it won’t be the last.

And then, you smile.

It’s small, just barely there, but undeniably fond. Soft around the edges in a way that doesn’t belong to people still figuring things out.

And Seungcheol smiles back.

Seungkwan’s jaw drops slightly before he forces himself to tear his gaze away, feeling like he’s intruded on something very personal to them. He turns to look at Jihoon beside him, who only shakes his head, a small grin on his face.

“You knew?” Seungkwan asks, incredulously.

Jihoon doesn’t even look at him. “It really wasn’t that hard to figure out. Maybe you’re just a little dense.”

Seungkwan glares at him before turning his attention to you.

“Are you two back together again?”

“Yeah.” The answer comes out instantly, almost nonchalantly too. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just the simple truth, spoken like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Seungkwan blinks.

Jihoon huffs out a quiet laugh beside him, shaking his head like he saw this coming from a mile away.

He’s spent weeks piecing things together—watching, observing, feeling like he’s uncovering the fact that you two are starting to act lovey-dovey again—only to find out that you two have actually been back together this whole damn time?

He sighs sharply, rolling his eyes at the couple before turning to Jihoon again.

“So this is why you didn’t tell me.” Seungkwan swats his shoulder, “Pay up.”

Jihoon only sighs loudly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a neatly folded bill before wordlessly handing it over.

Seungkwan snatches it and shoves it into his own pocket.

“Thank you,” he says, voice smug.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

Seungkwan hums, crossing his arms pettily before leaning back into the sofa. “We bet on how long it would take you two to get back together.”

Your mouth falls open. “You bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “How long did you say?”

“Three months,” Jihoon answers.

Seungkwan scoffs, smug. “I said two.”

You fold your arms. “Wow. Love the faith you guys had in us.”

Jihoon shrugs. “You’re both kind of predictable.”

—

The house is quiet, the kitchen warm with the scent of food as you move around it together. It’s late, but neither of you are in a hurry.

Seungcheol stands behind you, arms locked at your waist. His breath on your neck makes you squirm a little, a small laugh leaving your lips. You twist in his grip, just enough to face him, and suddenly, you’re close.

Too close—the kind where your noses brush, soft and fleeting, as he tilts his head slightly.

Your breath catches for half a second, but Seungcheol just smiles, his arms pulling you in a little more. “What?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, nudging your nose against his in retaliation. “Can you just let me grab the plates in peace?”

He laughs—a warm, hearty sound—his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “I don’t really think you mind.”

Your fingers find their way around his neck before you even think about it, elbows resting lightly against his shoulders. Seungcheol hums and for a second, you think he’s about to kiss you when—

The front door unlocks.

Your stomach drops. Seungcheol’s arms fall away instantly, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you take a hurried step back.

“Oh.”

Your mom stands in the doorway, suitcase in hand, her brows lifting slightly as she takes in the sight of you both.

“Oh,” you echo, your voice a little too high, a little too fast.

Your dad steps in behind her, glancing up just in time to see the two of you standing too close, looking entirely too guilty. He blinks, his gaze shifting between you and Seungcheol, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he nods. “Huh.”

Seungcheol clears his throat, visibly struggling for words, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck while the other hangs uselessly at his side.

You, on the other hand, want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Welcome back!” you blurt out, voice strained. “You’re early!”

Your mom eyes you suspiciously before turning to Seungcheol. “Yes, well, we caught an early flight. Didn’t realize you’d be here too, sweetheart.”

Seungcheol, to his credit, doesn’t completely crumble under pressure. He musters up a sheepish smile. “Just—uh—helping out.”

Your mom’s expression softens almost immediately, her eyes flickering between the two of you before she exhales, a small, knowing smile forming on her lips.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, setting her suitcase down. “It’s good to see you both like this again.”

Your breath catches slightly, throat tightening at the gentle relief in her voice. Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, his shoulders relaxing,

Your father doesn’t say much. He only claps Seungcheol on the shoulder as he moves past you two with the suitcases. But as he walks ahead, his voice drifts back to you, muttering under his breath.

“Who was it that said two months? Was it Jihoon or Seungkwan? Gotta pay them now, damn it…”

Seungcheol freezes. You blink.

What?

Your mom sighs, following after him like this is a normal conversation. “You can just be happy for them, you know.”

“I am happy,” your dad grumbles. “I just thought I had more time before I had to hand over the money. Those silly boys roped me into their bet.”

Seungcheol presses his lips together, struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Why has everyone been betting on us?” You exclaim, throwing your hands up as you turn to your father.

“Because it’s only ever been a matter of time when it comes to you two,” He sighs, shaking his head at the two of you as he disappears into his room.

You gape at his exiting figure, before dragging a palm over your face. “This is fucking insane.”

Seungcheol almost snorts, stepping away when you try to swat him.

Seungcheol is stretched out on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone at an angle. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, skimming through something on your laptop, barely paying attention to anything beyond the soft hum of the heater and the occasional click of your keyboard.

It isn’t until the familiar sound of engines fills the quiet that you glance up.

His phone screen reflects off his face, but from this angle, you can’t see what he’s watching.

“Has testing begun?” You question, standing up to walk over to him.

Seungcheol grunts a little as he pushes himself up to make space for you, holding his phone out so that you can see too. He nods as you sit beside him, leaning into you as his eyes stay fixed on the screen.

You watch him, a little carefully. Seungcheol’s brows are furrowed in concentration and his eyes flick across, analyzing, checking. His fingers tighten around his phone slightly, his jaw set in focus. Every so often, his thumb taps idly against the side of the device, a habit he’s never really shaken. His eyes flicker across the screen, sharp and intent, following the cars as if he’s trying to place himself back in the cockpit.

You hum softly, resting your chin against your knee. “You’re still keeping up with everything?”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, finally leaning back against the couch. “Not really,” he says, but the way he doesn’t look at you makes it feel like a lie.

You don’t push, just let the moment pass as another driver’s onboard appears on screen.

“That car looks good,” he mutters, nodding toward one of them on screen. “Stable through the high-speed corners, barely any correction on exit.”

You blink, glancing at the timing bar. “Williams?”

He scoffs. “Yeah. But you can’t trust anything yet.”

“Sandbagging?” you guess.

“Mhm.” Seungcheol nods. “The bigger teams always run heavy in testing, low power mode. You won’t know their real pace until the first race.”

You glance back at the screen, watching as another car rolls into frame—this time, a deep green, with a small rake of aero sensors still attached to the side.

You hesitate for only a second before saying, “What do you think about them?”

Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He watches for a few more seconds, his expression unreadable, before he breathes in deeply.

“You never know,” he murmurs. “It’s just testing.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Neither do you.

Instead, you think of the meeting you had yesterday, the offer sitting in your inbox—marked as important.

—

You don’t expect to see Seungcheol outside at 8 A.M. when you close your front door behind you and make your way to the driveway to go to work.

But there he is—standing by his driveway, shaking out his damp hair, dressed in a hoodie unzipped over a sweat-soaked shirt. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his gym shoes still on, like he just got back.

Your fingers pause over your keys. It’s early. Not too early for you, but early enough that he shouldn’t be up unless he had somewhere to be.

Seungcheol spots you almost immediately. His face shifts into something easy, something warm, as he steps closer.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still a little rough from the cold air.

You glance at him. “You’ve been out?”

He hums, nodding as he adjusts the strap of his bag. “Yeah. Gym.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “At this hour?”

Seungcheol grins, leaning in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to your lips before you can say anything else. But when he pulls back, you’re still looking at him, eyes narrowed.

“How long have you been up?”

He sighs like he already knows what’s coming, before tilting his head slightly. “Four?”

Your stare sharpens. “Seungcheol.”

He laughs, stepping back slightly, like he knows he’s caught. “What? I couldn’t sleep.”

You cross your arms, watching as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, fingers tapping absently against his duffel bag. He doesn’t look tired, but he doesn’t look at ease either. His body is still holding onto that restlessness that he hasn’t figured out how to shake.

“You’re working out a lot,” you say finally, voice careful.

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s just habit.”

You watch the way his gaze shifts slightly, the way his shoulders tense.

And maybe you shouldn’t say it—at least, not yet. But the words slip out anyway.

“You aren’t used to not prepping hard around this time, are you?”

For the first time, his expression falters just slightly.

It’s quick—so quick that if you weren’t watching him this closely, you might have missed it. But it’s there. That brief flicker of something in his eyes, something unsure, something lost.

He exhales, looking away for half a second. “Yeah.”

You nod, watching him straighten up.

“But not this year,” you murmur.

Seungcheol tries brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Nope.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, carefully, you tilt your head. “And you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t reply right away. It gives you the answer you needed. 

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you pipe up again, “Do you have any plans today?”

He laughs a little at that, “Yep. Busy schedule. I need to rot in bed, get out of my room, roam around the kitchen and go back in again until my girlfriend decides to come back home.”

You smile softly, before stepping closer, reaching up to fix a stray strand of hair sticking to his forehead. He stills for half a second before leaning into the touch, eyes flickering down to yours.

“I’ll see you when I get back, Cheol. I have something to talk to you about.” You admit as you step back.

He nods slowly, before motioning for you to get into your car. “Sure, I’ll see you then. Have fun at work!”

You shake your head as you shut the car door, putting on a sour expression. It makes him laugh, so you guess that’s half the mission accomplished for today.

—

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed when Seungcheol walks in, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the doorframe, watching you with a smile.

“You never knock,” you mutter without looking up.

“You never lock your door,” he counters, stepping inside like he belongs there.

You huff out a small breath, shaking your head as he settles onto the bed beside you. He stretches his legs out, arms propped behind him, fingers tapping lightly against your blankets. He’s comfortable, always is when he’s here, but there’s something knowing in his gaze, like he’s been waiting for you to speak first.

Seungcheol tilts his head. “You look like you’re overthinking.”

You press your lips together before sighing. “Maybe.”

He hums. “Want to tell me what’s up, or should I start guessing?”

You hesitate, picking absently at a loose thread on your sleeve. No point in dragging it out.

“I got a job offer,” you say.

His brows lift slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s in the UK.”

Seungcheol doesn’t react right away. His fingers still against the bed, but there’s no visible surprise—just a slow, careful inhale as he absorbs it.

“That’s big,” he says after a moment. His voice is steady, even. “A good one?”

You nod again. “Better position, bigger projects.”

He watches you for a second longer. “And?”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “And… I don’t know.”

Seungcheol adjusts his position so he’s facing you fully now. “You don’t know what?”

“If I should take it,” you admit.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to?”

You hesitate, the words catching somewhere in your throat. Because it’s not that simple, is it?

Seungcheol must notice because he doesn’t say anything right away—just waits, gaze unwavering.

“It’s not just moving—it’s starting over. A new city, a new routine. Everything changes.” You pause. “Including us.”

Something flickers in his expression, but it’s gone too fast for you to catch.

Instead, he exhales, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

You blink at him. “You’re not going to tell me I’m overthinking?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No. I mean, you are overthinking, but it’s a big decision. You should take your time.”

You purse your lips. “And what if I don’t know what the right choice is?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. “Then you think about what scares you more—taking it, or not taking it.”

His words sink in slowly.

You chew on your lip. “What if both scare me?”

He smiles, just slightly. “Then you take the one that moves you forward.”

For a moment, you just look at him.

“You always make things sound so easy.”

Seungcheol sighs, lips quirking. “That’s because it is.”

You shake your head, but there’s a warmth in your chest, the feeling of being sure and unsure at the same time.

After a few moments of silence, carefully, you say, “It’s funny, though.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“How things happen at the right time,” you murmur, eyes flickering to his. “Me getting this now. And you with the—” You cut yourself off, shrugging slightly.

“The what?” Seungcheol asks, casually. Too casually.

You sigh, slumping down onto the bed, beside him. “Come on, Cheol. Aston Martin. They're based there too. How long are you going to make them wait?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “This isn’t the same thing.”

“Is it not?” You hum, waiting, still patient.

“No. This is different. You got an actual offer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what did Aston give you? A suggestion?”

Seungcheol huffs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Seungcheol shuts his eyes close, breathing in deep. You know he doesn’t want to have this conversation now, but it hurts you to see him like this.

So you mutter, a little softer now, “How long are you going to pretend like you aren’t thinking about it?”

His gaze flicks to you at that, caught.

Seungcheol looks away. “It’s not about thinking about it. It’s about—” He stops, running a hand over his face. “It’s about if I even should.”

You’re not too surprised, but hearing it from him takes you aback for a second. Still, you don’t waver. “And what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbles, quietly.

“Then try and figure it out, Cheol.” You say, still looking at him.

Seungcheol keeps quiet for a long minute before he sighs, a little reluctant. “What if I come back and I’m not good enough anymore?”

You shift closer, reaching out ,your hand settling over his. “Seungcheol.”

He doesn’t look up immediately, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“You know what I think?” you murmur.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “I think if you didn’t believe you could still do it, you wouldn’t be struggling with this so much.”

Seungcheol’s breathing comes out slower this time.

“You’ve been restless, working out like you’re still in pre-season,” you continue. “You follow testing, you analyze race strategy even when you pretend you’re just watching for fun.” You pause. “You’ve been waiting for someone to tell you to go back. But the only person who can make that choice is you.”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he knows you’re right but doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you add. “But I know you, Seungcheol. And you don’t walk away from things unless you know you’re done. And you know that you aren’t done with this. Are you?”

Finally, he looks at you.

Seungcheol’s throat bobs as he swallows. His fingers curl into the blankets, and when he finally exhales, it’s slow. Careful.

“No,” he says quietly.

You nod, like you knew this answer was coming. Because you did.

His fingers tighten around yours.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “I think I’ve always known.”

You smile, just slightly. “So what’s stopping you?”

Seungcheol exhales, but this time, he doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, thoughtful. His gaze flickers downward. And when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter—more hesitant than before.

“…What about us?”

Your breath catches slightly, because you hadn’t expected him to ask that first.

He lifts his gaze back to yours, eyes searching. “If I do this,” he murmurs, “I’m going to be gone all the time again. I’ll be at the factory, traveling for races, testing. If I go back… I don’t want things to fall apart again.”

The words settle heavily between you.

Because he’s right.

If he does this, it’ll be different from before—but in some ways, it’ll be the same. He’ll be just as busy, maybe even more. And after everything you’ve been through, he’s scared that history will repeat itself.

You inhale slowly, squeezing his hand. “You’re thinking too far ahead,”

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. “Someone has to.”

You tilt your head. “Why do you always assume the worst?”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

You pause, then gently, “Then be realistic about this, too. I don’t think we’re the same people we were back then, Cheol.”

His expression softens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“We already lost each other once,” you continue. “We know what it feels like. And I don’t think either of us wants to go through that again.”

Seungcheol swallows. “No,” he says quietly. “We don’t.”

You nod, voice softer now. “Then we won’t.”

Seungcheol exhales slowly, then sits up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, he just presses his palms against his knees, staring at the floor like he’s letting it all settle in. Then, with a slow breath, he nods.

You watch as he reaches for his phone, turning it over in his hands. His fingers hover over the screen for a second before he glances at you, something steadier in his gaze now.

“I should probably stop putting this off.”

You nod, lips curling slightly. “Yeah.”

He exhales, tapping at the screen, and just before he brings the phone to his ear, he glances at you one last time.

And this time, there’s no hesitation.

BAHRAIN, PRE-SEASON TESTING, DAY-1

February 25th, 2027

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL RETURNS TO FORMULA 1 WITH ASTON MARTIN—SET TO WORK WITH ADRIAN NEWEY.”

After months of speculation, four-time world champion Seungcheol Choi is officially returning to Formula 1 with Aston Martin, marking one of the most highly anticipated comebacks in the sport’s recent history.

The Korean driver, who departed with Ferrari and stepped away from F1 following the 2025 season, will be rejoining the grid just as Aston Martin embarks on a new era of technical leadership under Adrian Newey. With Newey’s expertise in car development and Choi’s proven track record, expectations are already high for the team’s future.

“I’m excited for this next chapter,” Choi said in a statement. “Aston Martin has shown incredible ambition, and with Adrian on board, I have no doubt that we can build something special.”

His return raises questions about the competitive landscape of F1 moving forward, with Aston Martin aiming to challenge the front-runners in 2027. With pre-season testing in Bahrain starting today, all eyes will be on Choi as he steps back into the cockpit for the first time in over a year.

The Bahraini air is dry as usual, the morning sun bright across the paddock as the first day of testing begins. The garages are alive with movement—engineers making final checks, mechanics making last minute changes, cameras capturing every detail.

And at the center of it all, Seungcheol stands in Aston Martin’s green.

The suit fits like it always has. The gloves slide on without hesitation. When he pulls the balaclava over his head, it feels like no time has passed at all.

But it has.

He knows it. Everyone here knows it.

He breathes slowly as he steps toward the AMR27, sleek under the artificial lights of the garage. 

Seokmin crouches beside him, grinning like he’s been waiting for this day just as much as Seungcheol has.

“Well,” Seokmin says, knocking on his helmet lightly. “You look good in green.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head. “Better than red?”

Seokmin hums, pretending to think about it. “The red was iconic. Give it some time.”

Seungcheol laughs, the sound being muffled by his helmet.

A familiar voice crackles through his earpiece.

“Alright, Cheol, let’s get you out there.”

Seungcheol glances at his steering wheel, a small smile pulling at his lips. He knew this was happening, but still—it feels surreal to hear his old Ferrari race engineer, still here, still speaking to him over the radio. Adjusting to a new team has been challenging, but this makes it a little bit easier.

And then, his gaze shifts past the mechanics, past the flashing screens, toward the edge of the garage to where you’re standing—arms crossed, standing just outside the blur of engineers, watching him like you always have.

This is right.

This is where he’s supposed to be.

You tilt your head slightly, smiling just enough for him to catch it. It’s small, barely there, but he knows what it means.

Seungcheol lifts a gloved hand, throwing you a thumbs up. It makes you smile a little wider.

Seungcheol rolls the car out of the garage and into the end of the pit lane, engine idling as he waits for the session to go green.

To his left, the Red Bull pulls up.

Seungcheol glances over just as Haechan does the same. Two time world champion now. Let’s see if we can keep up.

Without hesitation, Haechan lifts a hand and gives him a small wave.

Simple and casual. A ‘Welcome back.’

The light flicks green.

Seungcheol exhales, nods once and pulls out onto the track.

tagging: @sojuxxi @the-vena-cava @cl41rsblog @coupsma @stupendouschildnerd @selenethings @yawnozone @syluslittlecrows @angelarin @ceruissleeping @smiileflower @minjiech @stwrlightt @archivistworld @livelaughloveseventeen @exomew @starshuas @fancypeacepersona @znzlii @gyuguys @luxmoonlight @reiofsuns2001 @blckorchidd @teddybeartaetae @ddeulgiabs-blog @kookiedesi

[enjakey]

Beneath the Blue

Pairing: marine engineer!Jake x marine biologist!Fem!Reader

Hey guys, I realise this fic is like really long (24k). I’m so sorry but it’s just something I’ve been holding out on. Life’s been stressful and writing was the only thing that kept me afloat and I kinda belted this out during my sleepless nights. This is definitly not proof read.

So I guess I wanted to give you guys like a guide on how to read the fic. Each section or chapter is marked by bolded words in the beginning of a paragraph (you’ll understand when you read it). If you’re only here for the cutesy stuff, you can go ahead and skip to the fourth chapter but you’ll loose all context of the story and how everyone is related to each other. The first two chapters is just a lot of world and character building. The third chapter is where things actually start.

If you’re interested in marine biology and sea creatures, this is a perfect read. I talk a lot about sharks and whales and sea creatures. There’s a lot of insight on what marine biologists do in general. There’s suggestive stuff in the end of the seventh chapter and smut in the tenth chapter if you want to skip to that. Jay, Heeseung and Jay are a huge part of the fic (but not the plot?). There is mentions of PTSD and a storm.

I want to mention that this story is not just about Jake and Y/N’s romance but about a group of people’s love for the ocean. The other characters are important for me too and the world I’ve built is dear to me. Hope you guys enjoy! I Put a lot of time effort into this! Please like and reblog and comment.

Summary: taken under the wing of the great marine biologist Henry Sim, Y/N finds herself getting close to him and his family. She’s friends with his first son, Jason, but is apprehensive of his second son, Jake. Jake, who is notorious for his bad behaviour and disappointing decisions, finds himself being drawn to Y/N and her undeniable love towards the ocean. When the two are put together in a group of researchers for an expedition for three months on the ocean, she doesn’t expect herself to fall for him- let alone, fight storms for him.

Y/N was one of those unfortunate kids who had to be in a hospital during her birthday. She was eleven at the time, the age where she was learning to read and write on her own and didn't fuss with her mother to help her bathe or dress up. She considered it her golden age where she was just starting to learn about her interests by surfing the internet through her father's phone and transitioning from cartoon shows to movies. At school, she would talk about action films, starring Tom Cruise or Angelica Jolie, rather than the deemed childish Disney movies where the Jonas Brothers were thrown into a music camp or in which a girl hides her identity by switching wigs.

An unwanted growth, widely mistaken as a malignant tumour by many doctors, was manifesting on the bone just above her eyebrow and she had reached the age where surgeons could successfully remove it without life-threatening complications. Y/N was initially scared, refusing to get out of bed in the morning and crying while she was taken to the Operating Room. In that moment of panic and fear, she didn't feel like the brave and mature girl she thought herself to be but somewhat similar to the girls on the playground who still talked about Barbie dolls and played around with make-up sets as though they could ravishingly decorate their faces with cheap lip gloss and colourless eyeshadow.

When she woke up from an anaesthetic daze, she took a moment of silence to compare herself with the other children in her class. If any kid was in her situation, being taken into surgery by a group of a dozen strangers who were only trusted because of a piece of paper- their certificate- that was meant to credit their skill, they would flail the way she had. The girls she avoided, the mean and blonde-haired ones who snickered at anyone who didn't wear skirts and pink bows in their hair and bragged about their powerful daddy's luxurious car, would probably react the way she did, perhaps even a little more dramatically. The boys she arbitrated, the cocky and lanky ones that talk about Fortnight and whatever online games they played, would probably wail like babies. But Y/N was different, whatever that meant for a girl her age, withholding herself from succumbing to middle school's criteria for popularity and burrowing herself into a circle of comfort. She was the girl that wore glasses and carried around a thick book about animals to read during lunch and she was the girl that only had one friend because they were both weird and quiet. She was the girl that cried before the surgery because she didn't trust the surgeons and not because she was convinced her parents were selling her to an organ-harvesting cult.

While she assumed most children her age would be amused by artistic renditions of unicorns and rainbows painted on the wall, she found them rather tacky. Their eyes were too shiny and their smiles were too wide and the only thing she found realistic were the tiny chips of paint in the bright colours. There was a painting of Jake the Dog from Adventure Times sitting right above her hospital bed, staring down at her with lifeless and beady eyes while she tried sleeping during the night because the hospital wanted to keep her for observation for a day or two after the surgery, increasing the service bill at the same time. Then, there was the poorly mimicked roar of a lion stained to the wall on the right side of her bed, making her wonder if these paintings were done by previously admitted children. To the wall on the right side of her bed, right below the window, was the painting of a grinning shark and a randomly doodled jellyfish.

"That looks like the Black Sea Nettle," she pointed at the jellyfish with her nimble finger.

It was early in the morning and her mother had willed her awake from her slumber so one of the doctors could check on her vitals and change her bandaid. Y/N chewed on a green apple slice her mother handed her because she refused to eat the red apples, and patiently waited until the doctor, or Doctor Karev, as he called himself, could finish writing on a piece of paper they called a chart and changing the cotton wedged between her eyebrow and white gauze. She glanced at the painting from the corner of her eye, finding it eerily similar to a picture she saw in the book her father gifted her on her ninth birthday- The Encyclopedia of Animals.

"And that looks like a Bull Shark," she said and shifted her finger slightly so it was pointed at the cartoonish shark with a bulging stomach.

"Oh, yeah?" Doctor Karev scoffed and grinned similarly to the painted shark. His gaze didn't lift from the writing pad he held towards his face, a pen scribbling information that probably wasn't important. Her mother stood beside her, a proud smile on her face as she brushed Y/N's hair with her palm. "What can you tell me about it?"

"I know that their bite is much stronger than the Great White," she offered, shrugging and looking at her lap.

"Really?" Doctor Karev almost sounded sceptical. "Where'd you learn that?"

"A book," Y/N mumbled and pursed her lips.

Doctor Karev bent his knees enough to reach her level, tilting his head affectionately to grasp her attention. His pen was now hanging in his pocket, his writing pad pressed between his hand and thigh. "You're a smart girl, aren't you?" He praised her, impressed by her skill of comprehension. "You wanna become a marine biologist?"

"Marine biologist?"

The pair of words put together were foreign to Y/N but somehow, they sounded like they were meant to be beside each other, creating the word for the profession she had been dreaming of since she saw the picture of starfish lounging on a sea bed. Her eyes were filled with somewhat of a fascination, a sparkle reflected by what she considered a discovery and fate of luck and her smile grew ten folds, stretching her cheeks until the corners of her lips reached her ears. She looked like she was watching the stars while she looked at him, blinking and burning from a close distance as she marvelled at the masses.

"Yeah," Doctor Karev enthused. "You know, study the ocean and sea creatures and all that jazz."

"I'm gonna become a marine biologist!" She nodded, giggling like a baby that had been handed a lollipop bigger than its face. Except Y/N's lollipop was a profession, a dream to chase until it was fulfilled. Her mother laughed with her, shaking her head at her antics. "Mom, I wanna be a marine biologist!"

Doctor Karev chuckled and stood straight, making his way to the door of her hospital room and looking over his shoulder to steal one last glance at the girl he might have just paved a future for. "By the way," he said. "Happy birthday kid."

It was a crystal blue sight Jake could never get used to, and it was the fact that his family owned it that he could never wrap his head around. The aquariums ranged from floor-to-ceiling tanks holding hundreds of litres of water and aquatic species to small fish bowls holding the tiniest, most common breeds of fish. Any type of fish he could think of- sharks, whales, stingrays, eels, jellyfish and cephalopods- it was probably all there, confined between glass walls, concrete and artificially plated corals. And it could all be placed in the palm of his hand, the happiness of customers and livelihood of every creature in the building he stood in, under his control.

In all of Jake's life, he had only ever seen his father angry four times- three of those incidents pertaining to tragedies faced in The Marine Foundation of Korea, his most prized possession.

The first was when he was forced to step into court for the first time in his life. During the first week that it opened, a kid tripped and fell into an eel tank and was almost choked by a Black Spotted Eel. The kid was lucky they weren't electric but Henry Sim was still faced with a million-dollar lawsuit which they won after giving security camera footage that showed the boy clearly wandering off into prohibited territory and climbing ladders into the opening of the tanks. It wouldn't be the first lawsuit they faced as a similar one followed two years later when a little girl started crying because her necklace fell into the dolphin pool and one of them devoured it.

Two years later, one of three Whale Sharks had passed away in front of a live audience causing the building to rumble as the carcass made contact with the forged ocean bed and children to wail in confusion as one of their favourite shark buddies was sinking to the floor. Hundreds of people took videos and the news went viral online, causing critics to criticise the maintenance and care for the captive creatures. As this information circled to tourists, they didn't have customers and a proper flow of income for the following six months until they announced the new exhibit for the endangered Vaquita Dolphin. Jake remembered the terrible nights of those six months when his father would come home drunk or would shatter glasses onto the walls. He wondered how his mother coped with him. He wondered how he and his brother didn't perceive him as a monster yet.

A year later, The Marine Foundation of Korea would face another tragedy. One of the shark tanks exploded in the middle of the night, causing Hammerheads and Tiger Sharks to swim through the halls of the first floor in shallow waters. Guards were panicking and emergency services took hours to reach the aquarium before they could assess and plan a rescue. The aquarium was shut down for two months and they spent time reinstating the shattered shark tank and brewing up safety measures for when similar situations would occur again. That night, they lost two Hammerhead Sharks and one Tiger Shark and had to pay thousands of dollars as compensation. Though his father didn't violently drink, he had become dangerously silent in those two months, scaring the living daylights out of his wife and children.

Henry Sim, the founder of The Marine Foundation of Korea and the most remarkable marine biologist known to all generations, had faced lawsuits that almost made him go bankrupt and was hated by the internet for months until he publicly apologised yet he would say his biggest disappointment wouldn't lie in the way his aquarium was run. Rather, he would say his biggest disappointment lay in his son, Jake Sim, who refused to take in his footsteps and fulfil his dreams of creating an empire of nepotism to take over the world of marine biology someday.

"You never listen to me," Henry seethed with a balled fist resting on his ebony table. His voice was entirely stark for the disappointment he felt towards his son.

If Jake concentrated enough, he could hear the movement of each aquatic species in the tanks he was surrounded by. The bubbly and almost ear-blocking white noise engulfed him sometimes and he would be transported to an unnamed beach where the sand was white and the waters were so clear, he could see the corals growing underneath. He liked to imagine himself floating in the waters in shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, eyes closed as the sun beat down on his porcelain skin. That was all the ocean was to him; someplace to enjoy and someplace to destress. But to his father, it was a career he made billions in and it was a career he wanted both his sons to endeavour in.

"I've been telling you since I was a kid, appa," Jake sighed, standing on the other side of the ebony table. "I want to study engineering. Marine biology, researching new species, the ocean… All of that has always been a hobby for me. Besides, you have Jason to take over your legacy anyway. I don't get why you're so hung up on me studying it, too."

In the corner of his father's office stood a small, well-kept fish tank with a lone seahorse in it. It was the Knysna Seahorse, to be exact, the rarest seahorse in the world which Jason, his brother, gifted their father as a gift. He had paid quite an amount of money to get a hold of it and the reason for the gift? It was because he had finally graduated with a marine biology degree a few months ago and Jake was to finally attend the same university.

But he didn't want to and his entire family was very well aware of the fact.

"Don't you understand what I want for you two, though?" Henry slammed his fist against the table but Jake offered no reaction. "Don't you see the future I see for you two? Brothers taking over marine biology's legacy? It’s not too late for you to change your major."

"No," Jake stomped a foot to the ground, eyes squinting to slits. "That's your dream. Not mine. I get that you and your brother never got along and that you want your sons to get along and run a business. But I don't want that. Jason and I are fine as it is and you coming in between my dreams is just gonna drive me away from you further."

"Jake-"

"If eomma were here, she would understand," Jake took long strides towards the door, a hand digging into the pocket of his slacks as the other twisted the doorknob. "I just wish you'd understand," and his voice muffled under the slam of the door, leaving Henry dumbfounded in his seat, mouth agape and glasses sliding off his nose.

With his son leaving so disrespectfully, using his wife's death as emotional manipulation, he wanted to shun Jake right then and there. He wanted no relation to him whatsoever but he knew it was his anger speaking. And he knew that if he hastily cut him off his earnings and stopped paying for his education, he would regret it and Jason would condemn him as a worse father than he already was.

So, Henry let him walk away and he went back to work, fixing his glasses and clearing his throat as if nothing happened. Jake was still young, he'd tell himself. If he wanted to follow his dreams, he should let him. Henry was selfish, he accepted it and his ego clashed with his conscience but he brushed it off and walked out of his office with more errands to complete. The moment he entered the hall with tanks of jellyfish surrounding him, the sounds of their bodies pushing through water syncing with his racing, angry heart, his assistant joined his side with a clipboard and pen, her heels overpowering the serenity of his silence.

“What’s next on today’s itinerary?” Henry asked with his hands clasped behind his back, strides becoming slower with every step.

“You need to meet with the university students today, sir,” Hae, his assistant, stated as though she expected him to remember the important occasion.

“Don’t speak to me in that tone,” he grumbled. “Of course I remember.”

“I’m assuming the talk with your son went badly?”

“I don’t know what to do with him, Hae.”

With this sigh echoing the moment, the pair made their way through the shark exhibit that costed him millions of dollars to fix all those years ago and sauntered past the stingray tanks, wondering how he was going to be an inspiration to a group of marine biology students while he felt like a failure of a father. He wondered what else he had to contribute to the field of marine biology when he had prioritised it for his entire life. It was the reason why his son hated him and it was the reason why he lost his wife- it was his lack of presence and immense ignorance that put him in a place where he truly had nothing else to lose. He had the money, the cars, the friends to brag with and an eldest son who was succeeding in life without his help- but then there was his youngest, defying him in all manners and reminding him of the mistakes that haunted his life.

However, a beacon of hope, a ray of sanguine had entered his life that day and he wouldn’t realise it until he was laying on his deathbed. In the group of future marine biologists he met that day was Y/N, standing amongst the crowd meekly with a notebook and a pen to jot down everything that she thought would help her education and career. She was the one answering questions in a whisper when no one else knew the answer, her hand barely raised in the air. When Henry saw her, her hair tied in a ponytail and clothes put together in a hurry that made her look pathetic, he could only smile. Because as he looked at her, he saw himself- the version of him that was left in the gates of his college, the version of him that had to be left back in order to become the tycoon that he was now.

So before the group of university students left, he found himself asking Y/N for a conversation and pulled her towards the gift shop while the rest of her classmates waited at the gate, murmuring and whispering about what they could be talking about. Henry placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and smiled at her the way a mentor would smile at his mentee. He had a proud smile on his face as he said, “I think you’d make an amazing marine biologist one day.”

“What?” Y/N, the poor girl, having been put down by her classmates her whole life, was gaping at his statement. Her eyes reflect a sense of hope and surprise under the golden lights of the gift shop.

“Yes,” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “I would like it if you worked with me, I could easily offer you a job,” he said. He shuffled his hand around in the pocket of his blazer and pulled out his business card and handed it to her, certain that it would come in handy for her future. “When you’re ready for a job or an internship- anything, just call me and I’ll help you out.”

Henry walked away from her, leaving his future student dumbfounded. Her eyes fixated on the business card in her hands, her thumbs and forefingers outlining the corners of the rectangle. It was a navy blue colour, his name, number and The Marine Foundation of Korea carved in golden ink. It looked like her ticket to a new life, the life she had chased since she was a little kid carrying around an encyclopaedia of animals. It was the golden ticket in her Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.

It was a good analogy in her head. Henry Sim, the man with greying hair and diminishing eyesight, was Willy Wonka and she was Charlie, the lost boy that simply wanted a taste of something better, something great. So when it was time for her to get an internship, Henry had taken her under his wing.

“You must be Y/N.”

When Y/N started off as an intern, she started questioning whether she had made the right choice. Some of her friends were off travelling the seven seas to research unknown species of the depths and others were working in labs established on beach sides. They were living in tropical islands like the Caribbean or Hawaii and their instagrams were filled with them in diving gear and sea creatures in their natural habitats. Y/N had always dreamt of a life as such, to swim with sharks and study their behaviours or to explore the depths of the ocean floor within the safety of a yellow submarine. She imagined she would travel the world by the time she graduated college and she imagined spending most of her days on a boat, whale watching or spotting dolphins.

There was that one semester in college where she got an experience as close to what she imagined. She, along with a few other promising students, were selected to spend a semester on sea where they spent learning how to dive and sail ships. It was a memorable four months, really, to spend it with a group of people she later called friends and bonding with people on sea over half cooked fish. In that time, though the most astonishing creature they spotted was a Red Octopus, she assumed she was being trained for the future she had always dreamed of, only to end up within the confines of an aquarium- Asia’s largest aquarium, granted. Her job description as an intern included watching other employees take care of the confined species or listening to Henry, the founder, teach her more about the marine species while she took notes. There were the occasional times she was asked to write a research paper, which she did with Jason but she would much rather prefer doing the same in a lab on the beach or on a boat sailing across the Pacific Ocean.

During this time, she pondered if she should have just followed her father’s footsteps in becoming an astronomer. She would look back at her childhood when her father would teach her about constellations and planets while she looked through the giant telescope that was perched on their roof and she would wonder if such a job would make her happier. She recalled the stories her mother would tell her as a Greek historian and wondered if she should have majored in History instead. She even wondered if she should have followed her friends into their jobs instead of taking the internship in the first place. Her uncertainties came to a halt a year ago, though, when Henry promoted her as manager.

In the five years that Y/N started working in The Marine Foundation of Korea, she learnt the names and voices of everyone working there. As the manager, it wasn’t only her job but also her duty to do so, to know who she was working with and grow a personal relationship with the people around her. She knew that one of the janitor’s kid had a heart condition and she would visit him in the hospital once in a while. She knew that one of the divers working for the aquarium was in a long term relationship and was planning on proposing to his girlfriend soon- she could recognise his voice even while he struggled to speak underwater. She also knew that her boss and legal guardian, Henry Sim, had ambitions he could never fulfil because of his youngest son.

One could call her the all-knowing within the walls of the aquarium. Not only was she intelligent, she was the keeper of all the employees’ worries and burdens.

In those five years that she spent reaching her level of success, to be able to buy her own apartment in an expensive neighbourhood and to be able to afford to buy a new phone without double-checking her bank account, she had learned a lot of tricks to perfect the skills of managing the establishment that she ran when the owner wasn’t present. A once shy and timid girl became the hard-headed, thick skinned superior that demanded precision in completed work and pristine publications of whatever research papers they release. But when she wasn’t acting that way, she was calm and walked down the crystalline hallways of Korea’s beloved and prestigious aquarium with a welcoming smile.

Of all the people she knew that worked amongst the aquarium, of the few people she found herself acquainted with, the voice that was breathing into her ear from behind her did not belong to anyone she was familiar with. She could feel his chest ghosting against her back, his smirk louder than his voice could ever be. His hair brushed against her cheek and Y/N found herself spinning around with a scowl on her face.

“Jake,” she stated with discern, her obvious distaste towards him sitting heavily on her brows. His smirk only grew wider, his hand clasping behind his back as he leaned closer to her than before.

In the years that she’d known Henry and Jason Sim, she had grown rather close to them. They accepted her into their family by some sort and she was invited to every dinner they hosted in one of those fancy Chinese or Sushi restaurants- whether she attended or not was up to her. If she did attend though, she would be introduced to guests like she was Henry’s own daughter and Jason had always treated her like a sister by the way he kept her company throughout her years as an intern. Her parents, too, had grown quite fond of the father and son.

Jason and Y/N’s friendship, Henry always used to say, was unexpected. He expected them to work together and get along with each other for the sake of their jobs and business, but he was never expecting the siblingly bond they had created. Oftentimes, the pair would find themselves going out for lunch together during breaks or driving to the beach just for the sake of having some entertainment. They would regularly find themselves at each other's houses in the middle of the night with beers and soju in hopes of having movie marathons. Somewhere in that friendship, Y/N learnt a lot about the missing Sim brother.

He was studying Engineering somewhere in Australia, she learned, and he had only visited his family only a couple of times in all his years of education. There was the one time he flew back to Seoul to spend the New Year with Henry and Jason where she heard he got embarrassingly drunk and broke a glass table. Then there was the other time he visited for Christmas but disappeared within an hour without a word. Speaking of Jake meant hearing stories as such, where he was disrespectful, unexpectable and had no sense of respect. She heard that he once cussed at a shareholder because he was being too nosey.

Y/N had only ever met Jake once. Well, they didn’t exactly meet, she had just seen him passing by in a crowd. It was at another one of Henry’s lavish dinner parties where round tables were cloaked with gold cloth and napkins folded into cranes. Golden chandeliers lit above groups of conversations and amongst one of those stood Jake with overly styled hair and a suit too expensive to be bought with his own money. He was talking to some investors- or business men, she didn’t know- with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a wine glass he languidly sipped on. She was told by Jason that it was one of those rare times Jake didn’t make a scene during a party but she also heard he took a random girl to a hotel room for a one-night-stand, never to call her again.

“You say my name with such loathing,” Jake pointed out, his eyes narrowing as his teeth peeked behind his smirk. “I’d get if my dad and brother talked to me that way, but what did I ever do to you?”

Y/N took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest and tapping her heel lightly against the carpeted floor. She looked at him vexed, her mouth pursing into disinterest. Jake stood back straight, moving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tilting his head in curiosity. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she would call him a pervert and get him thrown out of the premises by one of the guards just because she wanted to.

“I’ve heard enough stories to make a judgement,” she stated firmly.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss’ son?” He taunted.

“I frankly don’t think he’d care.”

Jake chuckled, lowering his gaze to his feet and shaking his head. His smile was bright, the crystalline waters that surrounded them reflecting on his face. A HammerHead shark from the tank behind him swam across him, followed by a Sting Ray and those animals held more of her attention than he did. “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot, Y/N,” he said and sauntered away from her, assuming he was making his way towards his father’s office. Her eyes followed him but she looked away when he glanced at her from over his shoulder. Clearing her throat, she found herself walking towards another floor of the aquarium.

Jason was right, she thought, his accent really is annoying.

Instead of the tunnel she was observing before, she was now in a fairly confined room with rectangular fish tanks one over the other, covering the span of all four walls, apart from the door. In the tanks were miniscule jellyfish that were soon to be moved to one of the larger tanks for the public to gush at. Of all the places in the aquarium, this room was probably the one she visited the most. Not because it was her favourite or anything but rather because these creatures needed most inspection. If the temperature was changed even a little bit or if the water was getting too dirty, there was a chance that a whole batch of these jellyfish would simply disintegrate.

It had happened once before, not under her watch but some other intern, who failed to notice the decrease in temperature in the room. It was a waste of a lot of Henry's money and it was also one of his favourite species that had met their demise. Because of the intern’s mistake, he yelled at him in front of the majority of the other staff and fired him. Since then, Y/N had always been cautious around her work. Perhaps it was why he was always so fond of her- she never knew why.

“Y/N?”

She flinched when she heard Jason’s voice, his head peeking into the room from the small crack of the door.

“What is it with you and your brother scaring me today?” She breathed, her hand placed over her chest.

“You met him?”

“Yeah he was walking down the tunnel, made nice.”

“He annoyed you, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“His first impressions are always bad.”

Jason was leading her out of the room, bringing her to the ground floor where she saw tourists and customers flocking towards the ticket booth. If there was one thing about Henry she never understood, it was the fact that he refused to digitalise the ticketing system. In fact, he refused to digitalise many things in the aquarium. He had the physical copy of every research paper published by the The Marine Foundation of Korea and his logs were still done by hand. Technology hates me and I hate technology, he would always say and this mostly stemmed from the incident where he accidentally deleted all his pictures from Google Photos.

“Isn’t an excuse to breathe down my neck,” she argued as he led her to his office.

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” she pressed. “He talked to me like he’d heard of me.”

“Obviously he’s heard of you.”

“No, I mean,” she paused, looking to her side to make eye contact with him. She wasn’t sure how to explain it, so she stuttered and used animated hand gestures to make her point. “Like he knows me.”

“Yeah, well, dad and I talk about you to him all the time.”

“What the hell?”

“In like, a business way,” Jason defended. “He asks how work goes and you sometimes come up in the conversation.”

“And what do you tell him?”

“That you’re good at your job?” He raised his brow, a confused smile meeting her look of disbelief. “Don’t take it the wrong way, he’s honestly probably just jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Dad trusts you more than him, you know?”

Before Y/N had the chance to respond with a confused remark, perhaps even a puzzled expression, Jason was pushing open the door to Henry’s office and they were met with the sight of Henry sitting on his desk and Jake standing beside him with a grin, leaning towards whatever he was being shown on the monitor screen. Jason and Y/N settled in the chairs on the other side of the desk, the former confidently crossing one ankle over the other knee and the former confused as to why she was there in the first place. Jason had to tug her sleeve to keep her from squirming and looking around confused. There was a moment of silence that passed, Y/N’s gaze zipping between Henry and the tanks his office was surrounded by. Henry murmured to Jake while pointing at his monitor, analysing something Y/N and Jason weren’t aware of. Jake nodded along, pinching at his bottom lip in thought.

“Y/N?” Henry called. She answered with a curious hum, her brows raising. “You’re free next week? Thursday?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, you know,” Henry brought his attention away from the monitor and towards her, pushing his glasses farther up his nose with his pinky. “I told you about it. An old friend of mine is opening a restaurant with a huge tank. He wants us there on opening night.”

“Oh, right. I remember,” she nodded.

“What, Mr. Bahng didn’t invite me?” Jake stood back straight with his arms crossed, his grin refusing to leave his expression. He looked between his father and brother, only glancing at Y/N once before continuing to tease them.

They, of course, did not find him amusing. “All of us, Jake,” Jason replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes, and it’s going to be a rather quiet gathering,” Henry continued. “So I expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

“When have I ever let you down, father?” Jake chuckled; Henry rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Y/N,” Henry looks at her with tired eyes. “He’s got all sorts of fish in his tank, he’s even got a Whale Shark in there-”

“Woah, what?”

“Yeah, I know, it cost a fortune but anyways,” Henry waved off. “He wants to know fun facts- his words, not mine- about all the species he’d got in there so could you be a dear and…?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Y/N grinned and patted Henry's hand that rested on his desk. “Anything but having to socialise with strangers.”

“Can I join her?” Jason chimed, pointing his thumb towards her.

In that moment, Henry glanced between his son and favourite-slash-best employee and they resembled children asking whether they could take a break from studying to watch cartoons. His eyes twitched, thinking that he didn’t want to deal with annoyance other than his younger son. “No,” Henry said. “You’re socialising with strangers. So are you, Jake.”

Jake, who was about to open his mouth to protest with a finger raised in the air, gulped and dropped his hands down to his sides and nodded with pursed lips.

The opening night to Mr. Bahng’s restaurant was a spectacle. What was planned as an intimate gathering turned into a media spectacle. Paparazzi flocked the entrance of the restaurant and bodyguards had to hold back the public as the handsome sons of Henry Sim, the founder of The Marine Foundation of Korea, walked the red carpet. Minor celebrities, a few actors and foreign entertainers attended the evening- some spotted the Jenner Sisters and others hollered at Jason Momoa and Leo DiCaprio. DiCaprio was an old friend of Henry’s- they met through ocean conservation funds and over the years, he had earned a permanent place on Henry’s invite list and vice-versa. Y/N had the pleasure of meeting him once, barely for a few minutes, for a hand shake and to be introduced as the aquarium’s manager and top researcher.

Y/N walked the red carpet with her arm looped with Jason’s, her free hand holding the hem of her sparkly dress in order not to trip in the ruckus. Her hand would occasionally come up to shield her eyes from the camera flashes and Jason had to repeatedly catch her frame because she was tripping on her heels. They were both dreading to see how the paparazzi pictures would turn out the next morning. Jake, on the other hand, walked confidently with a hand in his pocket and the other waving and blowing kisses at everyone. Photographers and netizens were gawking at the Australian engineer graduate, asking for pictures and photographs but ultimately being turned down. He was famously known on the internet for his looks, Prince Charming-like looks and mannerisms. His personality? It was a mystery to all those on the internet, further feeding into delusions of young fan-girls. It was only Jason and Henry that filmed for interviews for the world of marine-biology, often showing up on the news to promote The Marine Foundation of Korea or to talk about their next big break-through in marine sciences.

Henry and Mr. Bahng were the last to walk the carpet- they were the highlight of the event, after all. When they finally entered the restaurant, the glass doors were shut and bolted behind them, bodyguards taking their place in front of the premises like they were protecting The Sphinx. What was inside the restaurant might as well be as valuable as The Sphinx- there were barely any lights to illuminate the subtle interiors of the restaurant. Circular tables spanned the floor, glass windows towering the walls for the public to see inside if it weren’t for the black curtains. Everything else was painted black, too- the walls, the tables, the black marbled floors. The tank however… The tank glowed blue, just like the tanks in the aquarium. It spanned the entirety of one of the four walls in the restaurant. Schools of fish swam by, accompanied by Stingrays, Hammerhead and Leopard sharks. A lone Mola Mola swam by, its eye holding a vacant stare as it scanned the spans of the restaurant on the other side of the glass.

The showstopper, however, would only make its presence when Y/N finally made her way towards the exhibit. Her heels clicked against the black marble, one hand holding the hem of her dress and the other clutching her purse. The loose strands that fell from her hair up-do fanned her shoulders and just as her bangs bristled her eyes, the Whale Shark swam past the tank. It glided effortlessly across the water, its massive and speckled body moving with a hypnotic grace, throwing Y/N into a trance. She stood in awe, eyes scanning for when she could see it again, acting like she didn’t see Whale Sharks everyday in the aquarium. It was the ambiance of the restaurant that made the tank more mesmerising, if she had to be honest. She’d never seen anything like it.

Jake didn’t get a chance to admire the premises yet, sucked into meeting the guests and investors with his father and brother. When he found a chance to slip away, he made his way to the bar and ordered himself a double shot of whiskey. He promised himself that it would be his first and last drink, remembering his promise of behaving for the night. The last time his father brought him to a public gathering, which was almost two years ago, he almost set the venue on fire and broke a glass table. Scowling at the memories he dug up, he took a seat on a black stool at the bar, wandering his eyes around the guests and seeing men and women of power mingle in unexpected cliques. Finally, his gaze landed on the tank, the main attraction of the night, its hue misting the ambience and painting his skin in a sparkling blue. He admired it, watching the Whale Shark languidly make its way back and forth across the tank, sucker fish clinging onto its skin and a lone Leatherback Turtle following it.

Eventually, his eyes dragged towards the far corner of the restaurant where he found the back of Y/N’s silhouette. She, too, was admiring the tank. Gripping his glass of whiskey, he made his way towards her, a sly smile gracing his lips and the whites of his eyes twinkling brighter with the blue hue. As he walked closer, he could make out the familiar color of her dress that he spent the whole limo-ride staring at. It was a sparkly blue and silver dress, thin straps that barely held the dress up her bust. Her hair was put up in a messy bun, two hair pins with silver sea turtles holding it in place. Her earrings matched her hair pins and her heels matched the silver of her dress. The blue hue colored her skin and he swore he was looking at a still-life painting.

“Where’d you get the dress from?”

Y/N looked over her shoulder to catch Jake’s smirk that she learned to despise through Jason’s anecdotes. The smirk that led to his many one-night-stands, his smirk that led to all the decisions that made his father angry at him, the smirk that led to disasters was the same smirk that was walking towards her. Her serenity pulled into annoyance and Jake could see it in her eyes, her brows wrinkling and her lips sneered.

“Hey, I’m just playing nice,” he offered, trying his best to shrug and surrender his motivations. He took another sip of his whiskey, keeping his gaze fixed on her expression.

Y/N turned her body to face him and now, his eyes were wandering down her frame, staring at all the curves of her body that her dress showed off, just as he did in the limo. “It’s an old dress, I wear it a lot,” she admitted. Then, she knocked a nod towards the glass in his hand. “Let me guess, fifth drink of the night?”

“Come on, the night just started,” he rolled his eyes, the gnarly smirk refusing to leave his expression. “It’s my only drink of the night. Promised dad I’d behave, remember?”

“Right,” she swallowed. The hand that was holding the hem of her dress moved to clutch her purse, both her hands pressing into stomach. A water came around with a tray of appetizers, ironic that it was all seafood. Jake finished his drink and handed the empty glass to the waiter, taking two pieces of appetizers- one for him and one for Y/N.

Silence engulfed them as they stood side by side, both now facing the tank and staring at the creatures and coral spanning across her, the only sound being the loud swishes of the water and their chewing. Y/N was not staring to admire anymore; she was staring to distract herself from the awkward presence, to pass time in any way that she could.

“Aren’t you supposed to be socialising?” Y/N asked, hoping he’d realise and leave.

“I’d rather stare at this than socialise,” Jake said, both his hands digging into his trousers.

He wasn’t sure what stories his father and Jason fed Y/N about him for her to hold onto her negative impression of her. She probably thought he hated his family’s line of work, to read about water and the ocean beds and fish all day. In reality, he loved marine biology, he truly did. But he wasn’t going to apologize for not seeing it as his career. Jake still went to the aquarium of every city he would visit, spent time reading the articles and journals his father published and watched marine documentaries in his free time. He even had a small fish tank in his apartment back in Australia- he had two Firefish Goby and two Cardinalfish. He loved marine biology so much, he specialised in marine engineering. He wasn’t sure if Y/N knew that.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jake turned to her. She raised her brows in curiosity, coaxing him to continue. “Why this?”

“What?”

“I mean, why this?” He pointed at the fish tank just as the Whale Shark swam past them again. “Fish tanks, standing in one place, staring, the aquarium. Why, when you could have gone to bigger research centers like in Hawaii, or something?”

Jake almost regretted asking the question when he saw the expression on Y/N’s face turn solemn. She brought her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing as though she was chewing her brain to find him the answer to his question. Not so she could give it to him but because she wanted to give it to herself. Why? She asked herself that, too.

“I don’t know, Jake,” she sighed. “It seemed right at the time and… I guess, I just didn’t know? Who would pass up an opportunity to work with Henry Sim, you know? He chose me. And I’m not saying I regret it, I’ve found family in him and Jason but I ask myself why, too. I miss being out on the waters.”

Ignoring all that she said about his father and brother, knowing it would trigger him, he smirked at her again. He knew how she felt, it was the same thing Jason used to tell him a few years ago. As mesmerising as aquariums were, being out in the sea and seeing marine creatures in the wilderness is like cutting to a surgery intern. Jake had only gone on an ocean expedition once his whole life. His father took him during high school while he was applying for universities in hopes of changing his mind about his major. Jake remembered loving it, being enamored and lost in what the ocean had to offer, to witness its mystery with his own eyes. But unfortunately for his father, it still wasn’t enough to replace his love for engineering.

“I get it,” he assured her. “Don’t worry though. It won’t be this way for long.”

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, to make him elaborate, they heard Henry hollering their names from across the restaurant. He was waving their hand at them, Jason standing beside him sulking in boredom. Jake and Y/N speed-walked towards him, joining him at the table along with a scholar of jellyfish biology.

“Bahng is going to give his speech soon. Sit,” Henry told the pair.

Mr.Bahng’s speech went on for longer than most would like. He stood in the middle of the room with a drink raised in the air, thanking his family, friends and colleagues for making his dreams come true. His daughter stood beside him, trying to calm his influenced-state but it had all only turned into a comical predicament. Y/N caught Jake eyeing the daughter, knowing she must have been one of his old conquests. Most women she knew of her age who ran in the same circles were all probably one of Jake’s old conquests. She wasn’t going to shame these women, she understood the appeal- the wide smile, the sparkling eyes, the smooth hair and dashing facial features. However, she wouldn’t miss a chance to shame Jake, especially around Jason.

Sick and bored of it all, Jason signaled to Jake to grab a drink with him at the bar. As the pair stood up, leaving Y/N alone with Henry and the jellyfish scholar, Henry questioned the pair.

“No more drinks for Jake,” he warned.

“One more can’t hurt. I’m fine,” Jake defended himself, only to be met by an eye roll and a wave of his hand, telling them to go away and come back soon.

The brothers ordered whiskey for themselves. They’ve been told all the men in their family were whiskey enthusiasts. So is their father- apart from the phase he had when he was an angry drunkard, hammered with cheap beer and vodka most of the nights. Now that it had subsided, he was back to whiskey and that too, only rarely.

“Have you not told Y/N yet?” Jake asked his brother as they settled down onto the tall stools. By then, Mr. Bahng’s speech had ended and the room erupted in small talk again. Y/N’s ears were probably being ripped off by the jellyfish scholar but knowing her, she was definitely enjoying the conversation.

“Told her what?” Jason looked at him with utter confusion.

“The research team? Summer expedition?” Jake tried jogging his memory.

“Oh, right!” Jason nodded, sipping on his drink and hissing when an ice cube touched his teeth- it was a pet peeve he’s had since he was young, but he loved the taste of cold beverages. “We wanted to surprise her. Dad knows how much she’s been waiting for this so we’re gonna tell her on a better day.”

“Oh, God. I was on the verge of telling her,” Jake frowned.

“But she doesn’t suspect anything, right?”

“Nope, not a thing.”

“Crisis averted, then!” Jason assured him. “Dad and I are still figuring out how to tell her. Got any ideas?”

“She hates me, I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear any good news from me,” Jake chuckled.

“Y/N doesn’t hate you,” Jason Looked at him baffled and confused, mouth pulled upwards in surprise.

Jake scoffed. “Yes,” he said. “She does. And it’s because of the crap you and dad feed her.”

“Jake, she doesn’t hate you. I know when Y/N hates someone and she doesn’t hate you,” Jason chuckled. “She’s just a bit apprehensive of you and I don’t blame her. You’re a character-”

“Thanks, man-”

“And she takes time with certain people. To be fair, people like you aren’t her scene.”

“I’m not her scene? The fuck does that mean?” Jake laughed, finishing the last of his drink.

“Jake, you’re the drink and let’s party kinda person. She’s not. She likes peace and quiet and books and fancy sofas to sit on. She’s just quiet, dude. Give her time.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Jake rolled his eyes.

Just then, Y/N found her way to Jason’s side, the click of her heels stopping at the stool beside him. She had an annoyed expression on her face, her eyes tired and almost lifeless. “Your dad’s calling. We’re going home,” she deadpanned and turned to walk away, the hem of her dress in one hand as her hips swayed with more vigour. She was sleepy and tired and if the limo didn’t drop her off at home, she was going to crash in Jason’s bed.

Sunlight danced across the crests, water stretching endlessly into a mosaic of light and motion. Gentle swells rolled beneath the research vessel while occasional whitecaps broke against the hull of the boat. Y/N lay stretched on the warmed deck, salty breeze tickling her stomach and bringing frizzy curls to her hair. Clad in a striped bikini, she left little to the imagination. It was an early morning for her, seagulls mulling over the Indian Ocean and skies still painted with a pink hue. Everyone on the team was still asleep and she took the opportunity to seize the morning.

The first person to wake up was Sunghoon, one of Jake’s friends, who happened to be an oceanographer and drone operator. He studied ocean currents and temperature changes and learned how to pilot drones in order to collect data on plankton blooms. Without him, the entire whale research expedition would be impossible. Sunghoon greeted Y/N with a drowsy smile, clad in only a pair of shorts himself, taking in the morning sunlight.

Following him was Jay, one of Jason’s friends, who was a cetologist and acoustic analyst. He was rubbing a towel against his wet hair, waving at Y/N who started to put on her shirt out of a slight insecurity that crept onto her cheeks. Behind him, Jason and Heeseung joined with plates of toasted bread and a carton of orange juice. Jason threw a piece of bread towards Y/N and she swiftly caught it, thanking him for breakfast.

Heeseung was known as a young prodigy in the field, perfecting his skills in steering and working as the boat captain and field technician. Jake, too, came aboard as a field technician- a marine engineer himself. In fact, If it weren’t for Jake, Henry Sim would probably have never agreed to this whale research expedition in the first place. Jake wanted to test out new equipment that was hitting the market and who better to test the equipment than The Marine Foundation of Korea? It took a lot of convincing and buttering up his father to convince, yet here he was, heading an entire project by himself with some of his closest friends. If Y/N had squinted hard enough at the predicament, this was basically a vacation for a bunch of fish nerds.

She sat on the deck with her legs brought to her chest, chewing on the soggy piece of bread and watching as Jake finally made his way towards the group of boys with a bowl of scrambled eggs in his hand. Vaguely, she could hear Sunghoon say, “your father must finally be proud of you,” and Jason circling back with a sarcastic comment. It made the group rumble with laughter and Y/N felt herself cracking a smile too.

It was probably around three months ago when Jason and Henry broke the news to her. She was coming back from having a measly lunch at a convenience store nearby and had entered Henry’s office to collect a few files. When she opened the door, Jason and Henry had been waiting for her with a cake in their hands and beaming smiles on their faces. “If you’d walked in any later, I would have started eating this thing without you,” Jason chuckled at her, pulling out a plastic knife from his pocket.

Y/N looked at the pair with confusion, eyes darting between the greeting brows of Henry and the grinning mouth of Jason. Then, her eyes fell towards the chocolate cheesecake they were holding, the word “Congratulations!” pipped on with melted chocolate. She recognised this cake. It was the same one they’d buy for every one of her birthdays she spent with them over the past five years. However, the absence of “Happy Birthday!” threw her off- also, the fact that it wasn’t her birthday.

“What is this for?” She asked, feeling as though this was almost a mistake. This cake was expensive and she almost felt guilty. “Guys, nothing’s happened,” she widened her eyes, shook her head and waved her hands in front of her to demonstrate no.

“What do you mean, Kkomaya?” Henry chuckled. “You’re gonna be part of a research team. That’s a huge thing to celebrate.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Jason handed her a piece of folded paper that was tucked away in his blazer. It read the details of a whale research expedition that would take place during the summer and span into autumn season. Y/N could barely skim through the details when her eyes landed on the plethora of signatures that filled the end of the paper. She recognised Henry, Jake and Jason’s signatures and some of a few government officials that signed off on the research expedition and agreed to fund for it. Right beside Jake’s signature was an empty dotted line, waiting for Y/N’s signature.

“You’re joking,” she gasped.

“Sign it so we can cut this cake and celebrate, Y/N. My hand’s getting sore,” Jason chuckled again.

“Oh, right. Sorry!”

What followed next was a string of excited screams, giggles and jumping around until Y/N finally signed the paper and threw herself into Henry and Jason to hug. Then, they cut the cake and each enjoyed a piece, the rest to be distributed amongst the employees of the aquarium in light of good news. A few moments later, Jake entered the room, coyly making his way towards Y/N to give her a handshake. Since the night of Mr. Bahng’s restaurant opening, the pair had developed a healthy rapport. He would visit the aquarium sometimes, bumping into Y/N in the process and making polite conversation. He made efforts to be a little more respectful towards her, packing away his cocky personality only in front of her. She once asked him why he was spending so much time in Korea, leaving his job in Australia and he responded aloofly. She got her answer now.

Now, it was the end of May and Y/N was on a research vessel with an unfamiliar group. Though she spent a week getting to know them before leaving for the expedition, seeing them interact on the deck, throwing around jokes like they’d known each other their whole lives… she wasn’t sure how to act that way. She felt like the odd one out, the loose end. Jake and Sunghoon were childhood friends; Jason and Jay were college friends and Heeseung was Mr. Bahng’s oldest son so Jake and Jason had known of him since they were kids. She’s met him a handful of times before, including the night of Mr. Bahng’s restaurant opening. But she didn’t know him like everyone else did.

“Y/N!” Jason waved for her to come over and she did, lifting herself off the lounging chair and walking towards them. It was their third day together on this vessel and she still wasn’t sure how to approach anyone when they were grouped together. She hated saying it, but she relied on Jason to include her when it came to the socialising side of her work. The practicality, however? She was splendid.

“Today’s the day we need to actually start working,” Heeseung said to her as she approached them. Jason made space between himself and Heeseung so she could stand in the circle with them. “It’s mostly Jay and Sunghoon that’s gotta do the work today, figuring out the equipment and all. Jake and I will help. You and Jason stay in stand by, for now. You can go on dives, get your practice on. Just be careful, make sure one of us is scouting…”

And Heeseung rambled on, eventually moving on to telling Jay and Sunghoon what their itinerary consisted of. Y/N’s eyes wandered off to the ocean, water spanning for miles on end, no land near site. They were in the middle of nowhere- well, not literally. They knew their coordinates. But if their equipment were to damage or if one fell overboard, they were as good as dead. It’s moments and opportunities like these marine biologists spend their lives working towards- what Y/N spent her days waiting for.

“So, that’s final?” Sunghoon started. “Jay and I will get the hydrophones, then?”

“Yep,” Heeseung clasped his hands together and everyone started dispersing, mumbling words of encouragement and affirmations, pumping their fists in the air or clapping to get their spirits up.

Before everyone had the chance to disappear and get their gear prepared, Jason stopped everyone and said, “should we make, like, a group chant sort of thing?”

“Yeah, that’s not happening, mate,” Jake pursed his lips and patted his brother on his chest. Y/N chuckled and the rest of them laughed while walking away to continue their work.

It took Jay and Sunghoon a total of four hours to deploy the five units of hydrophones, both floating and anchored. While diving, they would constantly resurface for air and call for Jake, yelling, “What kind of new technology is this, you twat, I prefer the old ones!” Their anger bubbled, frustrated at the fact that a two hour process was taking them double the time only because of the unfamiliarity. After their fourth complaint, Jake ended up diving with them to help.

Heeseung stayed with Jason and Y/N to help test and calibrate the hydrophones. While they sent test signals, Y/N cursed under her breath, too, telling Jason, “we could have just used the old equipment. This new shit Jake brought us is not user friendly.”

“People thought that about the iPhone but they love it now, don’t they?” Jason offered, hoping to reduce Y/N’s distaste. She could only respond by rolling her eyes.

By the time they were done, the sun had started setting and the divers barely ate food. The trio that stayed on the vessel cooked a heavy dinner with whatever ingredients they had, feeding the divers the second they freshened up. The group assembled on the deck, the same place they were huddling in the morning, with blankets wrapped around their shoulders to shield from the chilly breeze.

“Where’s Jason?” Jake looked around.

“He’s finishing with the final sample recordings. He’ll be up in a bit,” Y/N assured.

Jason came back with six chairs, one for everyone to sit on as they debriefed for the night. Warm water was passed around as conversation fluidly changed from work to personal history. The stars were shining unfamiliarly, a sight Y/N couldn’t get in the city anymore. She was reminded of her father who used to point to the constellations and tell her their names. As a kid, she knew most of them by heart. Now, she was unable to recognise most of the constellations, only being able to pick out a few.

“Add in a bonfire and the night would be perfect,” Jay sighed, shivering as he hugged his blanket tighter.

“Oh, we used to go camping a lot in college,” Jason mused. “Those were the times, man. Young and alive.”

“I’d say you’re living it up right now as well, bro,” Heeseung laughed, referring to their boat that was in the middle of the ocean, whale watching and diving as a part of their job description and getting paid above average.

“True,” Jason scratched the nape of his neck in embarrassment. Jake further made fun of Jason and Sunghoon joined in, throwing pieces of crumpled paper from their notebooks at him.

“Look at the stars, guys,” Heeseung directed everyone’s gaze towards the sky. “You don't have nights like these in the city anymore.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Y/N nodded. “Gotta take it all in before we leave.”

“We’ve got three months for that, don’t worry,” Sunghoon assured.

“Hey, Y/N, wasn’t your dad an astronomer?” Jason clocked his head. “He used to teach you when you were a kid, where each constellation was?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“You told me, like, a really long time ago.”

“Your dad did physics in college? That’s so cool,” Jake pipped, sitting at the edge of his chair and directing his excited smile at her. He’s always had a habit of becoming excited at the mention of physics and math- the entire reason he went into engineering.

“Do you still remember some of the constellations?” When Heeseung asked, Y/N nodded. “Do tell us,” he encouraged.

Bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked up and squinted her eyes to see if anything looked familiar. “Do you guys see the diamond shape?” She heard everyone confirm with a hum. “That’s The Corvus or The Crow. Dad used to say that the crow was a messenger from the sea.”

”Wah,” she heard Jason and Jay exclaiming as she continued searching.

“Do you see a teapot, perchance? Right there,” Y/N attempted to show them its correct location by pointing and once again, she was met with a group of hums. “That’s The Sagittarius. It contains the center of the Milky Way.”

”Wait, I’ve heard about this,” Jake snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory. “Didn’t sailors use it to locate the galactic core or something?”

”You’re right, I’m surprised you knew that,” Y/N smirked and tried finding another constellation.

In the background, Sunghoon pondered aloud on what it would be like if he could name a constellation after himself and it brought the group into a laughing fit. Jake, though he laughed with them, kept his gaze on Y/N, admiring the way her nose tilted upwards and gaze reflected the starry sky. Jake, who once picked up a book on astronomy out of sheer curiosity and gave up on reading it due to its lack of logic and mechanics, found himself leering as she explained the stars to everyone.

“Do you guys see the red star? That’s Antares, the heart of The Scorpion,” she explained.

”Wow,” Sunghoon started and snapped towards Jake as though he had a revelation. “Wait, isn’t that your constellation? You’re a Scorpio, right?”

”Yeah, how’d you know?”

”I’ve known you your whole life, asshole. Don’t tell me you don’t know my zodiac.”

”I do, I do!”

”What is it?”

”Sagittarius! I thought about it when Y/N pointed it out, I swear!”

Then started the narration of Jake and Sunghoon becoming friends. Jake’s mother, Vivian, moved into the street that Sunghoon’s parents, Daniel and Emily Park, lived in. Both couples were newly weds, just getting back from their honeymoon. Vivian had already been pregnant with Jason at the time and because her and Emily grew close, she was there the day Jason was born. When their husbands were off to work, Emily would often spend her time with Vivian, taking care of her and Jason. Around a year later, Vivian fell pregnant again and Emily announced her pregnancy exactly a month later.

The two mothers spent all their time together thereafter, going to the hospital for check ups together and supporting each other through pregnancy yoga exercises. With each other's support, they didn’t worry about their husbands working overtime. They even hired a nanny together, shifting between houses to help with household work and with Jason, who was still too young to understand his surroundings at the time.

Jake and Sunghoon were born a month apart, Jake being the older one. Emily was in the hospital while Vivian gave birth and vice versa. Henry and Daniel were in wonder of their friendship- it was like it was out of the movies, utopian for the society they lived in today. It was a good thing the two families found each other in this dog-eat-dog world.

Jake and Sunghoon went to the same schools, same clubs and festered the same hobbies so they could do everything together. Their mothers used to joke that they’d end up falling for the same girl one day. “And what would you do if that ever happened?” Emily used to ask Sunghoon and he would respond with, “boy code- I’ll stay away from her if he likes her and I know he’d do the same for me.” In fact, he did and when a similar situation arose in middle school, neither of them got the girl because they valued their friendship more.

Around the time Jake and Sunghoon were old enough to perceive and build on their imaginations, they started pulling pranks on Jason. It was the nasty ones- like, putting saran wrap on the toilet seat or sticking gnarly notes on his bag before he left for school. Once, they rolled a skateboard into him while he was walking into his bedroom and he fell face first into the floor, breaking his nose and costing his parents an emergency trip to the hospital. Jason and Jake didn’t speak for a full month after that incident.

When Jake and Sunghoon turned sixteen, the Park family started talking about relocating to China. Daniel had better job prospects and he was convinced that his children, Sunghoon and Yeji who were four years apart, would receive better education. “And international exposure is always good for a child,” he’d tell Emily. Sunghoon would argue that he wouldn’t leave the country until college and Yeji would cry about not wanting to leave her friends.

It was around this time that Henry opened The Marine Foundation of Korea and started earning more. Their family moved to a more expensive neighbourhood but that didn’t stop Jake and Sunghoon from spending most of their time together. In fact, when Henry had gone on his drinking spree due to the lawsuits and backlash, Jake would run off to Sunghoon’s house, leaving his poor mother and brother to deal with his scary father. When it came time to decide upon college and careers, Sunghoon sat through arguments with Henry to allow Jake to pursue his passions in engineering.

When Jake and Sunghoon started senior year in high school, Vivian was diagnosed with uterine cancer- stage four. That year was filled with tragedy and character change from Henry. Though they spent a fortune on hospital bills, Vivian’s health rapidly declined. The two families started accepting the fate that was to come and Vivian came to an honorable death. What made the children’s period of grief insufferable was that the tabloids had picked up the event and started bombarding the Sim family with unrelated questions. It made Jake want to run away.

Around that time, Sunghoon’s family did end up relocating to Taiwan where Sunghoon pursued marine biology (being truly inspired by Henry’s work) and Yeji continued her high school education. Jake flew off to Australia to pursue engineering, despite his father’s wishes, and estranged himself from his family. For over a year, Henry and Jason only got updates about Jake from Sunghoon. Eventually, though, the three made peace.

It had been almost a decade since Vivian passed away and over three years since Jake and Sunghoon completed post graduation from living across the world from each other, yet their friendship still ran strong. They called and texted each other religiously, making sure their friendship lived on through whatever they were doing in life. Being on this research expedition was like a dream for the pair- everything had somehow worked out perfectly.

“Do you miss your mom?” Heeseung found himself asking the Sim brothers.

“Yeah, of course,” Jake shrugged and slumped further into his chair. Sunghoon reached over to comfortingly pat his knee and he cracked him a smile.

“I miss her all the time,” Jason said. “I’d like to think she’s in a better place.”

A long time ago, when Jason first told Y/N about how his mother passed away, she noticed that there was never an air of solemness or pity when he spoke about her. It was tragic and unfortunate, but Jason never let that reflect in himself. He always spoke about his mother with confidence or a smile on his face, celebrating her existence as a smart woman and amazing mother. He never let anyone show him pity about the fact that he lost his mother too young. He simply chose to idolise her, keep her alive through his happiness and through his achievements. She realised, after narrating basically his whole childhood, that Jake was the same. When he spoke about his mother, he didn’t let his voice cloud with pity and he described her with love and adoration.

“Isn’t it lucky that you ended up doing marine engineering?” Sunghoon said to Jake.

“I love engineering but I do love the ocean, too. Shit’s in my blood- dad shat on me for no reason,” Jake rolled his eyes and Jason threw back a piece of crumpled paper at him. Annoyed, Jake bounced his leg up and down. “You know what we forgot to mention?”

“What?” Sunghoon asked.

“Do you remember when Yeji had the biggest crush on Jason?”

With that, Sunghoon let out the biggest groan and threw his head back, hiding his face under his hands. Jason leaped at the memory while Heeseung, Jay and Y/N begged Sunghoon to show them a picture of his sister. Jake started scrolling through his phone to see if he could find any.

“What do you say, Jason?” Jake wiggled his eyebrows at his brother.

“Dude, grow up,” Jason rolled his eyes. “She was a kid.”

“Not anymore! Isn’t she, like, working right now, Sunghoon?” Jake teased.

“I’ll actually kill you,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

“I think they’d make a great couple, though!”

“Dear lord, not this again,” Jason groaned. “The four of us talk all the time, we literally have a group chat. Stop making it weird.”

From what Y/N could gather, this seemed like a conversation the three had frequently. Jake would mention the pairing of Jason and Yeji and Jason and Sunghoon would get riled up and throw a fit. Jake would then continue to list down the reasons as to why should start dating for the millionth time and the other two would turn him down for the millionth time. After seeing a picture of Yeji, she understood why Jake said they would make a great pair.

The first time Y/N saw Jason and Jake side by side, she told them that they looked nothing alike. And they truly didn’t- everyone would always be surprised when they told them they were siblings, only one year apart. Jake had stronger features, a sharper nose, defined jawline, almond eyes, thick lips and curtain-like hair. Jason, however, had lighter features with a button nose, round eyes, fluffy hair and puppy-like lips. They were both handsome, there was nothing to deny, just in polar different ways.

“I think this is a sign for us to sleep guys, It’s gonna be early morning for all of us from here on,” Jason announced and was the first to get up.

Everyone followed him to the sleeping pods, six beds fitted to the walls like bunk beds. If they stared hard enough, the room almost looked like a jail-cell but none of them really took it to heart. They wouldn’t be spending much time there anyway. Y/N slept in the bed above Jason’s and Jake slept opposite to her. That night, she found herself drifting off to sleep while desperately trying to focus on his features, the softness of his expression as he slept.

“This is our first drone test,” Heeseung announced and Sunghoon planted himself beside him with the drone and controller in hand. It had almost been a week since they deployed the hydrophones and it took them a week to perfect how to use them. Improvements were going slower than expected but a majority of the reason for this expedition was to test the new equipment so they learned to not complain as much. Finally, they decided to move on to the next piece of equipment, the drone, that Sunghoon was going to manoeuvre.

“Are we ready?” Sunghoon called. Everyone answered with a hum, dressed in scuba gear in case they needed to dive at the spotting of any whale, they told themselves. In the few days that they were at sea, they found it concerning that they spotted everything but a whale. “Alright, let’s go, then!”

Everyone watched with curiosity, intent and awe as the drone lifted higher into the sky, becoming a speckle of dust to their eyes as Sunghoon controlled it with grace. Jason monitored its camera through his laptop, paying close attention to anything that it could capture. They all stood around watching the screen for around ten minutes, Sunghoon still standing at the edge of the doc as he controlled the drone.

When the fifteenth minute came around, everyone started to lose hope, dispersing to do their respective work with grumbles and sighs. The twentieth minute came around and Jake asked Sunghoon if the new version of the drone was better than the hydrophones. He confirmed with a nod, his lips slightly parted as he concentrated his fingers on the controller and his eyes towards the sky where he could still see the drone. Bored, Jason and Y/N started playing thumb wars and Heeseung and Jay started discussing what the next day’s itinerary would be- Sunghoon let out a gasp.

“Guys, look!”

Everyone ran towards the laptop screen and vaguely, they could see the outline of a large fish, slowly gliding through the ocean currents, around twenty feet away from them. It wasn’t blue- a deep brown and grey, rather. It could have easily been a Bryde’s Whale. At this realisation, everyone elated and Jason ran to check if the hydrophones were picking up any sounds or echoes.

“I’ve got nothing,” Jason shook his head.

”What do you mean? Let me check,” Jay took over and after a few seconds of listening, he too concluded the same thing. “Are you sure the hydrophones aren’t glitching again?” He asked Jake.

“No, I’m sure,” Jake assured.

”Guys, it’s not too far from us. You can go check it out,” Sunghoon hollered to everyone, noticing that the silhouette was moving closer and closer towards the vessel.

Within the next ten minutes, Jay, Jason, Jake and Y/N were diving headfirst into the water. The rush of the ocean engulfed Y/N, the cold making her realise that this was her first time diving in the ocean since her semester on sea during college. The past few years, she’d kept in touch by diving in swimming pools and facilities but this… the real thing was always better.

Bubbles streamed past their bodies as they tried cutting through the water, their goggles making everything hazy as they got used to the pressure. At a distance, they could see the silhouette of what they hoped to be a Bryde’s Whale. Sunghoon and Heeseung kept an eye on them through the video the drone was transmissioning.

For a breathless moment, a moment where they all hoped that it was a whale they were finally seeing, they truly believed that they were in luck. However, as they swam closer to the giant body, theyr recognised its gaping mouth, unhurried movements and pointy fins as something else. For a moment, another breathless moment, they were disappointed, weight filling their chest in a way the ocean’s pressure couldn’t crush them. But seconds later, they decided to enjoy their discovery- Y/N, especially. It was fleeting, barely a few seconds, but it felt like something unspoken passed between them in that shared moment.

“Guys, it’s a Basking Shark,” Y/N said. “Heeseung? Sunghoon? Can you hear me?”

“It’s a Basking Shark, alright,” Jay said, his voice crackling through the earphones before Y/N could receive his words.

“You know the rules, guys. No touching, only looking,” Jason reminded them.

The group of four stopped swimming, floating in the blue abyss and watching the Basking Shark’s movements. It opened its mouth to inhale water- its way of catching food. It stayed open that way, allowing them to get a full view of its insides. White and dark stripes disappearing into its stomach. Slowly, slowly, second by second, the shark swam their direction, as calm as the wind and ocean before a storm. The divers moved to stand out of its way as it swam past them.

“How many feet do you think it is?” Jake asked.

“This is a big one,” Jay said. “I think 30, maybe 33 feet.”

Y/N knew the answer to this question. Normally, she would be the first person leap at answering. But she was too enamoured by the creature as it swam between them, momentarily making her lose sight of Jay and Jason who were on the other side. She could still see the bubbles floating upwards from their breathing. In a moment of poor judgement, she let her fingers raise to inch closer to the fit on the shark, eyes sparkling with eagerness and anticipation. What would it feel like? What would she feel?

As her fingers reached out, inches away from the shark’s rough skin, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. Startled, she swung her head around to find Jake’s eyes staring daggers at her. Through his mask, she saw him shaking his head. They hovered that way, his hand on her wrist, eyes moving away from each other and towards the shark, watching it drift away from them and the vessel.

The group made their way back to surface, hearts beating with exhilaration. Sunghoon and Heeseung stretched out their arms to help everyone up, fighting the heaviness of the water. “That was amazing,” Jay enthralled as he ripped his mask off.

The other three settled on the deck, backs slumping onto the railings of the vessel as they heaved to catch their breaths. Their masks were thrown beside them and their wetsuits slipped down their torsos. Jake ran his hands through his hair, trying to restyle its shape; Jason forced himself to stand up so he could make his way to the shower; Y/N sat there, unmoving, staring at her bare hands like she’d just woken up from an unbelievable dream. Then, she lifted her head to look at her surroundings, meeting her gaze with Jake as her head turned. He cracked a smile at her and she turned away, embarrassed.

Nine days. It had been nine days since the Basking Shark incident and they were nowhere close to seeing a whale- Blue Whale, Humpback Whale, Sperm Whale… nothing. There was a moment where Jay was convinced he’d picked up the sounds of whales singing but the noise ended up being interference from debris. However, it wasn’t to say that nothing good came out of the past empty days.

The equipment they were testing had come around wonderfully. Everyone, with due time and patience from Jake, started learning how to use the technology and were on their way to perfecting the techniques. One day, a curious Green Sea Turtle surfaced next to the vessel and stared at them for a full minute before diving away. While hauling one of their retrieval baskets, they realised they'd caught an Isopod and it made Heeseung recoil in horror due to its eerie similarity to cockroaches- that day, they found out Heeseung had a huge phobia of insects. Y/N caught a glimpse of a pod of flying fish through her binoculars. Jake caught a glimpse of a Thresher Shark while everyone else was in the lab and he had headed up for some fresh air.

Sunghoon seemed to be some sort of octopus whisperer. A few days ago, he’d spotted a tiny translucent octopus stuck to the side of the vessel and he stretched himself to reach it. It was small enough to fit on his pinky and wrap its tentacles to cover his fingerprint. It was almost transparent, apart from specks of pigment that floated in its body like dust. Its body pulsed softly in his hand, delicate tentacles fanning out onto his palm to test the surface. Then, he slowly lowered it back to the water. On one of their dives, Sunghoon spotted a Blanket Octopus, a rare sighting that would get the media riled up when the footage was released, and he swam after it until he was too far from the vessel.

That morning, Jay woke up to the sight of a pod of dolphins swimming past the vessel, jumping into the air to create dark outlines onto the orange and pink sky. The rhythmic splash of their bodies against the water seemed to stir the rest of the crew from their sluggish morning routines. One by one, they emerged onto the deck—first Jason, then Heeseung and Sunghoon, followed by Y/N and Jake. The usual grumbles of early wake-ups were quickly replaced by soft gasps and murmured excitement as they took in the sight before them.

“That’s what I call a wake-up call,” Y/N gasped.

“Maybe that’s a sign of luck, guys,” Jay offered. “We should do something tonight.”

“Like what?” Sunghoon asks.

Jay perked up. “Like a night dive?”

Sunghoon, who had been taking a sip of water, nearly choked. “Diving?” He coughed. “At night?”

“Why not? We’ve been out here for weeks, and we haven’t done one yet,” Jay reasoned. “The bioluminescence, the different marine life—it’d be an entirely new experience.”

Jason nodded in agreement. “Plus, it’ll be a good change of pace. We’ve been so focused on the whales that we haven’t really taken in everything else around us.”

Heeseung, ever the cautious one, sighed. “You do realize diving at night is way riskier, right? Low visibility, stronger currents—”

“We’ll take precautions,” Jay cut in. “We’ve got the lights, safety lines, and we won’t go too far from the vessel. It’s a controlled dive, not some reckless plunge.”

A moment of silence passed as Heeseung weighed the risks, scanning the eager faces around him. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “Fine. But if anything even remotely goes wrong, we call it and get out. No heroics.”

A round of nods and murmured agreements followed.

“Then it’s settled,” Jay grinned. “Tonight, we dive.”

Excitement buzzed like static as the sun dipped below the horizon. The group prepared for their night dive with thick dive suits and dive computers strapped to their wrists. Jason, ever meticulous, went through each regulator one by one, testing for air flow. "If your regulator sputters, switch to your alternate immediately and signal me," he reminded the group.

Sunghoon handed out waterproof dive torches while Jay and Heeseung secured backup glow sticks to their vests, just in case their primary lights failed. “If it gets too dark, stick close and don’t panic,” Jay advised. “This is a controlled dive, no one goes deeper than 30 meters. Stay within sight of your buddy at all times. If anyone gets separated, stop where you are, shine your light upwards, and wait for us to find you. Do not ascend alone unless it’s an emergency.”

Jay paired with Jason, Sunghoon paired with Heeseung and, like fate had it, Y/N paired with Jake.

Slowly, they approached the edge of the deck, staring down at the ink-black water, the reflection of the stars rippled into infinite nothingness and for a moment, just for a moment, they felt themselves regretting their decision, letting fear conquer their senses. Sunghoon looked at Heeseung, panic and fear glistening against his eyes. Jake, catching his expression from the other end, assured him with a thumb raised in the air and adjusted his mask.

“We got this, guys,” Jake announced, trying to lift everyone’s spirits. “It’s gonna be an experience of a lifetime.”

As the words left his lips, Y/N’s gaze lifted to meet his through the hazy plastic of her mask, her lashes fluttering as hesitation creased her brow. Even through the dim glow of their dive lights, she could see the warmth in his eyes, the way his expression softened—like he was seeing only her in the vastness of the ocean. Then, as if drawn by an unspoken pull, his fingers brushed against her wrist before slipping lower, finding her hand with effortless ease. Slowly, deliberately, he wove his fingers through hers, his grip gentle yet certain. Her breath hitched as she glanced down at their hands—at the way they fit, tethered in the silent depths—before letting her gaze drift back up to him. He wasn’t looking away. He held her there, in the weightless moment suspended between them.

“Just stick with me, yeah?” He whispered to her. “I promise it’ll be the best time of your life.”

“Alright, everyone,” Jay hollered. “Everyone dive in three… two… one.”

What followed were a sequence of splashes and bubbles rising to the surface of the water due to the impact. The first thing they saw was blackness, their eyes still adjusting to the minimal light of their flashlights. As they splashed around, disturbing the calmness of the water, they saw specks of blue- little emeralds glistening at their friction.

“It’s plankton,” Y/N squealed. “It’s bioluminescence!”

“Can’t get better than this, huh?” Jake squeezed her hand, tuning out the excitement everyone else was emulating.

“This is unreal,” Heeseung moved his hand to trigger another spark of bioluminescence, mesmerized by the living light show.

As they descended further, with patience and caution, they saw the silver body of a Barracuda flash by. Startled, Y/N moved closer to Jake, wrapping her wrist around his bicep. Jason, Jay, Heeseung and Sunghoon had moved deeper and the pair followed, eyes spotting clusters of coral reefs with their blooming polyps. From the reef emerged a biofluorescent Hawksbill Sea Turtle, snapping its mouth open and closed in hopes of finding prey. It moved languidly through the water, ignorant of the divers coming closer to it.

“Didn’t think we’d see this today,” Jason said. “Biofluorescence is common in corals and sharks but it’s only been seen in turtles around 2015. Take it in, everyone.”

As everyone tried keeping their eyes on the turtle, already on the verge of leaving their sight, Jay signals everyone to look towards a rocky outcrop. A flash of pale white flickering into deep brown and they hover in place, watching as a cuttlefish pulsated with shifting hues, blending seamlessly into the seafloor before striking at an unsuspecting shrimp. Just a few feet away, a small octopus stretched its arms along the coral, its skin rippling from sand-colored to a deep maroon as it crept toward its prey.

Y/N, captivated, gestured excitedly at the display, her bubbles rising in bursts. Jake caught her expression and grinned behind his mask, watching as she pressed closer to the scene, eyes wide with childlike wonder. Sunghoon, playing the photographer, raised the underwater camera to capture the display of nature’s most skilled shapeshifters. When the creatures finally retreated into the shadows, the group exchanged excited looks before continuing their dive.

As they moved deeper, the ocean’s silence felt heavier, interrupted only by the sound of their own breathing. It felt like they were in a sharksploitation film, the Jaws background music being the only thing missing. As though Y/N’s thoughts were being read, Jason, who had been slightly ahead, froze and pointed his light downward in a startled haze.

Whatever it was that caught Jason’s attention, it was huge and left a trail of bioluminescence in its wake. They could feel it looming just beyond the reach of their lights. A ripple of tension passed between the group as an immense shadow suspended in the water. No one moved- they were sure not one of them was breathing.

Jay’s fingers curled around his dive knife out of instinct, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Heeseung, usually calm, hovered frozen in place, his eyes darting between the dark shape and Sunghoon, who was holding onto his camera for dear life. Jake exhaled slowly, bubbles escaping in a steady stream as he tried to make sense of what they were seeing, Y/N clinging to his arm to comfort herself. Steadily, Jason tightened his grip on his flashlight and angled the beam forward. The light cut through the darkness, catching the edge of something vast and smooth. The shape shifted, its outline rippling like a ghost emerging from the abyss.

It was a Manta Ray.

At the realisation, their muscles loosened and Jay kept his dive knife away. They watched it swarm past them, its wings stretching impossibly wide. Just like a ghost, it glided through the water like it owned the place, its pale underbelly flashing in the light. It moved like a specter, unbothered by their presence, its cephalic fins unfurling like delicate ribbons as it turned. With the added effects of the blue bioluminescence, it felt like they were watching a dream. Y/N say them all the time in the aquarium but to see them alive, gliding in their natural habitat, was a different kind of sight.

“How big do you think that is?” Jay murmured.

“Five meters?” Y/N answered. “Easily six… she’s huge.”

Jake felt Y/N’s grip on his arm loosen and like instinct, he turned towards her in. He was met with the sight of her in awe, watching the Manta Ray disappear into the void. As they hovered in awe, Heeseung was the first to react. He gestured frantically, his flashlight beam cutting through the water and landing on something just below them. His wide eyes and rapid pointing sent a jolt of confusion through the group. Jay followed the direction of Heeseung’s light, angling his own beam downward.

A Vampire Squid.

It wasn’t supposed to be here. These creatures lived far deeper, in oxygen-minimum zones, not a mere 20 meters below the surface. Yet there it was, its deep crimson body illuminated in their lights, its webbed arms curling inward as it drifted.

Jason exhaled a string of bubbles, exchanging a stunned glance with Jay. Y/N's mind raced—was it sick? Disoriented? Had something forced it to the surface?

Before they could react, the squid suddenly pulsed its body, releasing a shimmering cloud of bioluminescent mucus—a defense mechanism against predators. Tiny blue specks scattered around it like an underwater firework before the creature vanished into the blackness.

The team remained frozen, the eerie afterglow of the squid's defense lingering in the water.

“What the hell was that doing up here?” Jason finally asked through their comms. No one had an answer.

“I’m not getting a good feeling from this,” Heeseung announced. “We’ve seen plenty. I think it’s time to go.”

With steady nods and eager movements, they swam back toward the vessel, an unspoken unease settled between them. A buzz of confusion filled their dialogue when they broke the water and fatigue settled into their bodies. Some looked back at the Manta Ray and awed, others still concerned about why they saw a Vampire Squid so far up the surface, questioning if they should be worried. Jason theorised that it was probably nearing its life-cycle; from what he could see in the passing moments, it looked quite old.

In practiced silence, they stripped off their gear. Masks clattered onto the deck. Wetsuits peeled away with sluggish motions. Someone yawned. One by one, they disappeared below deck—some for a quick shower, others just to sit and breathe.

Y/N, clad in her bikini and a flimsy shirt, found herself sitting on the edge of the deck, her bare feet skimming the water. Each ripple sent a flicker of blue light swirling around her toes—the bioluminescence responding to her every movement. She could hear the guys deep in a conversation on the other side of the deck, discussing the next morning’s regime. She didn't listen in. She just watched the reflection of the stars, absentmindedly swirling her foot through the water, watching the glow chase her movements.

Then, footsteps. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. The air around them shifted as Jake settled beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just watching the light dance beneath them. She could see him pouting from the corner of her eyes, a habit she noticed in him before they even started the research expedition.

“Dinner?” She asked, not breaking her gaze away from whatever was in front of her.

He turned to look at her, damp hair falling in front of his forehead. “Yeah, yeah,” he nodded.

“Hey, I have a question,” Y/N found herself chuckling before she could ask him. Slowly, she turned to look at her, shifting her position so that she could lean back on the palms of her hands. “Heeseung doesn’t know you hooked up with his little sister, does he?”

At the question, Jake found himself cackling, too. “What?” He laughed. “No way,” he shook his head. “I think he’d murder me.”

“Yeah, he definitely would,” Y/N agreed. Then, she let a moment of silence pass between them, mustering up the courage to ask him her next question. “What is it about hookups with you, anyway? Just… why so many?”

“Is that who you think of me as?” Jake’s chuckle never left, his eyes widening as he continued. “We just came back from that… interesting dive and you wanna talk about this?”

“It was a bit scary,” she admitted. “I loved it, but I don’t wanna think about it until tomorrow.”

“Fair, fair. Alright, I’ll indulge you,” Jake bit his lip- another one of his many habits- and allowed his gaze to meet hers.

In that moment, in a fleeting split second, the wall that Jake built to keep caution around her had crumbled. All these months, Jake spent trying to be respectful around her, walking on eggshells to try and gain her respect. And somewhere along the way, she started looking at him like he was his own person- not the annoying little brother Jason complained about and not the disappointing son Henry seethed about. She could see the effort he put in, not only for his work or his family, but also for her. She wasn’t sure why. She almost missed his cocky demeanour.

“I don’t know why you’re so against it-”

“I’m not against it,” Y/N defended. “I’m just not that kind of person.”

“Right,” he breathed. “But I guess… well, I suppose I should begin from where it all started,” at that, Y/N chuckled and nodded to coax him to continue. “So, it was the second semester at college and as usual, I was at some house party. By this time, I’d lost my virginity in high school and everything, right? But I hadn’t really slept with anyone in college. So that night, I met this girl- really pretty, really flirty-”

“And you slept together.”

“And we slept together,” he said. “And me, being the fool I was,” Y/N continued laughing, finding his narrative style quite comical. “Thought that maybe she wanted me to call her the next morning. But apparently she didn’t want that. And nineteen year old Jake was heart broken-”

“And he started going to the gym, came out a cocky ass and started sleeping with everyone because some random girl broke his heart-”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t make fun of me,” Jake nudged her side, leading her to continue laughing. Her eyes struggled to stay open and her smile refused to die. Jake bathed in her joy. “And to be fair, I started going to the gym in high school,” he pointed a finger at her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” she grinned and rolled her eyes.

“But, yeah, anyways,” he continued. “I was hurt by it, obviously. And then I told my friends about it and they were all assholes, by the way. Not the kind you want to have long term relationships with. But, yeah, I told them and they kinda brainwashed me into thinking that I got lucky that this was a no strings attached thing. And to be honest, a few days later, I kinda liked the whole idea, too, I guess? And the party I went to after that- hooked up with another girl. And I guess, the cycle just continued.”

Y/N blinked at him for a second, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. “No one gets hurt?”

“No one gets hurt,” he assured with a shake of his head.

“How would you know, though?” She asked. “The girl in the context- what if-”

“You just kind of know,” he breathed. “You always kinda know. It’s like a sixth sense… only hook up with people you’re sure who want the same things as you. But don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t ever want to settle down. I mean- I’m pushing thirty. It’s just that… I don’t think I’ve found anyone yet.”

Y/N hummed. “The sex is that good?”

Jake’s grin returned, this time a little mischievous, dangerous. His eyes had a sparkle in them, his pointy teeth peeking behind his smile. “Y/N, the sex…” he rumbled, voice low and breath fanning against her ear. He leaned closer to her. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

Y/N gulped.

Assuming his previous position, his grin still plastered on him, he looked her up and down, taking in the tips of her toes that were still touching the water and running his gaze back to her eyes. Perhaps he was being delusional, clouded by the conversation they were having, but he was sure he saw the spark in her- the spark that manifested through her hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. He could see her squeeze her legs together, nails digging into her palms as she chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze stayed on his hands- his hands that were pulsating with his veins, fingers long enough to wrap her around him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never-”

“No, I have- Jake, I’m pushing thirty, too,” she rolled her eyes, shaking herself out of her daze. A cool wind breezed past them and she could feel her nippled perking through her shirt- she was sure Jake had noticed. “Dated this guy a couple years ago. I met him as a customer in the aquarium, actually. We dated for, like, a year. The sex was good. Jason hated him, though. Said he acted like a frat boy and looking back, I guess he kinda did.”

Watching her shrug and look away, he licked his lips. His breath was near her neck now, his presence ghosting against hers. “Y/N, you deserve better than good sex- whatever that was.”

“And you’re some expert on sex?” She teased.

They didn’t know when the air between them had changed.

Maybe it had started in that moment- when the world was nothing but rolling waves and flickering bioluminescence. Maybe it had started long before that, slipping in between stolen glances across the vessel, lingering eye contact that lasted just a second too long, and quiet moments between chaos that neither of them dared to name.

They’d be lying if they said there was absolutely no tension building between them over the past few weeks. It had been there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting.

It was in the way he always seemed to be nearby—not in an obvious way, but in a way that made it impossible for Y/N to ignore. If she was adjusting equipment, Jake was there, his arm brushing against hers as he reached for something. If she was rinsing off after a dive, he’d pass by, running a towel through his hair, his skin damp and glistening with seawater. It was the way she felt his presence before she even saw him.

It was the way their bodies gravitated toward each other—shoulders bumping when they worked side by side, fingers grazing when they passed tools back and forth. The way she’d instinctively reached for him during dives, her hand wrapping around his forearm in the darkness, trusting his steadiness as they maneuvered through the water. It was the way he never pulled away.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on her lips when she spoke, or the way she caught herself staring at his hands—the way they moved, the way they curled into fists when he was frustrated, the way they rested so naturally on his neck when he was deep in thought.

It was everything.

Slowly, silently, inevitably, it had been building up to this moment.

Jake found himself hoisting himself back on his feet, rubbing his hands against his thighs to brush off any dust. “I’m gonna try sleeping,” he said, ignoring the laughter that the rest of the boys started filling in the air. Yet, he didn’t move, eyes fixated on her and the way she seemed to curl further into herself. He waited for her to say something- anything that gave him a hint on what was to come next.

“Okay,” she said, finding herself getting back on her feet as well. “I’m gonna sleep, too.”

“Okay.”

The pair stared at each other for a brief second, his eyes darting between her features and hers fixated on his eyes. The air between them was charged with something neither of them dared to put into words. It was a quiet understanding, an unspoken decision made in the space of a breath. Then, with a nod, Jake led her back to the sleeping pods. They moved quickly, their strides quick and deliberate, as if slowing down would give them time to second-guess. Jake barely spared a glance at the others—Heeseung and Sunghoon talking near the railings, Jason and Jay checking something on the equipment—he breezed past them like they didn’t exist.

By the time they reached the sleeping pods, her heart was hammering against her ribs. She watched as Jake stripped off his shirt, catching her widened eyes of shock and explaining to her that he always slept this way. And she watched as he climbed onto his bed, running his hands through his hair and clenching his jaw from what she assumed was frustration. Then finally, finally, after pretending like they weren’t there for a purpose, he looked at her. He looked at her with conviction, slender eyes coaxing her and lips begging for her.

“Y/N…” his exhale spelt out her name.

His rand reached out for her to hold and she looked at his palm- his empty hand that was waiting to be filled with hers, his empty fingers waiting to wrap around her. So, she complied and took his hand, climbing into his bed and adjusting her straddle on his lap. There was silence, mostly just their heavy breaths filling the air, wondering if this was the moment they’d been waiting for- if this is what Jake was hoping for.

She felt his hands creep up her thighs, slowly and surely attaching themselves to her hips, dipping under her shirt to find her waist. His fingers danced on her skin, almost like he was playing a piano, waiting for her to do something other than to hold onto the hem of her shirt.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

He could feel her pulsating through her bikini and his dick twitched in his shorts. He gulped as he watched her hands move towards his chest, the cold of her fingertips sending a jolt down his spine. He let her stay that way, her hands exploring the crevices of his chest. Lifting his head that was resting on the wall, he found his neck moving towards her, and she did the same. Their heads tilted, lips parted and eyes hooded- they knew what was to come. They couldn’t wait for it to come.

“I promise you won’t get hurt,” he whispered, just as his lips brushed against hers, their noses touching. His hands moved higher up her torso, touching her ribs just as she let out a ragged breath-

And just as fast as their moment came, it left when they jolted away from each other. They heard footsteps and grumbled murmurs of the rest of the group mumbling it was a good day and goodnight to each other. Panicked, they scrambled off of each other and Y/N was rushing out of his pod and back into her own- anything to make the predicament seem normal, unusual. Before Jay had burst the door open and everyone piled in, Y/N’s head was already on her pillow, pretending to be asleep.

She could hear Jake greeting everyone and wishing everyone a goodnight- she paid no mind. That night, she couldn't sleep.

The group of six had spent almost two months out on the ocean, in the middle of nowhere, on a metal vessel that they’d been calling home, and they’d still hadn’t spotted a whale. However, they felt no sense of discouragement, focusing on testing the new equipment and going on more dives and collecting more samples for research. They collected samples of plankton blooms, recorded the eerie songs of distant marine life, and encountered creatures they never expected—an elusive blanket octopus, a deep-sea jelly drifting near the surface, even a rare oarfish shimmering like a silver ribbon in the depths. The once-crisp excitement of the expedition had softened into something quieter—a steady rhythm of work, patience, and anticipation.

That day was like no other. The air felt no different and the ocean, as usual, stretched infinitely around them. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. Jason was at the research station, analyzing the latest data from their dives, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through results. Sunghoon and Heeseung were near the stern, arguing about whether or not a gull that had landed on their railing was the same one they’d seen three days ago. Annie sat cross-legged on the deck, flipping through her notebook, jotting down observations while absentmindedly twirling a loose thread on her sleeve. Jake was beside her, leaning back on his elbows, quietly watching the sun reflect off the water.

The late afternoon had been slow, peaceful, the kind of moment where time stretched lazily—until Jay stiffened, his head snapping toward the hydrophone. His heart kicked against his ribs as the sound hummed through his headphones, low and distant but unmistakable. Impatient, he holler for Jason who came running to him, questioning what was so important.

“Do you hear that?” He sucked in a breath as he handed the headphones to Jason.

Jason, eyes widened with hope and shock, nodded. “No way,” he breathed. “No way!” He yelled which caught the attention of the rest of the group.

“What is it?” Y/N craned her head to examine the ruckus, watching as everyone had gathered around the deck. Jay came over with binoculars, waving it around in the air. Somehow, without needing any explanation, everyone understood what the excitement was about. It was happening. It was finally happening.

Keeping her notebook aside, she made her way towards the rest of the group, leaning against the railing in anticipation.

“I think they’re a few kilometers away, we should be able to see them soon,” Jay concentrated on his sight through the binoculars, face squirming with concentration.

Everyone simply watched the horizon, waiting for a disturbance to break the surface of the ocean. For a few moments, they saw nothing and Y/N went back and forth from listening to the sound on the headphones, a melody so ancient and otherworldly that it sent shivers down her spine, and looking back at the horizon. She was on the brink of losing hope, watching as Jake and Sunghoon broke apart from the group with their heads hung low, looking at everyone like they were fools for thinking they were lucky until-

It finally happened.

Gasps of awe filled the air as the others scrambled to grab their binoculars and cameras. Sunghoon nearly tripped over a crate in his rush, and even Jake—usually calm and composed—had an unrestrained grin on his face as he followed Y/N to the railing.

A towering column of mist rose into the air, catching the evening light like a shimmering ghost. The sound of the exhale followed a second later, a forceful blast from beneath the waves. The water churned violently as the massive shape surged upward. For a split second, the ocean seemed to hold its breath—then, a whale erupted from the surface. A colossal Humpback Whale launched skyward, water cascading off its slick skin in torrents. The sheer size of it was staggering. Its massive pectoral fins spread wide, and for a breathtaking moment, it seemed suspended in midair—a creature far too large to belong anywhere but the sea, defying gravity itself.

Everyone froze. No one breathed.

Then, in a heartbeat, everyone burst into a rumble of excitement as the whale slammed back into the water, sending an explosion of white foam and waves rippling toward the vessel. The force of it sent their stomachs lurching, but no one cared. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes blown wide.

“Oh, my God,”she said, unable to get her feet to move as Jay had scrambled back to the computer to see what the hydrophones had managed to record. “It’s singing!” Heeseung had screamed repeatedly as Jay fought to not let excitement shake his posture.

Sunghoon bolted for the camera rig, yanking the telephoto lens into place. “Holy shit, that was a full breach! I need a better angle—someone hold this steady!” Heeseung grabbed the tripod as Sunghoon adjusted the settings.

Jason scrambled toward the data log, frantically typing timestamps and environmental conditions into the system. “We need to record the water temp, salinity, GPS coordinates—someone grab the readings!”

As the crew erupted into action around them—rushing for cameras, hydrophones, and data logs—Jake didn’t move. He barely even breathed.

He was watching her.

Y/N stood frozen at the rail, her hands gripping the metal so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. Her eyes, wide and shining under the soft glow of the afternoon sun, stayed locked on the spot where the whale had breached. She looked completely lost in the moment—like the world had narrowed to just her and the ocean. The excitement, the rush, the frantic calls of the others—it all faded into white noise for Jake. He saw her throat move as she swallowed hard, lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. She didn’t even reach for the binoculars or her notebook. She just stood there and let everything happen.

Jake had seen her fall in love with the ocean over and over again these past few weeks. On the night dive, when she saw bioluminescent creatures flicker to life for the first time. In the quiet hours before dawn, when she let her fingers trail through glowing waters. Each moment had stripped away something guarded in her—had pulled her deeper into the thing she loved most.

And now, as she stood there, wholly consumed by the sight before her, Jake felt something in his chest tighten. She was beautiful like this—untethered, weightless, alive. In a moment of fleeting adoration, Jake wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his chest without hesitation, mouth still agape, eyes still locked on the sea. Jake felt her exhale, felt the way her body melted into his. Slowly, confidently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered, his eyes closing like he wanted to keep this moment exactly as it was. The weight of unacknowledged moments, flickering electricity had shifted into something else over the past few weeks- something, softer, lighter, deeper.

Y/N had stopped second-guessing the way she naturally gravitated toward him, the way her body angled toward him whenever they stood together, the way she reached for him without thinking. And Jake? Jake had stopped holding back.

He still teased her, still challenged her, still made her roll her eyes—but now, his affection was deliberate. When she handed him something, his fingers would brush hers and linger. When she got caught up in her work, he’d bring her water without a word. When she sat alone at night, tracing patterns in the bioluminescence, he’d sit beside her in silence, just to exist in the same space.

Finally, Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her expression open in a way it hadn’t been before. No teasing smirk, no quick remark—just something warmer, something unspoken but completely understood.

Jake’s lips quirked into a quiet smile. “A lot of firsts for you these days.”

Y/N exhaled a small laugh, nodding.

“Think we should get to work now,” he offered and she meekly nodded.

Jake let her go and moved with quick precision, checked the equipment on deck, making sure the hydrophone was secured and that no water had splashed onto their more sensitive instruments. “Sunghoon, tell me you got that on camera,” he muttered.

“Barely!” Sunghoon yelled.

Y/N stayed close to the railings, keeping her eye out on the huge mass of shadow moving past the surface of the waters, just in case a whale surfaced again.

After spending days with whale songs filling the air, making their mornings, Sunghoon sent out his drone again and detected an entangled whale. After debating whether they were allowed to intervene, something about rules and regulations, they agreed to help the creature. Fear that it would die without sooner intervention and the excitement of being inches away from a whale, possibly being able to touch it, the group devised a plan of action.

Heeseung and Sunghoon stayed on the vessel as look-out through binoculars as the rest manoeuvred a small boat towards the hurting whale. It was only a few feet meters away from them but reaching it through the rough waters seemed like a task, all of a sudden. The waters were usually never this rough- first time in all the weeks they’d been on the ocean.

The water was colder than expected as Jake, Jay and Y/N descended, the massive form of the whale looming beneath them. Up close, the entanglement was worse than they’d thought—thick netting dug deep into the whale’s pectoral fin, restricting its movement. Y/N and Jay worked swiftly, slicing through the strands while Jake positioned himself to keep them steady. The whale remained eerily still, its eye just barely visible through the shifting blue.

Then, without warning, it thrashed, perhaps because of the sudden attention it was getting from foreign presence or perhaps from the pain of entanglement. The sudden burst of movement sent a powerful current surging around them. Y/N was thrown backward, Jay barely managing to steady himself. Jake instinctively reached for her, pulling her close before she could drift further. For a tense moment, they remained suspended in the water, waiting to see if the whale would calm. Slowly, its movements settled, and they resumed cutting. One final slice, and the last of the netting unraveled, drifting away into the depths. The whale hovered for a moment before, with a flick of its tail, it surged forward- free at last- and the three watched as it swam away from them.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Y/N said. “I can’t believe I just did that- we just did that.”

Upon arriving back on the vessel, the team moved on autopilot—securing equipment, hauling themselves aboard, and stripping off their dive gear. A string of celebratory huzzas were passed around as Y/N slumped against a chair. The air was thick with exhilaration and exhaustion, breaths still uneven from the dive. Sunghoon handed Y/N a towel as she squeezed the seawater from her hair, her mind still in the depths, replaying the whale’s final surge to freedom.

Jason was already hunched over the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he analyzed the recordings. "The change in vocalizations—it's real," he muttered, half to himself, half to Jay, who leaned over his shoulder. Jay's grin was unstoppable. "We’re really hearing this in real-time. That’s insane."

The others busied themselves cleaning up, but the adrenaline was still too fresh to settle. Heeseung cracked open a bottle of water, while Sunghoon replayed drone footage on his tablet, scrutinizing every frame. "We actually did it," he murmured, half in disbelief.

Y/N, however, found herself drifting away from the commotion. She was exhausted and desperately needed rest for her eyes. Her arms went slump and legs felt heavy and when Jake spotted her heaving breath, he made his way towards her, offering himself as a pillow. The pair slumped on each other, Jake running a hand up and down her arm as she drowned out the commotion around her.

“Just a few minutes,” she mumbled and nuzzled deeper into his chest, hugging his torso. Jake chuckled.

Their peace didn’t last long, though. Jake felt it before he saw it, the subtle shift in the air, the way the horizon darkened like spilled ink bleeding into the sky. A low rumble rolled across the sky, so distant at first that no one paid it much mind. But then came the wind—sharp, biting, and sudden. The gentle lull of the ocean turned erratic, the once-glassy surface growing restless beneath them.

A storm was coming. Fast.

“Storm’s rolling in,” Heeseung called from the helm, voice edged with urgency. “We need to secure everything—now.”

Y/N’s eyes shot open as her mind registered what was going on and everyone started moving in sync, doing what their training had taught them to do. Like it came out of nowhere, sheets of rain lashed against the deck, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The ocean had turned violent, monstrous waves slamming into the vessel with enough force to send them stumbling. Sunghoon and Jay held onto the railings, Jake and Y/N barely finding a way to make it to safety as Heeseung and Jason controlled the steering. They could see them, their faces contorting with strain as they helped each other manoeuvred the wheel.

A rogue wave—towering, relentless—rose like a wall before crashing down onto the deck. The impact sent equipment flying, knocking everyone off balance. A sickening crack sounded through the storm, followed by a sharp, agonized cry.

“Jay!”

As Sunghoon hollered, he ran towards Jay on the unsteady vessel, fully equipped with the knowledge that they could be thrown overboard by the waves and the wind any second. Jay was crumbling against the rain, body twisted in pain as he held onto his forearm. “I think I broke it,” he repeated over and over again as Sunghoon carried him towards Jake and Y/N.

Jake and Sunghoon exchanged a look that Y/N couldn't decipher, a sort of language the two friends had accumulated through their years of friendship. When the vessel rocked again, Sunghoon grabbed Y/N’s arm and tried his best to get them inside- to safety, hopefully. Jake dashed the opposite direction, towards the wheelhouse.

“Where is he going?” Y/N yelled over the winds and the thunder that started to crack, crouching out of instinct though she knew it wouldn’t be much protection. Another wave crashed against the vessel, water flooding the deck. The rain fell harder above them, leaving them no mercy. They were being tossed around like a

“Distress signal,” Sunghoon shouted back, holding Jay in place amongst the imbalance.

The storm swallowed the horizon whole, a monstrous force of wind and water that turned the sky into an endless void of grey. The waves surged like biblical monsters, heaving and crashing against the vessel with relentless fury, each impact rattling through steel and bone alike. The world had shrunk to chaos—water seeping into every crevice, bodies thrown against railings, desperate hands gripping whatever they could to keep from being flung into the abyss.

“Sunghoon, we’re not gonna make it,” Y/N could feel her tears, tears of fear and defeat, mixing with the rain, eyes squinting as she searched for him amongst the fog.

“No, Y/N,” Sunghoon yelled. “We’re gonna make it.”

Somewhere, through the deafening roar of the storm, a voice crackled through the radio—a lifeline lost in static—before the darkness was split apart by a piercing beam of light.

The helicopter had arrived.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed darkness of the storm they had just survived. The six of them sat scattered around the hospital room, their bodies aching, their minds still reeling from the chaos that had led them here. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, but beneath it lingered the salt of the ocean, a reminder that no matter how far they were from that vessel, the sea was still etched into their skin.

Jay sat in the center of it all, his arm immobilized in a sling, bruises painting his skin in deep purples and sickly yellows. He looked exhausted, but there was a ghost of his usual grin on his face as he tried to downplay the pain. “I guess this means I get out of heavy lifting for a while,” he joked, but no one laughed.

Because they all remembered.

They remembered the way the waves had swallowed the vessel, tossing them like rag dolls. The helplessness of gripping onto whatever they could, praying they wouldn’t be swept away. The panic when Jay had been thrown across the deck, a sickening crack cutting through the chaos. The way he had screamed. The frantic, trembling hands trying to keep pressure on his injury, the desperate voices yelling into the radio for help, the sheer terror that, for a moment, they might not all make it out.

Sunghoon sat at the edge of his hospital bed, staring at the floor with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles were white. Jason and Heeseung murmured in hushed tones with a doctor at the doorway, nodding stiffly at whatever instructions were being given.

And then there was Y/N.

She sat beside Jake, her head resting against his shoulder, eyes open but unfocused. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, like she was grounding herself, trying to convince herself that they were safe now. That it was over.

Jake hadn’t let go of her since they had been pulled out of the storm. His grip on her hand was firm, like if he let go, she might disappear. The adrenaline had long worn off, leaving behind only exhaustion and the silent, heavy weight of everything they had endured.

For the first time in months, there was no vessel beneath them, no swaying of the ocean, no distant songs of whales humming through the water. Just the quiet hum of the hospital and the echo of a storm that still raged inside them. For the first time, Y/N wondered, had they all gone crazy without knowing it? She’d seen documentaries about this- how people stranded in a single environment could descend into a state of psychosis. Did that happen to them, sickness right under their noses?

When the doctor made her way towards the group, everyone lifted their heads and sat straight, reacting as though a professor had just walked into the classroom. Dr Ryu looked at them sternly, an absence of sympathy and solemness in her demeanour. Perhaps that is exactly what they needed. “You guys got lucky,” she said. “It could have been worse.”

Everyone responded with a sequence of nods, Jay wincing as he moved the wrong muscle. Jason shifted to his side, resting his hand on his back as support and comfort.

“Physically, you all should be fine. A quick recovery- Jay included,” Dr Ryu continued. “However, I highly recommend visiting a therapist. By the looks of it, this wasn’t something easy that you all had to go through and you now show increased vulnerability to PTSD or any related disorders. Please do take my advice seriously.”

Again, she was met with a sequence of nods and mumbles, assuring her that they would do their best in taking care of themselves and each other.

“We will keep Jay in for the night for observation,” Dr Ryu said. “Any of you can stay with him. The rest of you- go home. Go home to your families and just be in a more familiar space. Try to sleep- staying awake all night and mulling over it will not help. Your bodies are exhausted. Give it a rest and come back tomorrow.”

As she walked away from the group, a moment of silence fell over them as they went over what the doctor had said. PTSD? Who knew this was the turn their lives would take? To be fair, she only advised a therapist- there was no guarantee for anything at the moment.

“I’ll stay,” Jason said. The decision was made without much debate. Friends since a trip went wrong during university, it made sense that he stayed back. While working on a coastal biodiversity project, their boat engine failed during a data collection run, leaving them stranded at sea for hours. They were rescued by helicopters that day, too and looking back, their situation now looked eerily similar- just without the injury and the trauma.

Jason had already straightened in his seat, his expression leaving no room for argument. Jay rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. “You guys should go get some actual sleep. My apartment’s closer to the hospital anyway- you should spend the night there, give each other company.”

No one had the energy to argue.

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m gonna pass out the second I hit a bed.”

“Same,” Heeseung muttered, already gathering what little belongings they had brought with them.

Y/N glanced at Jake, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. He still hadn’t let go of her hand, his thumb absentmindedly running over her knuckles. His eyes flickered toward Jason, something unreadable crossing his expression.

Jason caught it. “Don’t even think about staying, Jake,” he said, voice softer now but still firm. “You look worse than Jay.”

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, but Y/N felt the tension in his grip. He didn’t want to leave. None of them really did, but Jason was right- they needed rest, and Jay was in good hands.

Y/N squeezed his hand, a silent reassurance, before standing up. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Jason gave a small nod. “I’ll text you if anything happens.”

With that, they filed out of the room, exhaustion making their movements sluggish. The police drove them to Jason’s apartment and the second they opened the doors, Heeseung and Sunghoon occupied the guest bedroom and Jake dragged himself into Jason’s bedroom. Y/N found herself frozen in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She felt like a fool for feeling the way she did, for being naive enough to think that she could get past this like it was a bad birthday party.

Upon entering the room Jake was in, she found him sitting cross legged on the bed, back hunched over as he toyed with something on his phone. When he felt her presence, he kept his phone away and shifted his gaze to her. He patted the empty space beside him, coaxing her to sit with him and she did. She let her head hit the pillow and Jake leaned against the headboard, eyes falling on the ceiling. It was weird not catching sight of a night sky filled with stars- almost unfamiliar.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered, almost as if saying it quieter would make their predicament lighter.

“I know,” she responded. “It doesn’t feel real,” she rested her hand against his shoulder, softly rubbing his back in hopes of comforting him. He leaned his cheek against her hand, raising his own to hold hers and closing his eyes to find solace in the moment.

“Everything’s gonna be alright,” he mumbled.

“Everything is alright,” she tried. “We’re all here, alive and safe. Jay is fine.”

“Jay is fine,” he repeated.

“And we are fine.”

“You almost died.”

Y/N leaned up and rested against the headboard with him, deliberately keeping her face close to his, breaths syncing. Jake’s eyes stayed close, his cheek still on her hand. “But I didn’t,” she said, with conviction.

“You were slipping away.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. The weight of it sat between them, heavy and unspoken. She knew that feeling. The terror of helplessness. The way it lingered in your bones, no matter how many times you tell yourself you survived.

She shifted, sliding closer, until their knees brushed. “But I’m here,” she murmured.

Jake lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm, and something inside her stirred. “I need to feel it,” he said, almost to himself. “That you’re here. That this is real.”

His hands found her waist, tentative and fragile at first like that night in the sleeping pods, testing the waters, walking on eggshells. When she moved closer to him, finding herself straddling his waist again, Jake found no motive to stop. He leaned upwards to find her lips, mouths colliding without hesitation- there was no adultery, no ploy of teasing or hurting, no uncertainty. They were two people, finding an anchor within each other, desperately holding on.

When he finally kissed her, Y/N wondered why it took so long for them to be in this position in the first place. And he kissed her with caution, slow movements memorising her crevices and making sure she remembered him. As their mouths opened and closed in sync, his hands roamed underneath her shirt, tracing her skin and counting her ribs before lifting her shirt over her head. In that moment, while he held her, she didn’t feel lusted over or sexualised- she felt as though she was being protected, cherished… loved.

“Y/N… I don’t just want you,” he breathed against her, lips moving down her throat and hands roaming her legs. “I need you.”

Slowly, wrapping his arms around her back, he flipped her over so she lay on the bed and he hovered over her. For a brief moment, he stopped to look at her face- her eyes that were filled with curiosity and anticipation, lips parted in waiting for him, hair strewn across the pillow. Then he kissed her again, one hand roaming towards her nippled and the other swiftly unzipping her jeans. In this moment, though he usually wouldn’t prefer to, Jake wasted no time- he didn’t want to tease her or waste his time with foreplay. He just wanted to feel her, know that she was living in his arms, breathing and letting her heart beat against him.

His hand shifted to move her jeans off her legs and Y/N shimmied out of them, chuckling in the process. “This isn’t that attractive,” she murmured.

“Shut up,” he said with a grin and kissed her again.

He let his fingers hook under her underwear and touch her clit. Y/N moaned into his and he moaned back, feeling the wetness of her folds and letting her back arch into him. Her hips grinded against his hand and he complied by exploring her folds, slowly and desperately getting her to whine and moan more under him.

“Heeseung and Sunghoon are sleeping,” Jake mumbled against her skin, lips exploring the nape of her neck and moving to the curve of your breasts. “You’ve gotta try to be quiet, yeah?”

“Okay,” she heaved and Jake could feel her nod, her chin touching his hair.

He slipped a finger into her hole and she squirmed, biting her lip to adjust to the length. Her hands flew towards his hair, tugging and pulling at the silky tufts. He moved his finger in and out, languidly and deliberately, eyeing your reactions and expressions as he did so. His thumb flew to her clip, rubbing steady circles only for more wetness to ooze out of her.

“Higher, Jake,” he heard her moan and he increased his pace. The sound of squelching filled the room, mixed with their moans. He kissed her again, his other hand continuing to toy with her nipples while he fingered her- now, fast and dirty, aiming towards a goal. He could feel her clenching on his fingers, clamping down everytime he pulled out too much, whimpering every time he curled at the right spot.

Jake moved so he could kneel between her legs, his fingers now moving slower as he brought his face closer to her heat. She could feel his breath on her, only making her ache for him more. She whined for him to hurry up and was only shut up when she felt his mouth on her. He sucked on her clit as his finger picked up pacing, adding a second one as her breath got heavier. He could see her chest heaving, her hands flying upwards to grip the headboard.

When her knees started closing instinctively, his shoulders kept them apart, one hand gripping her hip so tight she was sure she’d have bruises the next morning. And he kept going, sucking and flicking at her clit with his tongue, fingers moving in and out of her so fast that she’d forgotten how she ended up here in the first place.

“I’m so close,” she moaned. “So close.”

And just as she felt her high crashing down on her, he’d withdrawn himself completely and she let out a gasp. Her brows furrowed, she tilted her head to find Jake stripping his own clothes and she stared at the way his chest glistened under the moonlight, his dick springing out of his boxers as he moved to hover over her again. His hair fell onto his forehead and her hands moved to tuck it under his ear. She placed an innocent peck on nose, cheeks, forehead and chin before moving to his lips again, waiting for him to do something before getting annoyed at her lack of orgasm.

“Brace yourself, alright?” He whispered into her mouth and she felt his tip aligning to her entrance. He looked at her before going any further, waiting for a confirmation. When she nodded, he pushed himself into her and the pair moaned in unison.

“Is this the great sex you were referring to?”

“You can’t deny it.”

As he thrusted into her, sharp and with purpose, she regretted wanting to tease him or get a laugh out of him. She let out a gasp, followed by an incoherent string of moans as he thrusted in and out of her, his hand caressing the back of her head and her nails scratching his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, a desperate way to feel him deeper inside her. He buried himself in the nape of her neck, peppering kisses behind her ear while she did the same to his shoulder.

“Faster,” she moaned and he complied, forgetting the slow and romantic pace he wanted to go with and pounding into her faster, harder- anything and everything to get her to cum with him. He let a hand slip in between their bodies, fingers finding her clit and rubbing briskly and whispering sweet lulls into her ears.

“You gotta cum with me, yeah?” He said and she could only nod, throat too preoccupied with the moans she couldn’t hold back.

She felt the knot in her stomach building again, back arching further and pussy clenching harder onto is dick- he could feel it too, that she was close. She threw her head back, waiting for the moment to fall upon her, waiting for him to say something. He only went faster, letting the hinges of the bed creek.

“Y/N?” She responded with a frustrated hum. “Cum with me- cum for me.”

And she did, letting her orgasm spill over her body and she could feel him inside her, filling her up to the brim. Jake moaned, feeling her body shudder at the way he fucked her, her eyes meeting his with desperation and ache.

“Jake…” she whined as he placed her body comfortably on the mattress again, falling on the empty space beside her and wrapping his arms around her torso. “So good,” she breathed, unable to unclutter her thoughts.

“I know that was supposed to be depression sex, but wow,” he said into her neck.

Y/N raised a lazy hand to hit him on the head. “Stop being funny,” she groaned and he laughed.

Jake, Y/N, Jason, Heeseung, Jay and Sunghoon stood in a line in front of Henry Sim. Over the past few weeks, they’d met with him a plethora of times- just to talk, not even about technical things, just talk. It was his way of looking out for them, taking care of them in whatever way he could. He offered to buy them meals, pay their therapy and hospital bills and even offered them a stipend if they needed it- all out of guilt and desperation to help them heal better, not knowing what else to do.

He was never critical, even praising their work to a large extent. And in all honesty, he was proud- it was great work. “This information that you all have gathered is valuable, I hope you know that,” he said to them, holding their report in hand.

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

“It still feels unreal. Like we’re supposed to wake up tomorrow and check the equipment again,” Sunghoon said.

Jay chuckled, adjusting the sling on his arm. "Speak for yourself. I’d rather not get thrown around another boat for a while."

Heeseung smirked. "You’re just mad the whale was stronger than you."

Sunghoon, who had been absentmindedly fidgeting with the strap of his camera bag, let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The energy in the room had shifted, nostalgia seeping in through the cracks.

Henry exhaled through his nose. "The ocean doesn’t let anyone walk away the same. You six will carry this experience with you—whether you realize it now or not."

Jake, who had been quiet until then, glanced at Y/N. She met his gaze, and for a moment, the past months condensed into something unspoken but understood. The storm. The breach. The long nights and quiet moments. The feeling of something beginning even as something else ended.

Noticing their interaction, Henry cleared his throat. “The least I was expecting was the pairing of these two,” he pointed between Jake and Y/N. The rest of the group cackled.

“They thought they were being so slick,” Heeseung laughed. “We noticed everything.”

Rolling their eyes, Jake and Y/N continued to grin at everyone's smiling faces. The aquarium lights flickered slightly as a school of fish glided past the large tank beside them. It was a strange, almost poetic parallel—them, sitting still in this room, while life outside moved on without waiting.

Jason grimaced at the idea of his brother and best friend dating. Attempting to change the conversation, he cleared his throat. “So what now?”

The question hung heavy in the air as the group of six looked at each other. They knew what was to come- a set of interviews, press releases of what they experienced and perhaps even a short YouTube documentary. But what was to happen to their lives? What were they to expect?

No one wanted to answer that question. All they knew was that outside, the ocean awaited their return.

[whisperedmeg]

STRANGE GRACE ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part ii

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: when spencer, fresh out of prison, calls, she comes — and in the quiet of his apartment, something shifts. a kiss, a night, a beginning.

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, smut if you squint

w/c: 3.1k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, kinda emotional bc Spencer like JUST got out of prison, pretending the whole plot point of diana reid living with spencer isn’t a thing for the sake of this, making out, things get a lil heated but no true smut, still NSFW MDNI, sexual tension, horny spencer, horny reader, uh oh boner alert, vaguely implied intimacy issues/prison trauma, alexa play fresh out the slammer by taylor swift

a/n: eeeep soft animal part 2! don’t worry prison arc is already over, our boy is freeeee and I couldn’t torture reader any longer by keeping him in there. again, i am very very brand new to posting fics on tumblr (+ writing for criminal minds in general) so I appreciate any and all interactions with this fic and any advice/feedback in my asks is always welcome! please reblog if you enjoy <3

series masterlist

A week passed since Spencer’s last visit without so much as a sighting of him. I thought about calling in a favor with one of the COs, asking about him under the guise of needing a follow-up exam. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to risk any suspicion.

When my phone buzzed that night, I almost didn’t answer.

Unknown number.

Probably spam, or a wrong number. Normally I ignored those sorts of calls without second thought, but something inside my brain told me to answer anyway.

“Hello?”

There was a pause on the other end — but it wasn’t dead air. Then, a voice:

“It’s me. It’s…it’s Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

I froze. My heart kicked so hard I had to press a hand to my chest. I was silent for so long that Spencer thought I’d hung up. “You there?”

“Y-yeah, I— Are you okay?” I finally replied after the shock wore off. It came out like a reflex. Not “where are you” or “how did you get out,” but rather a desperate need to know he was alright.

“I think so,” he said, and there was a quiet steadiness to it that hadn’t been there the last time I saw him. “I’m out.”

My fingers curled tighter around the phone. “Out,” I echoed, trying to make the word feel real. “You mean…?”

“I got released,” he said. “A few days ago. My team caught the actual killer.”

“And now?” I asked softly.

“Now… I’m home. In my apartment. It doesn’t feel like mine again yet, but it’s quiet. It’s… better.”

There was something about the way he said home that made my throat tighten. “Why are you calling me?” I asked, voice small.

He let out a breath, almost a laugh. “Because when it got quiet, and I finally had a choice… I wanted to hear your voice.”

I didn’t reply yet. I couldn’t.

“I thought about you,” he added, softer now. “More than I probably should’ve. But I think that’s what got me through the worst of it.”

I closed my eyes, and the line was quiet for a beat. “I kept thinking about your hands,” he said. “The way you touched me like you didn’t want to stop, even though you had to. You were scared someone would notice.”

I swallowed hard.

“But I noticed. Every time,” he added.

I swallowed again, fingers curling into the blanket. “That wasn’t exactly medical protocol.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why it mattered.”

Something about the way he said it made it impossible to breathe for a second. Silence passed between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said. “Or if it’s anything at all. But I know I want to see you again, if you’re open to it.”

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, as if I could get closer. I let out a breath, words lodged in my throat.

“Will you come here?” he asked softly after a long stretch of silence.

I blinked, then sat up straighter. My answer came out quiet, but certain.

“Yes.”

—

After we hung up, Spencer swiftly texted me his address. My eyes bulged out of my head when I read it — 5 blocks from my apartment. He lives five blocks away from me. All this time, before he got locked up, he was in my neighborhood and we never once crossed paths. Or maybe we did, and we just didn’t know it. Something about our proximity made my heart flutter. Maybe, in a better, more fair universe where he never saw the inside of Millburn’s walls, we still would have found each other.

I changed quickly — nothing dramatic, just a clean t-shirt, jeans that didn’t look like I’d slept in them, and a light jacket. I brushed my hair, threw on chapstick, and stood frozen in front of the mirror for a full minute before grabbing my keys.

The streets were mostly empty this late, and I barely noticed the walk. My heart kept beating faster the closer I got — half panic, half adrenaline. When I reached his building, I hesitated with my finger over the buzzer.

The elevator ride took too long. Every second felt like a held breath. I knocked softly on the door of Apartment 23 before I lost my nerve, and while I waited, I realized I hadn’t at all prepared for what would happen next. I hadn’t thought about what I’d do when the door opened — would I wave? Say hello? Shake his hand like we were meeting for the first time, like we weren’t already tangled up in something we’d never named? Should we hug?

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. And there he was.

Not wearing Millburn’s scratchy polyester uniform. Not under flickering fluorescent lights. Not watched, not guarded, not contained.

Just Spencer, right in front of me.

His curls were tamer. His clothes were soft and civilian. His eyes were the same.

For a second, we just looked at each other. I felt myself blinking too fast, my chest too tight. He was here. He was okay. And for the first time, I got to see him where he belonged.

“Hey,” I said, but it came out more like a breath than a word.

He smiled — not the small, shy one he’d given me in the infirmary. This smile was big and bright and laced with relief and genuine joy. “Hi.”

Hi. One word, and that was enough to pull me in. I stepped towards him and inside his apartment without giving it another thought. His hand found my waist like it had been there before, and the distance between us disappeared. I buried my face against his chest, the top of my head tucked under his chin, and I fought back tears I hadn’t been expecting.

He smelled clean. Like laundry and something sharp, like soap or aftershave. He felt warm. Solid. Human.

Eventually, he pulled back just far enough to look at me. “You didn’t know I was out.”

I shook my head. “Not until you called.”

He nodded. “Good. I wanted to tell you myself.”

The words sat heavy in my chest — because he’d thought about that. Because I mattered to him enough for it to be a conscious decision.

His apartment was quiet — just soft lamplight, books lining the shelves, half a tea kettle on the stove. Clean, but lived in. Walls painted green and much nicer furniture than I’d ever owned. Somehow both exactly what I expected and not at all. I tried not to stare.

“Tea?” he offered.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to taste it. My nerves had hit a high, buzzing pitch — everything inside me tuned to this strange frequency of disbelief.

He moved around his kitchen like he’d only been gone a day, not months. I watched him from the edge of the couch, unsure if I should sit. I wanted to ask so many things — about his release, about how he was doing, about how it felt to be here — but none of them made it to my mouth.

“You’re really here,” I said instead.

He set the mugs down on the coffee table and sat beside me — not too close, but not too far. Close enough that if I shifted just a little, my thigh would probably brush his.

“I kept thinking about this,” he said softly. “Not just getting out — this. You. Sitting here. In my apartment.”

I swallowed, hard. “I’ve thought about it too.”

He didn’t touch me, not right away. But the space between us thinned, almost vibrated with possibility. Everything that had to stay hidden before — all the lingering glances, the touches passed off as clinical, the things neither of us could say aloud — it was still here. And now, there was nothing stopping it, except ourselves.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if this was real — like I might vanish. I wanted to tell him I felt the same, but the words lodged in my throat again.

The quiet between us wasn’t awkward, but it was charged. Heavy. The kind of quiet where you hear your own pulse. Where the air feels like it could crack open if you moved too quickly.

He was sitting so still — hands clasped in his lap, shoulders hunched like he was still trying to make himself a little smaller. But his eyes kept flicking to mine, then away, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get there. Like he was waiting for permission to want something again.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I came here tonight. Who I’d find.” I looked down at my hands, fingers twisted together in my lap. “But it’s still you.”

He exhaled through his nose, barely a sound, but I felt it. The shift in the room. The relief, the ache, all tangled up in that one breath. I turned toward him, slowly, my knee brushing his. “You’re different out here than in there, obviously,” I added. “But you’re still you.”

He looked at me then, and whatever guard he’d been holding up cracked, just a little. I could see the want there, deep and quiet and scared out of its mind.

I didn���t know what I was doing. I didn’t have a plan. But I leaned in, not all the way — just enough that the space between us could disappear if he wanted it to. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, the rise and fall of his breath.

His hand lifted — hesitant, like he was reaching out in the dark. His fingers found my cheek and hovered for a moment before they touched my skin. Light, barely-there pressure.

“I don’t know how we’re going to navigate this,” I said softly. “But I know I want it, Spencer. I want to try.”

His brow furrowed, and for a second he looked like he might cry. He let out the breath he seemed to have been holding since I walked in, and nodded. “Me too.”

And then, there was that smile — the one I hadn’t really let myself hope for. The real one I’d only ever seen in flashes before now. It bloomed slowly, like it surprised even him.

“Come here,” he whispered.

My breath caught, and I climbed into his lap like I’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His hand was still on my cheek, steady, anchoring me there. He leaned in slowly, as if he was giving me time to change my mind — like he didn’t quite believe I wouldn’t. His eyes flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since our first game of chess in the infirmary,” he murmured, his voice low and raw and gravelly. His lips brushed mine — just barely — and it felt like a question and a promise in the same breath.

And when he finally kissed me, it wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t cautious or unsure. It was full of months of tension and weight and wondering. It was his hands cupping the back of my neck, his mouth finding mine with a hunger he hadn’t let himself feel until right now. It was soft and deep and breathtaking, like he was relearning what it felt like to touch and be touched with care.

His hand slid from my cheek into my hair, fingers threading slowly, anchoring me there. Mine curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. And when I tilted my head, opened my mouth, let him take more — he did. He tasted like peppermint and tea and something warm I couldn’t quite name.

There was nothing clinical about this touch. No need for excuses now.

The kiss broke a few minutes later, only because we needed air. He pulled back half an inch, eyes darting between mine like he was afraid to wake up.

I leaned back into him, slower this time. His arms circled my waist as I shifted to straddle him, and the new position knocked a soft exhale out of him. My hands ran through his hair — I’d wanted to do that for too long — and when I tugged gently at the ends, he groaned low in his throat.

Something about that sound unraveled me.

“I wanted this so much,” I whispered, mouth brushing his jaw.

“I know.” His hands ran up my back, warm under my shirt. “Me too.”

We stayed like that for a while — kissing, touching, moving in slow, molten inches like we had all the time in the world. His hands weren’t greedy, but they were purposeful. Mapping. Memorizing. Every time he touched a new patch of skin, I felt the zap of it deep in my spine.

And god — when he looked at me like that? Like I was something he couldn’t believe he actually got to have? That made everything else disappear.

I could’ve gone further. Would’ve. Wanted to. But I felt the subtle way his breath caught, the firm tension in his shoulders. Something in him still hadn’t exhaled. He still hadn’t let go of everything he’d been carrying since his arrest, so I slowed us down. Kissed him softer. Ground my hips against his just once, slow and full — and when he gasped into my mouth, I let that be enough.

When we pulled apart, I curled into his chest, and he held me like he didn’t want to let go.

“Sleep here,” he murmured into my hair. “If you want.”

I lifted my head, giving him a soft smile. “I do.” I pressed my lips to the side of his neck, just once.

He shifted, and I felt it — the way his body responded to mine, hard and undeniable against my thigh. He froze for a second.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, eyes wide and a little mortified. “Sorry.”

I laughed before I could help it, fingers brushing through the curls at the back of his neck. “I felt it earlier, Spencer. It’s okay.”

He let out a soft, relieved, still-embarrassed laugh, forehead pressed to mine. “You make it hard to think straight.”

I kissed him again, slower this time. “Good.”

Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled back enough to let me get up. He walked me to his bedroom and grabbed me something to sleep in, handing me a worn, soft t-shirt from his drawer with the words FBI Academy sprawled across the front in faded screen print.

I ducked into the bathroom and peeled off my clothes slowly, my skin still sizzling everywhere he had touched. My mind replayed every breath, memorizing the way he looked at me like he couldn’t believe I even existed. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, I didn’t fully recognize the woman staring back.

I slipped the shirt over my head — no bra underneath, just panties — and pulled it down til it hit mid-thigh. I padded back into the room, finding Spencer in bed, arms propped behind his head, waiting for me. He had changed into a t-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants.

When I slid under the covers beside him, it didn’t feel awkward. It didn’t even feel new. He reached for me like it was instinct — like he’d been dreaming of pulling someone into him for so long that his body already knew the way. Like he’d been dreaming of me. I settled against him, bending my leg so my thigh stretched across his hips, my head tucked under his chin. His arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me tight, and his other hand rested low on my back, under the hem of the shirt, his long fingers warm against my bare skin.

I could feel him again — hard between us, barely restrained. But he didn’t move. Neither did I. The air between us was thick with all the things we hadn’t said yet. Everything I’d thought about on those nights between his visits. Everything I felt when I filled out that report, trying to get him somewhere safer. Every phantom brush of our hands, every minute stolen under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Swallowed.

“You okay?” I whispered.

A nod, then, “Yeah. I just…” He let out a slow breath. “This doesn’t really feel real.” He released a dry, disbelieving chuckle.

I felt that too — the surreal ache of being so close after spending so long holding back. I imagined it must be a thousand times more intense for him, feeling all of this and readjusting to freedom all at once.

I reached for his hand and laced my fingers through his. “It is,” I whispered.

My leg stayed bent over his front. His hand didn’t leave my waist. His cock throbbed gently between us, pressing into the soft flesh of my thigh, and neither of us pretended we didn’t feel it.

We lay there for a long time like that — pressed together, aching, breathing each other in.

Eventually, he shifted enough to pull me in tighter. His leg hooked around mine, his lips brushing my temple again.

“I feel like this is a dream,” he whispered. “I know it isn’t, obviously. And even if it was, I don’t subscribe to the pseudoscience of dream analysis. But still.”

I smiled against his throat. “You’re not dreaming, Spencer.”

“I might be,” he laughed.

I tilted my head and kissed him again, soft and slow and full of promise. “Then wake up with me,” I murmured.

He exhaled, long and warm. “I will.”

And when I finally closed my eyes, my whole body buzzed with the ache of holding back.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part iii.

[inklore]

I’ve seen your reblog ‘“i’ve been thinking about you all day” as they’re filling your pussy’ and I was wondering if it was okay to request this with Jordan Li (established relationship)

NIGHTS LIKE THESE

pairing: jordan li x (f)reader

contents: foreplay, p in v, oral, this is very soft, it’s basically fluff with smut, both of their presenting forms involved, everyone is love sick and clingy idk | wc: 860

note: they're everything to me!! i have something much longer in the works for them but i needed to write something quick and yearny.

Your wrists are pinned above your head, their fingers twined with yours as they hold you in place, as if you’d ever escape them, leave them, or try to. 

As if you could go anywhere with their body pressed against yours and their hips moving between your thighs. 

Slow thrusts that make you feel every inch of them moving inside of you. Fucking you at that languid pace that comes from the frustration of long days and the yearning that pricks at one’s heart from being separated for too long. 

Course work and keeping your rankings are chores in and of themselves, but living up to the expectations it sets is even harder. So if a day goes by and Jordan can’t have you pressed up against them, at their side, or at the very least your nose in your test books laying against the other sprawled on their bed, each of you doing your own thing: their day just doesn't feel right. 

Doesn’t feel normal if they can’t pull you to the side in the hall and press a kiss on your lips. 

Can’t get the death glare you always give them when they forget to eat lunch because they were too busy helping Brink, and you surprise them with dinner and dessert—the dessert usually forgotten and turns into you between their legs or vice versa. 

Their days aren’t normal unless you’re in them. 

They haven’t felt normal since the two of you decided to try this. To be together. 

“You’ve rewired me,” they mumble against your shoulder as the two of you try to fall asleep one night. The clock on your nightstand glowing 1:00AM in big, haunting letters. Your night supposed to be spent working, but there are only so many sneaking glances and innocent touches against skin before you are both done pretending you want to do anything besides have the other naked and against you all day. 

And you know that they’ve rewired you too. 

Made the fucked up in your life a little less fucked, made the days easier to endure when there’s the constant pressure of greatness looming over you. 

You could crash and burn, and you know you’d still have their support, just as they would have yours. And that’s a higher score than rankings could ever give you. 

It’s rare the two of you will go a day without seeing each other, without ending up pressed together in bed—weed filled lungs laughing until the haze lolls you to sleep and you’re waking the next morning to Jordan’s alarm clock and the shifting groan of both their forms pulling their pillow over their head. Pulling you back down into bed when you actually do something crazy like get up and not lay with them for five more minutes. 

But nights like these make up for days when you are both swamped and Brink needs Jordan for something, and you are stuck alone with your nose in a book or forcing Marie and Emma to get Vought A Burger with you. 

Nights where there’s no rush. No need to go fast and get off as many times as your body aches for—as many times as the other wants to swallow and taste the pleasure each time you come against them, on top of them, or inside of you. Like you’re both dying of thirst, and only the others come will do. 

These nights are slow. Savored. Like you’ve been away at war rather than occupied over a span of twenty four hours. 

Jordan kisses you achingly slowly these nights. Let’s their tongue linger in your mouth for longer than normal, nipping at your bottom lip with gentle teeth. Their fingers stripping you of your clothes like they need to press their lips to every bit of skin they free. 

And when their tongue finally makes contact with your pussy it feels like you can finally breathe. Like you’ve been holding your breath for days—all night—for them to finally soothe the ache that they’ve caused. 

Their hips buck against the air when you switch positions, and your tongue presses between their thighs. A slow tease of teeth and tongue tracing down their hip bones until you’ve reached where they’re soaked, or hard for you. 

Neither of you letting the other come until Jordan is inside of you. 

Until you’re both sighing from that first initial push inside, the head of their cock easily fills you with how wet you are—how wet they’ve made you. Gasps breathed into mouths from that first slow roll of their hips. 

It’s heady and fucking torturous, and you love it. 

You both do. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” they murmur against your lips. Their fingers flexing against yours as they keep them above your head, as they completely take control of your body and show you just what they’ve been thinking about. “You take up every part of my brain, and it’s a problem, but I fucking love it.” They moan into your mouth; roll their hips in that way that has air whooshing from your lungs and your pelvis pushing up to drive them deeper. 

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) I

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya (Vahumana), they have history (iykyk), one nsfw innuendo, not proofread

Note: my humiliating attempt at writing Alhaitham’s smart ahh attitude >A< anw, lmk how you guys want this story to go! (comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated)

Part 2

—

(You) About Alhaitham

Scribe Alhaitham? He’s… intelligent. That’s all I have to say.

(Alhaitham) About you

Hm.

(You) About Alhaitham: History I

He and I partnered up in a thesis which, thankfully, got approved by our professors. Working with him was challenging, to be honest. Every idea I had, he’d shut it down with some counter argument—“they’d never approve of that,” or “it has too many defects.” A conversation with him may as well be a debate! Frustrating and infuriating.

(Alhaitham) About you: History I

They are competent, I’ll admit that much. But their ideas? Flawed. Reckless. It’s as if they refuse to consider consequences before leaping into action. Every discussion turned into an exhausting debate—because, naturally, I had to be the one to explain why their half-formed theories wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Really, for someone who specializes in history, you’d think they’d have learned from past mistakes. And yet, they persist.

(You) About Alhaitham: History II

Talking about this in my place of work is not really appropriate. … Fine! Yes, we were in… amorous congress. But it happened a long time ago—when we were still students. Just once. A drunken mistake, that’s all it was!

… Keep this between us, though. I love my job.

(Alhaitham) About you: History II

I’d rather this particular detail remain in the past where it belongs. It was years ago, an irrelevant event. I fail to see why anyone would find it worth discussing now.

Though, knowing them, they’d likely frame it as some dramatic mistake rather than what it was—an ill-advised but ultimately inconsequential decision. Either way, I don’t intend to entertain the conversation.

… You think I should drop by? Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to evaluate their current methodology.

(You) About Alhaitham: Work

It’s inevitable that we cross paths—he’s the Akademiya’s Scribe, after all. I can handle brief interactions, but when he lingers, it’s… bothersome. Always with that unreadable expression, listening too intently to everything I say. I know he’s just waiting to poke holes in my arguments. Ugh. Some things never change.

(Alhaitham) About you: Work

They have an irritating tendency to be vague, as if I won’t immediately notice the gaps in their reasoning. Do they think that being imprecise will make me less inclined to argue? If anything, it has the opposite effect.

I don’t intend to debate them at every opportunity, but when they make it so easy, I see no reason to hold back.

(You) About Alhaitham: Annoyance

Do you know how aggravating it is to give a lecture, only to see him sitting there in the back, arms crossed, silently judging every word that comes out of my mouth? He doesn’t even work in my Darshan! What is he doing there?! “It was on my way,” he says. “I had time to spare,” he says. Liar.

Having the Scribe in my classroom is distracting—both for me and my students. I’d appreciate it if he found a different way to pass the time. Preferably far away from my lectures.

(Alhaitham) About you: Observation

I fail to understand how they manage to get results. Their lectures lack structure, their methods are inconsistent, and yet… their students actually retain information. It goes against all logic.

Still, I suppose there’s something to be said about efficacy, no matter how unorthodox. Not that I’ll be admitting that to them. They’re insufferable enough as it is.

(You) About Alhaitham: A Final Thought

I swear, he only comes to my lectures to irritate me. He just sits there, arms crossed, waiting for me to say something he can nitpick. It’s distracting. The other day, I caught myself scanning the room to see if he was there before I even started teaching. Ridiculous.

…No, that doesn’t mean anything! It’s just easier to prepare for battle when you know the enemy is near!

(Alhaitham) About you: A Final Thought

They’ve developed an odd habit of pausing mid-lecture, glancing toward the back of the room—toward me. If I were to be charitable, I’d say they’re checking whether I have any objections.

But that would imply they value my opinion. Which, of course, is absurd.

(Your student) About you and the Scribe

… So, uh. Are those two dating or something?

[rumoonstruckyet]

where bluebells meet.

pairing : rivaltofriend!jungwon x fem!reader

featuring; sunoo, riki, rei, and liz as their friends + mention of winter (pls don’t take it seriously 🙏🏻)

genre : high school au, academic rivals to friends to lovers, FLUFF, very minor angst, slow burn?? probably a ‘he fell first and harder’ in there as well.

synopsis : for years, you’ve been on a constant stream of debates with student council president yang jungwon. and although you didn’t exactly hate him, you weren’t fond of him either—especially of your teachers’ decision to team you up for two projects—in your graduating year, of all times. so as you started working, why were your arguments now reduced to an air of awkwardness and...a blossoming friendship?

or in which...you and jungwon turned from good rivals into oblivious friends.

word count : 31.2k (um...😭???)

✩♬ ₊ more under the cut ˚☾⋆⁺✧

notes (?) : very ordinary love story. reader blushes a lot, usually ties her hair into a ponytail, is implied to be the same age as or younger than jungwon, and has one sided dislike for him. story follows asian education system. probably failed attempt at humor and inaccurate depiction of pet adoption. song recs in some parts.

warnings : a kiss (not on the lips), i think some parental and self-esteem issues, a few curses, mention of skipping meals, casual skinship between reader and jungwon (please let me know if i missed anything else!)

disclaimer : this is a work of fiction. the characters are distinct from and do not represent the idols in real life. any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) or actual events is purely coincidental. any similarities to other works of fiction are completely unintentional unless explicitly stated otherwise.

a/n : i wanted to post this on jungwon’s birthday but it was still unedited, so here we are. yang leader is 21 now! 🥺 have you listened to his song cover? it’s so beautiful. may the world always be kind to him. 10 days late but—happy birthday, yang jungwon. ⋆⭒˚⋆ if you’re looking for an ar2l with a lot of tension, this is not it. this is my first (and maybe last) time writing a oneshot and i do admit it’s a self indulgent fic because i just wanted to see if i can do it, and jungwon is my bias. i’m still learning how to write and i’m expanding my vocab since english is not my first language so, i hope i did well. just reading this already means a lot to me, but likes, reblogs, and comments will be much appreciated—please give me feedback or at least tell me how you felt while reading! lastly, thank you for giving my story a chance.

p.s. this took me a long time to edit and review + tumblr is so uncooperative 😭 so please excuse the errors, if there’s any. (i have been editing/proofreading this whenever i have the chance, so that explains minor differences across reblogs and stuff so if you’re viewing this through a reblog, please view the original post, thanks!)

“Love shouldn’t make you throw away your life. Romeo and Juliet were impulsive teenagers who made terrible decisions.”

“Well, it might not have been love but what they had was pure. They sacrificed a lot for each other, and that’s beautiful, even if it was tragic—”

“—which led to a disaster. It’s a reminder how love can be dangerous and lead to destruction. I’d like to believe it’s a cautionary tale rather than a romantic one.”

Drawing in a breath, you force yourself for the nth time to calm down as you became deeply invested in an exchange about the timeless story.

“But the tragedy is what makes the love even more powerful. That’s how it works in fiction. Furthermore, it shows how precious yet fragile love is, and why we should fight for it.”

“Or maybe Shakespeare was just trying to entertain us with a melodramatic tale of young love gone wrong?”

His comment earns a few laughs from the class and the almost imperceptible smirk on his face makes you want to just scream your lungs out right then and there.

“Alright, fine. Two things can be true at the same time. It may have been a melodramatic tale but it also offers insights into the human nature, explores love, family, and the consequences of hatred—”

The loud ringing of the bell suddenly cuts through the thick atmosphere that built up in the room, and you quickly halt your words. A mixture of relieved sighs, teasing remarks, and amused laughter was heard throughout the place, everyone shuffling out of their seats to head to the cafeteria for lunch.

Giving one last challenging look to the boy a few seats away from you, as if to say “We’re not done yet”, you turn around and approach your friends who were all snickering among themselves already at the slight glare you sent him.

“Y/N, that was intense. Are you being paid to defend Shakespeare or something?”

You roll your eyes at Rei’s comment and link arms with her and Liz, pulling them together with you to walk out of the classroom.

“Whatever. He was intentionally defying me. I didn’t want to leave him satisfied.”

The bustling sounds of students filling the hallways as they set off from all directions served as the background noise while your mind flowed with thoughts about the heated exchange during class.

It was nothing new. Not a week would go by without any argument between you and your so-called rival, Yang Jungwon, as you both competed and argued at school for almost anything in existence. Today was no different when the story of the star crossed lovers were discussed in Literature, and you willingly offered your perspective since Miss Kim asked for the class’ opinion on their forsaken love.

But the student council president just really had to have a rebuttal at all of your words. He would never back down without a fight, would he?  The seemingly childish antics between the two of you weren’t bound by the confines of the classroom either and extended into anywhere that you found yourselves meeting.

A silent challenge on who could hold eye contact the longest, vying for the teachers’ favor, and even passive-agressively fighting for a certain gazebo during your free periods—it was a natural occurrence in your daily life now.

Arriving at the cafeteria, a plethora of aromas from the counter fill your senses, momentarily distracting you from your inner monologue. You were certain that having some nice food would take away all the stress in your day so far and the thought alone gave you a sense of peace at the time being.

But that peace didn’t last for long as you made your way to the cramped line of students who were all eager to get their share of food and felt a sturdy chest accidentally bump into your back, making you almost stumble on your own feet.

You quickly whip your head around to look at who caused a near embarrassing moment, only to be met by the face of the person you’ve been thinking of since you left the room.

He flashes an Oscar-worthy apologetic face at you while his friends, Sunoo and Riki, slap him from behind, suppressing their laughter. “I’m sorry—”

“Can’t stupid Romeo see that someone’s in front of him?”

His eyebrows lift in astonishment at your reply and he slightly leans down to meet your level. “Oh, is sweet Juliet getting grumpy at me now?”

He leans away and straightens, flashing such a soft smile you’d almost believe he was being sincere, and maybe he was. “Okay, I’m actually sorry. The line’s full, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

You were about to retort when Liz taps your shoulder and whispers. “Y/N, the line’s really too cramped. Leave him be. Let’s get moving, I’m hungry.”

With another threatening glare, you decide that the boy isn’t worth your time and you turn around to move forward in the line.

It was already your graduating year and you could only hope that the stress of your upcoming workload would be lessened by fewer unfortunate encounters with Yang Jungwon. You were sick and tired of it all already. It was due time to grow up.

Little did you know, the heavens must have heard your prayer and with their own interpretation, decided it was time to grant your wish. Twice.

The next day, you were back at the cafeteria during lunchtime, but now with a face looking more grim than ever as you grappled with the issue you were currently facing.

“Mr. Yoon’s decision is understandable,” Liz says, while Rei listens as she simultaneously eats and reviews notes for her Biology quiz. “He’s just new here so I couldn’t even blame him for being shocked when we said that you two have an on-going war for years already.”

You only response by angrily chewing on the pork cutlet in your mouth as she states your years-long of rivalry with Yang Jungwon, now leading to a more intense battle, or rather, an inner one.

“But Miss Kang...” Liz pauses and looks at you. “...Y/N, have you at least tried talking to her about it?”

At the mention of your teacher who made the awful decision of intentionally teaming you up with your rival, you groan loudly and clutch your head.

“She said she just wanted to see if we can set aside our differences and work together. Why did it have to happen this year when they have never put us in the same group for the past years, not even once?” You lifted your head and made vague hand motions. “And can you believe it, she even added that we might be secretly attracted to each other?! Ugh!”

Liz cackles loudly, shaking her head in amusement. “You know, I honestly agree with her. I mean, come on, is it really believable that you two wouldn’t have at least a tiny bit of attraction towards one another?”

You visibly cringe at her words, earning a laugh from them both. “Horrifying.”

“Well, what’s there to not be attracted about?” Rei chimes in, her eyes holding a mischievous glint as she looks at you. “You like Yang Jungwon, don’t you? You’ve got a secret crush on him and you just disguised it as “rivalry” this whole time. Or maybe even...the two of you are dating behind closed doors.”

Your face goes red in an instant, and Rei chuckles at the way you try to defend yourself. “W-what? No way. I do not like him like that—at all!”

“You seem awfully defensive for someone who says they don’t like him,” Liz teases and you give her a mock glare.

Rei leans forward as if she’s about to say something serious. “Okay, how about this Y/N. I don’t mean to offend you but perhaps,” she squints her eyes, “are you...jealous of Yang Jungwon?”

Your face contorts in perplexity at her question, but Liz could only laugh at how dumbfounded you looked.

“Jealous?” You incredulously reply. “W-why...why would I be jealous of him?”

Rei shrugs. “Exactly. Why would you, of all people, be jealous of him?” She looks down at her hands as she counts things off.

“You’re pretty, kind, smart, charming, talented, a good leader and student—just like him. I’d go as far as to say you’re like two peas in a pod.”

You give her a skeptical look. “Thanks, but...I believe we’re very different. And I am definitely not jealous of that guy. Nor do I hate him. I just really don’t like being around him.”

“Really?” They both ask and you nod. Rei hums thoughtfully as she ponders her next words, but Liz cuts in.

“Jealousy and attraction out of the way. Fine, then maybe...” she takes a suspenseful pause as she looks at you, her expression serious. “...you could give him a chance? I don’t know, maybe you could be friends?”

Rei fervently nods at her suggestion. “She’s right. You and I are friends, I’m friends with Riki, and Riki is Jungwon’s friend. So I think you and Jungwon would be good friends too, if you just try.”

“That’s a fallacy.”

Liz bursts out laughing at how you referenced your Political Science and Government class a few hours ago and Rei shrugs once more. “Well, maybe it is, but that doesn’t change the possibility that you could still be friends.”

“I mean it, Y/N.” You could feel the sincerity in her tone and Liz quiets down, the two of you now intently listening to her.

“I get that you two always debate like there’s no end to it, but you both respect each other’s intelligence and abilities, and that’s a good start. Try to engage in a conversation and maybe you’ll find out you have more in common with each other than you think.”

Liz stared with her mouth agape at Rei’s sudden counselling, but she only continues to give you advice as she goes back to scanning her notes.

“You’re different in some areas, and you could probably learn from each other, see things from a different perspective—even if you don’t always agree on everything. Yang Jungwon isn’t that bad. And I’m pretty sure you’ll both come around eventually.”

Liz gives a playful hit to Rei’s shoulder, earning a loud cry from her. “Hey, where’d you suddenly get all that stuff, huh? And what even makes you so sure they’d be friends?”

Rei waves in dismissal as she continues to flip through her notes and nonchalantly replies. “I just have a feeling that they would get along at some point. Inevitably.”

Their banter fades into the background as you get lost in your own thoughts, finding yourself actually thinking about Rei’s words. Find something in common with Yang Jungwon? Okay, maybe it’s not entirely impossible.

But...friends? The thought feels strange. You’ve only always seen him as a rival, an opponent to beat, someone you wanted to prove that you were better than.

Could it really be a chance to be civil if you just put down your pride in the meantime? If there was another way to look at things even though it hurt your ego, then perhaps you could actually learn from each other and as Rei said, even become friends.

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to work together or just end up arguing like usual, but if you try hard enough, then maybe, just maybe...there’s a chance for something different to happen. And whatever it was, you could only hope that it would benefit the project that you shared.

Heavy, thick, and uncomfortable silence.

That was how you would describe your first proper meeting with Yang Jungwon for your godforsaken project.

Jungwon arrived first to your agreed-upon meeting spot, much to your dismay, but it wasn’t like you were late either. You were both simply too compliant and did not want to provoke each other by not adhering to the scheduled time of arrival.

You hadn’t expected an almost non-existent conversation throughout the first few minutes. Jungwon only reiterated what you had already discussed on chat (that barely lasted a minute) about the project and you both settled on studying the subject matter in the meantime, an almost suffocating atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

You wondered why it suddenly seemed like all the heat of a possible argument vanished, replaced by an unsettling and almost palpable tension. Maybe it was the proximity of working together in a quiet space, or it could’ve been the fact that none of you wanted to have a situation escalate from nothing and mess with your work.

Either way, your stolen glances from each other and the pin-drop silence spoke volumes of how painfully awkward it was all. The both of you were very sure that if your friends were here to witness the sight, their first words would be asking the reason behind such unnatural quietness.

You tried to focus on outlining a draft for the project, you swore you really did, but God, it was very hard to do so when every detail you noticed for every minute pointed to all the differences that you could think of between you and the student council president.

Jungwon’s gaze would constantly switch from his laptop to a pile of papers on the table, the practiced ease in his calculated movements almost making it seem like he had a well-powered engine inside of him, meanwhile you were unsure of just what you had to do, evident in the way your hands kept on fidgeting with the cap of your pen.

Even the blue cardigan he was wearing and the orange bow on your hair seemed to emphasize how you were sitting opposite each other, so close yet unbearably distant. Though you were sure that if Rei was here, she would look on the bright side and say that the two colors are complementary.

You internally shudder.

Every time that his phone lit up with a notification, you would see the lockscreen wallpaper of him and his friends and it would instantly remind you how outgoing and approachable he was.

Jungwon was good at socializing, and while you stepped out of your comfort zone when needed, you were often reserved. Jungwon knew when to be serious, but most of the time, he was playful and enthusiastic. On the other hand, you took things too seriously more often than not.

You were a quiet observer, and it overwhelmed you sometimes how Jungwon was a constant whirlwind of energy, something you couldn’t keep up with.

You were emotional yet preferred routine, and Jungwon was logical but could be spontaneous. He had the ability to just go with the flow, always fearless and carefree. It was a quality that you both admired and resented, reminding you of your insecurities.

Fine, maybe Rei was right. Maybe you were jealous of Yang Jungwon after all.

What you didn’t know was that he was having his own internal debate presently, his composed demeanor perfectly concealing his loud thoughts. Behind the personality you envied, Jungwon often wondered if his own fire would burn him.

He thought of it as a stark contrast to your calm and composure, something he found intriguing, intimidating, and oddly attractive—all at the same time, and it made him feel uncertain of how to approach you.

It didn’t help that his perceived laid-back and nonchalant persona of yours only seemed to break away whenever it came to him. He wasn’t exactly sure whether he should be satisfied or disconcerted by it, especially when he had never meant to get you so worked up.

Jungwon has always seen you as an enigma that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. Although right now, that curiosity was mixed in with simmering frustration as he took in the situation before him. The uncomfortable silence only seemed to amplify every movement and sound from the two of you, and it was gnawing at him.

He waited a little more just to see if you would finally speak up and do something, but he could sense that you were even more tense than he was. He gave it a minute. Two. Three.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his notebook with a gentle but distinct thump, the quiet snap intentional to draw your eyes up to him in an instant.

“Okay, can we just...” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them, they bore into you with a desperate intensity as he forced a calm demeanor. “...please talk for a moment?”

You gulped. “Y-yeah, sure.” You felt your hands go cold and your heart pounding, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing at once. “What...where do we start?”

Jungwon sighs, sensing that you were still feeling tense with the whole ordeal. “Y/N, are you scared of me? Or mad at me?” He softly asks.

Your eyes go round and you quickly shake your head, straightening up in your seat. “No! No, of course not. Not at all.”

A wave of relief washes over him at your immediate response, but he still felt the need to reassure you and to get started with the project as well. “Okay, good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. It’s just...”

He bites his lower lip for a moment, pondering how to phrase his words. “I know we’re not exactly the best people to be paired, but we’re a team now. And we have to make this work. Let’s set aside our differences for a while. I’m sure that would be fine with you?”

You go still in surprise at his seriousness, but Jungwon takes it as hesitance on your part so he speaks up again. “You can nitpick me all you want after all of this but just for now—just for the whole timeframe of these projects...let’s have a truce.”

“Yes, of course,” you nod immediately and give him a half-smile. “We’re going to work. Nothing personal here.”

He sees the hint of bashfulness in your expression, but he’s just glad that you didn’t ignore or refuse him, unlike what he was expecting. He nods and kindly returns your smile before he turns his laptop to you.

“Let’s start with dividing our tasks.”

Within a few hours, you both managed to work in silence, but the awkwardness had gradually slipped now and was replaced with a sense of cooperation, understanding that this was a serious matter that needed your wits and not your arguments.

You weren’t exactly expecting to have a full-on debate with Yang Jungwon when you had both decided to work in the library, but it felt like a pleasant surprise to be in the same vicinity as him in hours and not get into an intellectual sparring. 

Time quickly passed by and soon enough, you two decided to wrap things up for the day. As you checked the time on your phone, Jungwon couldn’t help but notice the ragdoll cat on your lockscreen, recognizing what it was in an instant even though it was upside down in his direction.

“You like cats?”

Although surprised at his attempt to start a conversation, you realized that he caught the picture and you turned the screen to face him. “Yeah. It’s my cat. Her name’s Chloe.”

His eyes lit up and you didn’t know why but at that moment, Jungwon’s eyes seemed cat-like to you. The thought made you still, your gaze lingering on him a little longer than you had meant to.

You had always seen how unfairly beautiful it was from afar, and now you felt star-struck observing them closely; they were almond-shaped and perfectly curved—somehow making his eyes look bigger, and tapered elegantly near the ends, every speck in its irises reflecting the golden hue of the afternoon sun like a mirror ball.

You wished you had eyes as pretty as his.

“Oh, cool. She looks adorable. I like cats as well, though I’m allergic to them.” His soft laugh brings you out of your thoughts and he scans through his phone to show you something. “But here, I have a dog. His name is Maeum.”

Unexpectedly, you fall into a light conversation with Yang Jungwon about your pets, the discussion going further even as you walked through the halls until you parted ways to go home.

The unlikely chat gave you an odd sense of comfort, only realizing how relaxed you were as you walked towards the bus stop, a far cry from how you felt when you first sat across Jungwon at the library.

You could hardly believe it, and your mind was still absorbing the event as you arrived at your home. A decent talk with Yang Jungwon without having the urge to bicker with him. All because you both had pets.

It felt silly to think about. But for the nth time that day, you realized that maybe Rei was right after all. You might have more in common than you think and it was a good start of forming a professional relationship with Yang Jungwon.

The thought didn’t seem so bad now, you were open to it. A chance for something new.

enhypen - not for sale, tfw 𓇗 troye sivan, gordi - wait

On your fourth day of working together, things were unfortunately not working out for you, making you a little grumpier than usual. Jungwon notices, but he doesn’t say anything until he hears you grumbling under your breath.

It just so happened that you injured your finger due to a clumsy mistake yesterday, and it hurt so bad that you couldn’t even tie your precious hair. It kept on falling over your face as you typed onto your laptop, but when you tried to put it up into a ponytail, the cut on your finger would hurt like hell.

Jungwon couldn’t bear to just mirror your winces any longer. So he rises from his seat and rounds the table to get to your side.

“Let me help you.”

Before you could even process his words, he already grabbed the scrunchie from your wrist and your brush, while his other hand begins to gently gather your hair as he stood behind you.

“What are you—”

“Just keep on working.”

Your fingers awkwardly hover above the keyboard at first, unsure how to take the sudden help. But as he starts brushing your hair with his fingers as gently as he could, you slowly relax and go back to your work, your mind half-occupied with him.

Unknown to you, the boy was just as nervous, maybe even more. He couldn’t believe how flustered he was getting at the feeling of your soft strands under his fingertips, despite being the one who offered to help in the first place, especially since it wasn’t just about your wincing—he knows that you can’t focus if your hair is in an unkempt state.

Jungwon internally swears he isn’t a creep.

He only knows because he witnessed you several times tying your hair up when you need to focus on something, he would also see you raking a hand over your hair in frustration when it’s just cascading down your shoulders, which oddly makes you look attractive.

Objectively, he claims internally once more.

After a few minutes, he gives your head a few pats to ensure that it was neatly styled, before going back to his seat. You mutter “thank you”  and you think he’s finally done, but he doesn’t respond with a single word. Instead, he takes out a tin case and squeeze tube from his backpack and gently grabs your hand across the table, much to your surprise.

“Why—” your words were cut off once more when he dabs a bit of antibiotic ointment on your finger before rolling a Cinnamoroll-print band-aid on it, his touch feather-light as he gauges your reaction for any discomfort, expecting a wince the most.

But you could only stare at him in pure astonishment, your mind reeling from his actions for the past minutes.

“Where did you cut yourself? You should be more careful,” he casually says as he puts the tin case back to his bag. “And put a band-aid on it next time. You could get an infection.”

At a loss for words, you only give him an awkward nod and go back to your work even though your mind was still stuck on what he did. Despite your bashfulness, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his act either so you just muttered “thank you” once more.

Jungwon acknowledges it with a nod and his gaze lingers on you for a few moments before he decides to get to his own tasks as well, more focused now that he sees you at ease while working.

You both work in peace for the following hours, conversations only filled with questions and comments about the project, with the occasional off-topic subjects that sneaked in.

By the end of the day, Jungwon realizes that with the softening of your long-standing rivalry, a mutual respect had always existed between the two of you, his observation echoing in the way you had both eased into the truce.

As a matter of fact, Jungwon had even began to hope that it wasn’t just a truce. That maybe if this dance of a burgeoning understanding with the two of you would grow, perhaps, you could be something more than each other’s worthy rivals.

It has now been 9 days since you started working together and although you still had a few banters and intellectual debates here and there, things were pretty much going well between the two of you, especially when it came to the projects.

You had also made an effort to learn a little about Jungwon. His favorite color is blue and orange, he was raised by his grandma, he likes curry and strawberries with chocolate, he did taekwondo for 7 years, he had a cactus named Injang who has now crossed the rainbow bridge (rest in peace), and he weirdly loves ‘slay’ as a slang. He has learnt the word and never looked back since then.

Jungwon learned some basic things about you as well and as much as you disliked it, you did have some common ground after all. You had even started to bond over things like your overbearing teachers and stressful exams, a surprising amount of shared interests and hobbies popping up as you got to know each other throughout the days.

At some point during the past week, you even had the chance to witness him in his leader mode at the student council office. He was seriously running the place like an actual president, as a resolute yet empathetic leader.

While the council members wondered why you were patiently waiting for Jungwon to finish his job, knowing the history between you two, you were busy admiring how focused he was with his work and the way he interacted with his members. It gave you a new-found layer of respect for him.

And with every passing day, the atmosphere between you two were becoming lighter at the goal of only making it through the projects without turning into ardent debaters, even when you still had occasional disagreements.

It was 3 in the afternoon as you found yourselves in the same spot at the library, silently working on your laptops and papers. Despite the intense focus that Jungwon had on his own tasks, he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes were getting droopy and how you would lean your head onto your palm.

He thinks that naturally, you must be tired, but he was too cautious to say anything until you brought out a tablet from your bag along with your tumbler and a small packet of crackers.

“What are you drinking that for?”

“Headache,” you simply reply. His forehead creases and he points to the crackers in your hands.

“And you’re only eating that?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not enough.”

“But I have to nap after. I can’t have anything heavy.”

“You need something better.”

“Jungwon, I always do this.”

He heaves a deep sigh at your defiance and quickly stands up. “Wait here. Don’t do anything yet.”

He was already out of the library before you could even reply, and you decided to wait just as he asked, even though you were already itching to just gulp down the medicine.

You didn’t know if Jungwon had a superhuman speed of some sort as 5 minutes later, he was already back at your table, holding a small box of precut oranges and a tuna mayo sandwich.

He wordlessly drops them in front of you before he goes back to his seat, running a hand through his hair from the race he had just brought upon himself. You glance at the foods at the table, feeling a very strange warmth spread through your chest at what he did.

How does he even know that this was the sandwich you liked and always ordered at the cafeteria? Was it just a coincidence? Or perhaps, he must’ve noticed it when you went together last time?

“Um...thank you.” He nods and warmly smiles in spite of your awkwardness, and you quietly begin to unwrap the sandwich so you can already take the medication.

Jungwon takes a few moments to observe your figure, his eyes noticing the weariness in your own, which wasn’t that visible if not looked upon closely.

He forces himself to tear his gaze away and begins typing again, but he couldn’t stop himself from commenting, masking his concern with a nonchalant tone.

“You know, Y/N, I can’t believe how you’ve always had the energy to argue with me when you’re this careless of yourself.”

“...what?”

“You always prioritize your studies and other people before yourself. Sometimes you would even skip meals. Rei and Liz would be at the cafeteria without you and you’re up in our room or God knows where, doing something to push yourself even more.”

You can’t hold back from asking this time. “How did you—”

“It’s not cute, really,” Jungwon deflects. “What if you collapse one day? Your grades wouldn’t save you, Y/N. Some people out there would be worried about you.”

Like me, he thinks.

“Okay...?” You chew slowly, unsure just how to respond with his gentle scolding. “I...I do take care of myself.”

“Really?” He scoffs. “When? How?”

“Like...right now.”

“Yeah, right. You would’ve taken those nasty crackers if I wasn’t here.” He rolls his eyes and you couldn’t help but smile a little, seeing through his apparent exasperated act.

Once you were done, you laid your arms on the table and rested the side of your head on it, and Jungwon’s gaze lands from his laptop to you, silently checking for any sign of distress.

“I’ll just take a nap, Jungwon. I promise. I’ll help you when I—”

“No,” he shakes his head even when your eyes had already closed. “Take your time. To be honest, you should be at the nurse’s office instead.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t force yourself to only nap,” he interjects again. “Just take your time. I’ll watch over you.”

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is a mix of awe and gratitude at Jungwon’s caring nature, a sense of security embracing you.

He stayed true to his word and looked at you from time to time, brushing the hair that fell across your face to not block your breathing and even draping his cardigan over you to keep you warm and comfortable as you slept.

A swirl of strange emotions bubbled up within Jungwon whenever he took in the sight of your peaceful sleeping form, and he couldn’t understand why. He would’ve done the same thing for Riki and Sunoo if they were in your position. Or anyone, actually.

But something about your frustrating stubbornness that perpetually bothered him every time makes him feel a near sense of protectiveness towards you, and he was sure it was crazy to even think of.

You had already clarified that you weren’t scared of or mad at him, so he couldn’t even fathom why you seemed to dislike him before you were put together for the projects. Had he unknowingly wronged you in the past? Was it something he did that irked you? Were you perhaps, uncomfortable or overwhelmed with how bubbly he is? He was clueless.

But what he knows is that he wouldn’t give up on your stubborn side, and he’d be willing to show you that he could be a good friend just as he was a good rival to you.

However, as much as Jungwon thinks you’re the most stubborn person he’s ever met, you could basically say the same about him.

It was now your sixteenth day of working together with the student council president and you swear you would probably kick the boy if he doesn’t have a fever right now. 

“Y/N, for the last time, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow. “Does “fine” mean sweating like crazy with a flushed face and reading the same page again and again for the past 15 minutes? Is that the definition of fine to you?”

“Well, I can power through this. Trust me.” He smiles at you but you don’t buy his words for even a bit. Not when he looks like he’s about to pass out at any moment.

“Oh, please.” He only chuckles at your eye roll, but you’re seriously not having it anymore. “Jungwon, I’ve had enough. You’re going to the clinic. Now.”

“I told you, I’m— whoa!” You quickly pull him up to his feet after cleaning up your things, your firm grip on his hand making it clear that there was no longer room for argument.

You go off about how stubborn he is at studying despite being sick, but it doesn’t mean it’s good for him to do so. However, your words fall on deaf ears as Jungwon could only focus on the way your hand feels in his and the evident concern in your voice, wrapping his heart with an unfamiliar warmth in a way he never expected.

Anyone could tell by the scowl on your face that you were just being stern as usual, but Jungwon oddly thinks to himself that you rather look like an adorable, grumpy kitten.

A faint smile plays on his lips at the thought, and he pushes down a sudden urge to just ruffle your hair and pinch your cheek—something he didn’t want to acknowledge at why he even thought of in the first place.

A few days later, Jungwon finds himself in the same predicament as he stands under the drizzling rain and hears your voice calling out to him in the distance.

“Yang Jungwon, what are you doing?!”

He barely had time to think of an answer before you marched towards him with an umbrella in your hand, frustration and worry written all over your face.

Jungwon wonders why your expression and nagging at how he’s being careless—considering he had just recovered from a fever—was making his heart beat like crazy, when he was supposed to find it annoying, or at least that’s what he’d like to think.

“It’s fine,” he smiles at you as if the back and shoulders of his blazer isn’t already damp from a few minutes of standing under the drizzle. “You worry too much, Y/N.”

“Or you’re just a bit careless sometimes, really,” you roll your eyes at him but he only returns it with a laugh, completely enamored by your kind nature, even if you expressed it by nagging at him.

He found himself oddly comforted with the respectful banter that had grown between the two of you for the past weeks, feeling like your rivalry had began to chip away with every laugh and joke that you shared.

By the 20th day (yes, you were keeping track of how many days it has been), the both of you were now comfortable enough to tease each other, a banter that for the first time in your lives, held no underlying tension. It took you some time to realize that your rivalry was non-existent now, as if something unspoken had shined through your dynamics.

Today was no different as the two of you settled on the same table you’ve been occupying for the past few weeks, the nook almost serving as a hang-out spot now, or your romantic rendezvous, as Rei and Liz would like to call it.

You had just ended your PE class and you already went ahead to the library, using your spare period to work on the project, much to the surprise and teasing of your and Jungwon’s friends. They couldn’t buy your excuse as a pair of wanting to use any free time to do something productive.

You were just about to open your laptop when you noticed how the top button of Jungwon’s shirt was undone and his necktie loose, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. His forehead was still glistening with a sheen of sweat, an evidence of how fervently he played dodgeball earlier. He must’ve missed it when he changed uniforms.

“Jungwon,” you call out, your gaze lingering a little longer than you had intended to on his slightly exposed skin. “Your...shirt.”

You awkwardly gesture to him and realize how you had been staring, quickly looking away to scan the interface of your laptop. He follows your gaze to his uniform and he immediately understands but as he goes to touch to button, he slowly looks back at you, a sly smile forming on his face.

“Y/N.”

You only hum in response and glance at him, but you weren’t able to tear your gaze away this time as you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“How did you see it anyway? Were you staring right there, hmm?”

You gape in bewilderment, eyes going wide at his accusation. “Wha— I wasn’t! I-I just happened to see it!”

“Oh really?” He shows off his signature eyebrow raise with a smirk, and the sight makes him somehow both annoying and attractive to you.

“I— Yang Jungwon, I am not a pervert!” He chuckles at your sulky frown, the low and warm sound of it only making you hate how he’s having so much fun right now.

He hums and looks away, feigning a serious consideration at your words. “Hmm, I do think that’s a little pervy, Y/N.”

You crumple a piece of paper and throw it at him, but he swiftly dodges it as he laughs. “Just kidding, just kidding. I was just teasing you.”

He goes to button his shirt and tighten his necktie while you bring out a DSLR camera and turn your laptop on, planning to transfer some files. Jungwon, ever the curious cat that he is, comes over to sit right beside you and peeks into your camera.

“What are you doing?”

“Just some stuff.”

Jungwon huffs at your short reply but he continues to watch as you expertly manage the device. “Are those your shots?”

“Mm, they’re mine. Just a hobby though.” He hums at your answer while his eyes remain on the screen, making amused sounds at almost every photo he sees.

“So you like photography?”

You shrug, reluctant to give a certain answer. “I just like to shoot pretty things.”

“I’m pretty too. You can shoot me.”

“Oh, like shoot you with an arrow?”

He bursts out laughing at your sarcasm, and you gently hit his arm, reminding him that you were in the library. Once his laughter dies down, his gaze shifts from you and the camera as he speaks with a casual tone.

“They’re really beautiful. You have a talent for this.”

A genuine smile lit up your face at his compliment, though you couldn’t hold back a slightly smug reply. “Thanks. Are you impressed?”

He smiles. “Do you want me to be?”

Amusement and disbelief mixes together as you blink at him, completely taken aback by his response. Was this flirting? Was he flirting? Or were you just too flustered by nothing? He smirks at your reaction and you roll your eyes, pretending to be unfazed.

“I don’t really care.” But a part of you thinks that maybe you actually cared. You wanted him to be impressed. And he seems to have read your thoughts.

“I am impressed. That’s amazing, honestly.” You felt a bit shy, quietly replying words of gratitude. But Jungwon doesn’t stop there and decides to continue showering you with praises so casually as you begin to move files from the camera to the laptop.

“I’ve always thought you were talented, but the more we talked these days, I saw how you were a lot more admirable than I initially thought.” He rests his cheek on his fist and stares at you. “You’re very intelligent and hardworking. Creative too. Not that I’m only realizing it now. I just wanted to say it.”

“What has gotten into you?” You incredulously ask him, but the smile on your face betrays how you truly feel and he sees it too.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Is it so bad to speak of the truth now? You are admirable. Even when you’re very stubborn sometimes. And you’re always so composed too. I like how you think things through carefully.”

“Well um...thank you.” Jungwon smiles at the mellifluous laugh that bubbles up from you, your hands now working on autopilot as you absorb his words.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re just as admirable. You work really hard as a student and as the council president. That’s a tough job. You make everything look so easy, but it must be really hard.”

The curve of his lips turn into a subtle one, your words touching his heart more than he’d like to admit. He falls upon the realization that in spite of your old rivalry, you both shared a respect of and valued each other’s intelligence and abilities.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” he replies softly. “Can I ask you something though?”

“Sure.”

He takes a short pause as if contemplating what he wants to say before he finally speaks up.

“I was just wondering why...why you always seem to push yourself so hard. Not that it’s completely bad, but it’s just, I feel like you’re straining yourself sometimes. You’re not...being pressured by anyone, are you?”

You get the implication of his words in an instant and you shake your head. “No, no. My parents aren’t like that. They’re very supportive, actually.”

He slowly nods, and he gets the sense that you wouldn’t want to directly say that it’s you who pressures yourself. Even without your confirmation, he could feel it. “So what is it then?”

He’s confused at the casual shrug you give him, not buying how you’re playing it off as something insignificant. “It’s nothing. And it’s kind of stupid even.”

He straightens up in his seat and slightly moves closer, his gentle voice coaxing you. “I’m certain it’s not “stupid”. If you’re comfortable, you can tell me. I’ll listen.”

You take a few moments to consider his words, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as you hoped you wouldn’t break down into tears.

“I want to make my parents proud.”

Jungwon felt like his heart dropped at the subdued sadness in your voice and he stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

“They’re usually away for work. At first it was just my dad, then my mom followed. I...I just don’t want to make their sacrifices go to waste. The least I could do is study hard and prove myself worthy of why they’re working for our family. So I have to be good enough. I want to be at my best.”

You take a shuddery deep breath, still keeping in the urge to break down. “For myself too, I guess. I know I can be better. I can’t be complacent. I know there’s more to me and I will push myself to reach that.”

He listens intently as you speak and when you were done, he tentatively touches your arm and speaks softly. “You are good enough, Y/N. I’m sure your parents know that. And I know they wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. Nobody would want you to.”

As you tear your gaze away from the monitor, your eyes meet Jungwon’s, a sense of empathy and understanding surrounding the air as you gazed at each other. You didn’t know why, but it made your heart swell, seeing and feeling his concern for you.

His hand moved to go on top of yours, patting it reassuringly. “You know, my...my parents are often away from home too. So I understand.”

The strained smile that flickered across his face tells you that he didn’t just understand, he must have struggled with it too, one way or another.

“They’re um...highly regarded in their own fields, I would say. So, often very busy. And though I won’t exactly pursue their careers, I want to follow their footsteps and be just as outstanding. I want to make them proud too. But beyond that...”

He nibbled on his bottom lip, eyes drifting away for a moment before looking back at you. It was easy to tell that Jungwon was opening up to you right now, unexpectedly finding comfort in your presence as his vulnerability showed through with every word that tore down his defenses, feelings that he thought were buried for so long now coming to the surface.

“I just want to prove myself...to me. To prove myself worthy with every accomplishment that I make. It’s why one of the things I admired about you is how you seem so put together.” He wryly laughs, and you could feel your heart shatter. “I wish I was always like that. I only seem like it from the outside. But everything feels like a huge mess inside of me. Like a fire that I can’t tame.”

Your heart breaks even more at his confession, shock and sympathy both crashing over you like a tidal wave. Not only had Jungwon implied that he wished he had something that you had, but he also confessed to feeling like he wasn’t good enough. That somehow, even with all the good things he had going on, he still felt like an utter chaos within.

You wanted to tell him that your “put together” demeanor was just an unconscious facade as well, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say at the moment. It was only then that you had realized, you were both seeing yourselves in an almost distorted way, a pretense looming over your characters like a shadow.

You wanted to return his encouragement with the only words that ran through your mind, your hand gently taking his in what you hoped would offer even a bit of comfort, and gave the most reassuring smile you could muster.

“You’re doing great, Yang Jungwon. You’re loved.”

Your few words, despite its simplicity, brings a soft smile to his face, and he quickly laughs away the tears that lined in his eyes, squeezing your hand in silent gratitude.

“I guess I am.” He intertwines your fingers as his smile turns into a grin, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “I think we’re both doing great, Y/N. We’re loved.”

A comfortable silence filled the air, your eyes locked in a moment of understanding and comfort in each other’s presence before Jungwon speaks up again. 

“So, you think we should arrange a double date for our parents sometime?” You couldn’t help but snort at his randomness but he only continues, feigning a serious look. “That’d be fun. And of course, we’d join too. It’s like a family night out or something.”

You shake your head, and Jungwon is barely unable to resist a giggle. “Great thinking, genius.”

“Why, thank you.” He gives you a pretend bow and he chuckles at his own antics.

You share a few more minutes of almost unending jokes and laughter, before deciding that a quick trip to the cafeteria was now more appealing than doing the project in your spare time.

The two of you knew for sure now that something had definitely shifted in your relationship, seeing each other from a new perspective that you had ignored for how many years.

Jungwon felt a sense of relief at the realization, knowing that the danced he had hoped to last for a little longer was now blooming into something real—a genuine connection between the two of you that he had always longed for.

𓇗 enhypen - orange flower 𓇗

It was almost two months now from the day you settled on a truce with Jungwon for the sake of your grades. You had stopped tracking your days with him after the 30th, realizing that there was no point to count anymore on how long it would take for the two of you to fight again. You initially betted it would only take a week.

Your first project was drawing to a close and as much as you’re quite embarassed to outwardly admit it, you have grown fond of working with him, or just spending time with him in general. It came to a point that your friend groups have now become closer too, with the six of you usually seen at the cafeteria or just messing around together during your free hours.

You didn’t know how you managed to actually be civil and hold more decent (maybe even fun) conversations with Yang Jungwon in just two months than you did in the past years.

On one relaxing afternoon, you decided to take a break by going to the garden with your camera. You went around and captured every pretty thing that you found, from the blue skies to the whole landscape and the mesmerizing flowers in sight.

As you went around, continously clicking the shutter button, one particular flower catches your eye through the lens and you crouch down to get a closer look.

They were of a bluish purple color and bell-shaped, bowing down on the stem as if shying away from the sun. You reached out to graze its petals, its soft feel against your fingertips and the enticing hue making you think of only one thing.

...beautiful.

“They’re called Bluebells.”

You whip your head to the side and see the student council president standing idly with his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze shifting from the blooms to you.

“You like it?” He walks closer until he was just about two steps away from your crouching form and the both of you turn to look at the flowers again.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “They’re pretty.”

Jungwon hums in response, a small smile playing along his lips. “They remind me of you.”

You quickly turn to him, and he only chuckles at the sound of surprise that you made.

“Bluebells...they often represent humility and modesty, among with a lot more things.” His gaze travels from the flowers to your eyes then he smiles softly. “And they all remind me of you.”

Okay, pause. What was Yang Jungwon spewing out of his mouth right now? And why was it suddenly making your heart race?

Flustered by his comment, you turn your head away and try to play it cool, although Jungwon completely sees through you. How could he not when your face was glowing with a soft, delicate pink?

“Oh, really?” You ask in a nonchalant tone. “Where did you even learn that?”

“My grandma likes gardening. She taught me everything about plants since I was a kid. Eventually, I learnt the meanings of some flowers too. You know, floriography?”

You nod in response and he continues. “Yeah, that. I’m not really an expert, I would say. But I definitely have some knowledge on it.”

“Oh...” you unknowingly whisper. “That’s cool.”

Jungwon smirks at your comment, finding an opportunity to possibly fluster you again. “Are you impressed?”

You scoff as he uses your own words from last time, and you lift an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to be?”

He gives you a lopsided smile and shrugs. “To be honest, I kind of want you to.”

And there it was. Jungwon laughs softly at the second wave of coral blush that paints across your face, and you pretend to be unbothered by standing up and rolling your eyes. “Whatever.”

You walk away and approach the fountain nearby, but Jungwon promptly catches up and you’re not sure whether you’re annoyed or endeared by his loud and genuine laugh.

“Hey, Bluebell! Wait for me!”

You sit by the rim of the fountain, the lush sound of the flowing water and the mindless scanning through your camera’s gallery doing nothing to distract you from what Jungwon had said.

What did he even mean by that? And if it meant what you thought it did, then why were you so affected? You weren’t stupid enough to draw a plausible conclusion, but the thought itself was stupid—that maybe you were feeling just a little something for Yang Jungwon.

Maybe it’s just because of how cute he was and that oh so adorable dimple of his. Right. That’s it. 

Jungwon sits beside you by the fountain, though he maintains a respectful distance, just in case you were still feeling flustered. “I really did mean that, Bluebell.”

The shift in his voice and his repeated use of the flower’s name to address you sends your mind in a frenzy, unable to focus on the several photos you were distractedly scanning.

“...that you remind me of all that there is to the flower. They’re all good things, I promise you. Like faithfulness, hope, and dreams. And...I was honestly hoping you’d be impressed. That wasn’t a joke.”

His earnest admission makes you finally look up, and you abruptly push aside your nerves to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I-I was impressed. If that’s what you wanted to hear. I...that, that’s cool. The floriography and everything.”

Jungwon fondly smiles at your response, adoring how bashful yet honest you were. “And the bluebell too,” you add. “I um...thanks. I suppose...I should learn about it sometime.”

“You should,” Jungwon gently ruffles your hair and you try to act nonchalant again. “It’s fun. I can even tell you the meaning of every flower you’d capture. How’s that?”

You give him a nod and Jungwon smiles, giving you a mini lecture at once about floriography, and he even mentions to you that his grandmother likes white lilies, which symbolized purity and rebirth.

As he continues to talk about the language of flowers, you barely notice how time passes by, only becoming aware again when the warm glow of the sun fell on Jungwon’s face, making him look unbelievably ethereal.

The way his eyes sparkled as he spoke enthusiastically, his face brightening up with glee and laughter—Jungwon was the epitome of a pretty and charming boy, your rivalry didn’t blind you from it. But has he always looked this beautiful? The sight of the golden rays highlighting his features seemed to echo your thoughts of seeing him in a new light after all these years.

It reminded you of how much you didn’t know about Jungwon yet. But in spite of it, you knew that even if the prettiest flower were in sight, you already had a beautiful one to catch in frame—right beside you.

It was very telling of his name. Garden. Jungwon was like a gardenscape, every piece of his life a flower that held a story in it, something that you found more interesting than any of the flowers he had told you of.

And a whisper in your heart bloomed, yearning for a chance to explore that garden.

enhypen - just a little bit 𓇗 lauv - steal the show

One day, during a row of vacant hours in your schedule, you found yourselves sitting at your usual spot in the library, agreeing to review and revise a few things in your project.

But you left your laptop at home, not expecting the free time that you had been blessed with today. So you decide to give your flash drive to Jungwon instead for him to have access to your side of the work.

However, he quickly takes notice of the exhaustion on your features, sensing that you hadn’t been able to take a good rest. He casually tells you to go take a nap while he takes care of the presentation, and you couldn’t help but argue for a little while, feeling a bit guilty that you’d just sleep on him while he does the work.

Jungwon wasn’t one to quickly back down though. He feels a little frustrated at how the two of you have been going back and forth on the matter when you could just simply comply to his suggestion and take your much needed rest.

But his genuine concern for you overpowered his vexation, fully intent on giving you what you needed rather than have you work without focus and just strain yourself further. And so you finally caved in, but not without asking one last time to be really positive that it was fine with him.

“Jungwon, are you sure?”

He sighs for the nth time and slowly nods to reaffirm his approval, certain that he was on the verge of just manifesting a pillow out of thin air if he could, just so you would already sleep.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m not going to repeat myself, Y/N. Go take a rest. I’ll handle this.”

“Fine.” You defeatedly sigh and rest your arms and head on the table. “Just don’t mess around with my movies and stuff in there. You might end up deleting something.”

“Oh,” Jungwon slightly leans forward to the screen and playfully squints his eyes at some of the folders, “like enha lore edits, enha performances, animated films—”

You immediately lift your head up and shoot him a half-hearted glare, but he only snickers at your reaction and shakes his head amusedly.

“Jungwon, I swear, if you touch those folders and something goes missing—”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He brings his hand up to do a scout’s honor gesture, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I promise. Just the project.”

You feign a scoff of disbelief before bringing your head down again and muttering. “You better. Or else...”

Jungwon waits for you to continue your words, but after a minute or so, he sees your eyes shut, your breathing slow and steady. Seeing the peaceful expression on your face brings a faint smile to his face before he goes back to his laptop and start to work.

He glances at you from time to time to check how you’re doing, relieved that you’re still taking your rest. He knows you’d probably get mad at him for not waking you up by the time you had set, but in his defense, he simply found it hard to wake you up when you looked like you really needed that sleep.

A bit more than an hour passes by when Jungwon decides to take a break from working and stretches his arms, his gaze falling to you for a moment before he skims over the file to view his progress.

Once he’s done, he plays around with the cursor and scrolls through the folders out of boredom. Suddenly, one of the folders open without him intending to and panic sets in him right away as he straightens up and looks for the exit button.

He promised to not view any of your other files and even when you’re asleep, he did not want to break that. However, just as he was about to press on it, one of the thumbnails catch his attention and makes him still for a moment.

His eyes dart across the screen, seeing “y/n’s camcorder” as the folder’s name and a few dozen other videos whose thumbnail alone was enough to tell that these were some video logs of some sort. But the one that made him freeze earlier was something he would have never expected to see in your flash drive. Him.

He leaned forward to observe the stilled frame closely, and there was no mistake in it. It looked like him years ago. What was he doing in your videos? Did you just happen to catch him in your camera?

Jungwon takes another glance at your sleeping form, torn between his curiosity and the promise he had made to you. But eventually, the former won and he felt a pang of guilt as he clicked on the video to play.

He immediately lowers the volume, just enough for him to hear and moves the laptop away from you as much as possible, straining his eyes and ears as he watched.

“Hello, this is Y/N and um...today, we’re at the school festival. I’m with my friends...”

He immediately realizes that this video was from a few years ago, seeing how young and awkward you looked, and the familiar school shirt you were wearing. It didn’t take long for him to recognize what year it was and you mentioning the date only confirmed it. This was taken in 8th grade.

“Is that your vlog?”

“Y/N, you should start a channel.”

“I want to try the cotton candies!”

“Wait, my shoelaces are—”

Your friends’ voices were mixing together, along with the noises of other students in the background and the music from the band nearby. Even the camera started getting shaky as your laughter filled the air, your joy evident through the screen.

Jungwon couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and he figures that maybe you just really happened to capture him for a moment, that’s why he was on the thumbnail. He goes over to the exit button but just like earlier, something immediately makes him stop from finally doing it.

The camera turns around to no particular direction, the surroundings caught in a constant blur before it finally settles on something. The busy chatters of all the students including your friends were still heard in the background, but your voice wasn’t there anymore and the camera was now stable, as if you had stilled upon the sight that seeped to your lens. It was then that Jungwon’s heart skipped a beat and realized why he saw himself in the frame earlier.

You were recording him.

And it wasn’t just a mere second, or even a few. You had filmed him from a distance as he managed a stall with some classmates, a wide smile etched on his face while he moved around and interacted with the other students. He even laughs for a moment and despite the low volume he set on the laptop, Jungwon swears he heard a soft laugh from you too.

Suddenly, he turned his head to a certain direction and you must’ve panicked that he would see you, because the camera whipped around to literally anywhere but his stall, laughing as you pretended to be engaged in your friends’ discussion.

His mind raced with several thoughts in an instant as the video went on. 8th grade. The year your rivalry bubbled up. School festival. But this happened before that.

Why were you recording him for almost a minute? He wasn’t even doing anything that you could possibly use against him. He was just there doing his work, and you were filming him like you had caught something special that you wanted to...preserve. Impossible.

Jungwon snaps from his thoughts as he hears you stir, and he quickly drags the cursor to the exit button several times until his laptop’s main interface was now on display. He feels like he had just committed a crime.

As you repeatedly blink awake and focus your eyes on your wristwatch, Jungwon wonders if you had heard the sounds from the video or it just really happened that you’ve had enough rest now.

He notices your lingering stare at the time and he gets the feeling that you’re both disappointed and relieved that he didn’t wake you up in 30 minutes, but he knows you’d certainly be mad at him once he tells you what he did, because he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

He waits a little longer to see if you’re already fully awake and as you start to gather some of your things to begin working again, he takes a deep breath to brace himself.

“Y/N...”

You pause for a moment and look up at him, sensing a tinge of anxiety in his voice. Setting your things aside for now, you cross your arms on the table and response with a hum, urging him to continue.

The longer he looked into your eyes, the more that his curiosity and guilt grew and he didn’t even know if he would be prepared for your wrath.

“Y/N, I...please, just let me explain first, alright? I swear, I really didn’t mean to. And you can shout and beat me up later but not here in the library.”

Confusion spreads across your face at his words, the hint of desperation in his voice not escaping your keen observation. Did he actually go into your folders and accidentally delete one of the files?

You reluctantly give him a nod, silently giving him the signal to continue again. Jungwon rubs his sweaty palms at the end of his blazer and he takes another deep breath before he looks you in the eye, his words coming out rushed and yet still clear.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry that I found your camcorder folder. I promise, I did not mean to snoop around, but it just suddenly opened then I saw my face in one of the frames so I clicked on the video and I watched the first few minutes and I was really there.”

Your lips part in surprise, and you honestly didn’t know how to react other than take a glance at his laptop before looking back at him as he kept on confessing.

“I was just curious but I didn’t watch all of it! Just, just the part where I was, and I know it wasn’t an excuse to break what I promised to you. But please believe me, I’m really, really, really sorry, Y/N.”

His breathing was slightly ragged as he finished talking, and despite the guilt gnawing at him, he did not break the eye contact, wanting you to know how sincere he was with the apology. But the lack of response from you made him a little nervous, and he couldn’t help but speak once more.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry, I—” you ignore the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen on his face and grab his laptop without a word, quickly searching for the file he had opened.

Of course, you knew what it was. You knew what video he was talking about, you knew all too well why you had done it, but you wanted to see it for yourself just one more time before you speak up.

He feels as if he’s been holding his breath for so long as he waits for your response, and he nearly apologizes again but then he hears your voice, though your words wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

“I think I need to explain myself.”

A big “what?” echoed in his mind as you put the laptop back to his side and gave him a serious look, like you were preparing for a speech. Why should you be explaining yourself when he’s the one who made a mistake?

“First off, apology accepted.” He breathes a sigh of relief but his face remains somber, the guilt still lingering on him. “I didn’t know you would take ‘curiosity kills the cat’ seriously just because you’re a cat, but you’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

He lets out a small laugh at your dry humor and he feels his nerves gradually slip away, finding himself amused that you were still able to joke even in a situation like this.

“And next...” you purse your lips for a moment to gather the words in your mind, his eyes slightly widening as he waited with curiosity. “Okay, promise me first you’re not going to think I’m a creep.”

He blinks a few times, unsure if he had heard you right before he bursts in a quiet laugh. He raises his hand up to do a gesture of promise and shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip to suppress another laugh.

You take a deep breath and speak at a normal pace, not wanting to stumble over your words and appear exactly like the person you just made him promise to not think of you.

“That day...I’m not sure if you remember, but it was in 8th grade.” He gives you a nod and your mind flashes back to the day when it happened.

You were turning your camcorder everywhere to find a good spot to film in spite of your friends’ chaos behind you and unintentionally, the camera lands on a certain stall in the distance, a boy captured perfectly in frame as you stared through the screen.

He looked quite familiar. You’ve seen him somewhere, you’re sure of it. Must be the bulletin board or something. You unwittingly stay recording him while your friends bicker about which stall to go to first, and then it finally clicked on you.

Yang Jungwon. Star student. Class monitor and known for his kindness. This was him? Heavens, he looked really...adorable.

Or even the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your whole life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. You were just an 8th grader. You haven’t even finished the first quarter of your life yet. But damn, he really did look like the cutest boy you’ve ever come across, albeit from a distance.

Smart, kind, and cute? And oh. He has that lovely dimple adorning his face, deepening everytime he smiles. Maybe you even have a small crush on this Yang Jungwon right now. Sure, you didn’t know him that well, at least not yet. But he just looked...so lovely.

Then, that sliver of attraction vanished just as quick as it had appeared when you heard that damned comment from him weeks later along with the look he sent you across the room—and it completely disappeared into ashes when you became classmates by the next year.

“I don’t know if you remember too, but this was before,” You make an animated gesture to emphasize, “this whole thing happened between us.”

He nods. “I remember.”

His confirmation starts to make your heart race and you could only hope that your explanation would make sense to him. “Okay. So, I’m sure you must be wondering why I...did that.”

“The truth is that, I really didn’t mean to record you that day. I was just looking for something to film and my camera happened to land on your stall—and you were there. I was trying to remember who you are, Yang Jungwon, and I also thought you were really pretty.”

Jungwon’s boba-like eyes grow wide at your confession, and he tries to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at it. You intentionally left out the crush part and looked away as you continued.

“I-I know, that probably doesn’t make sense because you didn’t like me, but it’s not like I was exactly blind to—”

“Wait,” Jungwon quickly interrupts, his eyes narrowing at your words, “I...I disliked you? Me?” He asks incredulously, and now you were both looking confusedly at each other.

“Yeah...?” Despite your puzzlement, you were certain of your reason. You couldn’t forget it, even after all these years. “Why are you...um, you said something about me, don’t you remember?”

“I did?” He tilts his head, feeling even more bewildered. “What...what did I say?”

You couldn’t help but start to question yourself now. He was supposed to know, wasn’t he?

“Someone mentioned the...the debate event for that year, and you were joining. Then you...found out I was joining too.” You hated how unsure you sounded now.

“And you said something like, ‘Oh Y/N? Yeah, she’s cool, I guess. Intense opponent.’ Then your friends laughed and you joined them. It sounded very condescending, if you would ask me.”

Jungwon could only stare in bafflement at the desperation slipping in your tone, and a faint blush appears on his cheeks as he slowly pieces things together, but you were too focused on your explanation to even notice his current state.

How was he supposed to tell you that his friends laughed at him and he couldn’t help but laugh too—albeit nervously because...

“And the next day, you were glaring at me from across the room. It was at the meeting for the debate teams.” You heave a deep sigh thinking that he might not have remembered it anymore but then he finally finds his voice.

“G-glaring? Y/N, I...I would never...” he trails off and you take the opportunity to speak up again.

“Never what? You were staring so intensely at me, I was so convinced that I might have done some—” you abruptly pause and blink, an almost horrifying thought dawning on you with your own choice of words.

Staring. Staring. Intensely, but not glaring.

What if...you had just misinterpreted it all?

Jungwon senses your moment of realization and he takes a deep breath, speaking as gently as possible as he explained and his gaze on you unwavering.

“Yes, I stared at you that day but...” he pushes down his nerves to focus on clarifying things to you, knowing that this might just be the conversation you both needed after years of rivalry.

“...not in a bad way. Nor did I mock you when I found out you were joining. I meant it,” his lips tug into a small smile, “I really did think you were cool. And by intense, I meant...passionate. Though, I understand how it might’ve come off differently to you, but the truth is, I was simply too nervous.”

Not just that. I used to have a tiny crush on you.

But Jungwon leaves out that part of his story and warmly smiles at you as he decides to elaborate, hoping you would understand his side. And to your surprise, he’s even looking at you so kindly, his expression almost tender.

“I honestly did not understand why you were so cold to me. All I wanted was to be friends with you and talk to you about academics,” Which is partly true, he thinks.

“But,” he awkwardly laughs and another wave of blush warms his face up to his ears, a bit more evident this time, “I do admit that at some point, it got a little frustrating to me, especially because I’ve always been competitive. And since you never paid attention to me unless it was about school, I...I decided to match your energy.”

Jungwon flashes you a sheepish smile after explaining himself, and now it was your turn to have your jaw dropped, staring at him incredulously. A mix of emotions courses through you all at once—surprise, relief, guilt, embarassment, frustration, and even happiness.

“Good heavens...” you bury your face in your hands with an exasperated sigh and he now feels more awkward than ever until you spoke again, your voice muffled. “Jungwon, I’m so sorry.”

In all honesty, Jungwon doesn’t know how to react. So he gently takes hold of your wrists to pull your hands down, your bashful eyes meeting his tender ones. He quickly notices the flush across your face and he couldn’t help but quietly laugh.

Out of confusion and embarrassment, your features contort into a slight frown and he bites down his lip to stop himself from laughing even more. He shakes his head lightly and moves his hands from your wrist to your palms, gently holding them from across the table.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says warmly. “It was a mistake. I understand.”

You were actually expecting him to get mad at you or even make fun of your misinterpretation, but the way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like you might just want to cry on the spot.

“No,” you shake your head apologetically. “I was wrong. And I’m really sorry for that. For...for everything. I’m so stupid. It was so stupid of me to think like that.”

But Jungwon only smiles, his gaze at you softening. “Don’t beat yourself up. I enjoyed our arguments too, you know?”

A flicker of puzzlement flashes through your face and his smile widens. “You were really tough to deal with sometimes—most of the time, really—but you were the only one I liked competing with. Like a worthy opponent, if I may say.”

You stare at him in silence for a few moments, completely perplexed by what you just heard before you groaned and shook his hands. “Jungwon, could you please be mad at me?”

“What?” He confusedly asks with a laugh. “I can’t be mad at you when I was entertained sometimes. It’s fun arguing with you because you’re just as smart as me. Maybe even more, I believe.”

His words render you speechless, and a corner of his mouth lifts in a teasing smirk. “Were you the one who was always mad at me then?”

“No, I—” you close your eyes with a grunt and Jungwon lets out a hearty laugh, amused by your frustration. “Okay, fine. I liked arguing with you too. Sometimes. But that doesn’t make me any less wrong, so I was expecting you to be mad at me.”

Jungwon sighs in defeat, though a subtle smile still plays on his lips at your admission. “Alright. I guess that’s reasonable. I’m taking this chance to formally apologize to you then. I’m sorry.”

He slightly leans forward, keeping eye contact with you. “Truly sorry. I’m pretty sure I frustrated you several times especially when I argued just for the sake of opposing you. And to all of the ridiculous things I’ve done to play my role in our dynamic. So I hope that we can start anew, and maybe even become friends.”

The sincerity in his words and in the way he touches your hand lifts off a heavy weight on your shoulders and you sigh deeply with relief, and so does Jungwon. He closes his laptop, deciding that your work for the day was done as there were now more pressing matters to attend to than the project.

“What do you say?” He gently squeezes your hand, expectedly waiting for your answer, the hopeful look in his eyes telling you that he was 100% wanting to hear a ‘yes.’

However, you playfully squint your eyes at him and slightly lean in too, a tinge of playfulness lacing your voice. “Do you still think Romeo and Juliet were impulsive teenagers?”

He blinks a few times at your unexpected response and bursts into quiet laughter, his eyes turning into crescents. “Okay, honestly? I think my perspective had already changed a little over a few weeks ago. They were simply too deep in love.”

“For real?” Your eyes widen and Jungwon nods, his face still beaming, but your voice quiets down. “Well, actually, I gave some thought about your argument before and maybe Shakespeare indeed just wanted to entertain us with a melodramatic—”

“Okay, we’re not going to argue again,” he immediately cuts you off, keeping in his amusement as he tried to sound serious. “Romeo and Juliet is romantic, end of story. Now, what do you say about being friends?”

You thoughtfully hum, feigning a serious consideration at his words, although the growing smile on your face already betrayed you, and the gleam in your eyes tells Jungwon that your response would be something unexpected once more.

“An ice cream date when we slay the presentation?”

“Sure.” He smiles cheekily. “Ice cream it is.”

“Okay. Friends.”

𓇗 niki - take a chance with me 𓇗

With the strenuous weeks came dozens of works in your other classes as well, and you had to postpone your little meetings for a while to focus on these tasks. Sometimes you would talk to Jungwon on the phone, but oddly enough, it didn’t really suffice compared to time spent in-person, with the new bond that has formed between the two of you.

Jungwon proposed to set a time during weekends to work on the remaining project and maybe even study at each other’s houses, with an underlying innocent intention to spend more time with you. Unbeknownst to him, you were just as happy to have both of it—studying and spending time with the boy you’ve now grown fond of.

Except for one problem: you had a cat in your home. And ironically, the feline-eyed boy was allergic to cats.

Jungwon assured you that his allergy wasn’t that bad, and he could last a few hours at your residence. You didn’t want to cave in at first, your concern overriding the want to spend time with him outside of school, even if it was still for your studies.

But being the good communicator that he is, Jungwon managed to convince you that it will be perfectly fine, and that you wouldn’t have to worry about “being the culprit when he dies”, as you had initially argued.

You agreed on one condition—that he bring an EpiPen with him just in case of an emergency, and he easily agreed, but not without giving his own condition: that your parents were completely on board with just the two of you at your home.

He practically swore to not having even the slightest bit of thought of doing anything harmful to or with you, but he wanted to be sure that your parents were aware and looked out for your safety.

The condition was unexpected, you thought, but deep inside, you appreciated how he seemed to be genuinely concerned about the matter. So you reassured him that it was fine, and even gave your parents some basic information about Jungwon, if anything does happen, which you knew there wouldn’t be.

And so you woke up early that Saturday morning, something that you rarely did, just to clean your house and prepare some foods, as well as things to keep Chloe occupied while you worked at the living room.

Jungwon arrived a little earlier than you were expecting, and he clarifies right away that he just didn’t want to be late, although the truth is that he was too eager to see you.

Sensing a visitor in the house, Chloe gets out of your room and makes her way downstairs, cautiously approaching as she assesses the boy standing close to you. Jungwon coos right away upon seeing her, but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to cats, and so he crouches down and extends his hand to her, letting her sniff him before he does anything.

Chloe swats her paw at his shoes and takes a few moments to take his presence in before she turns to you with an approving “meow”, then she nuzzles Jungwon’s hand as if asking to be petted. He takes the cue and in an instant, they were now nuzzling each other’s faces. You could even hear Jungwon giggling softly.

You smile in relief at seeing the two liking each other, almost forgetting about Jungwon’s allergy with how comfortable they looked. But as you stared longer and kept a close look at your spot, your smile wavered upon falling on a little observation.

Why does...why does Chloe almost resemble Yang Jungwon?!

For a moment, you stood there frozen, quite rattled by the thought that suddenly took over your mind. Y/N, are you insane? Why would you think that?

Bewildered by your own words, you clear your throat and pretend to be busy with arranging the foods and materials on the table. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get to work.”

“Aww,” Jungwon whines disappointedly and pleads at you with his eyes, “but we’re still playing. Look, she loves me.”

As much as you loved seeing the two have fun, you needed to get started and you might not be sure just how long Jungwon and Chloe would end up playing, and there’s still the lingering worry about his mild allergy. You shake your head in response and turn your laptop on without sparing another glance at them as you listed off your excuses.

He eventually sighs in defeat and gives one last pet to the cat. “Alright, baby. We should listen to your mom. Go on.”

You nearly choke on your spit at hearing Jungwon baby talk with Chloe, throwing a look of feigned disgust at his direction that Jungwon only laughs at before calling out and instructing your child to get back to your room, although it took some bribing of treats before she finally obeyed you.

Jungwon then settles beside you on the sofa and you two share a light-hearted conversation before actually getting to work, surrounded by a peaceful atmosphere. Every now and then, Chloe would come down to play with you and Jungwon, and your worried sighs would only be met with a laugh from the boy.

You would always send him a lackluster glare for how he’s seemingly making fun of your reactions, but Jungwon simply finds amusement and even a hint of affection at how concerned you were about him.

After a few hours of working, you both decide to take a well-deserved break, stretching your limbs and talking about something else other than school, with Chloe sitting between the two of you as you had already given up on sending her away, much to Jungwon’s contentment.

Suddenly, you hear the gates open and the faint sound of familiar voices in the distance, your conversation coming to a pause as you both looked at the door. Not long after, it pushed open with faces that you weren’t expecting to see today, or at least not this early.

“Mom! Dad!” You immediately stand up and approach them, Jungwon quickly doing the same, though he stands just beside the sofa as he watches you hug your parents.

“You’re home,” you confusedly say, but the pleased expression on your face was enough to tell your parents that you were just as happy as them.

“Your Dad and I managed to convince our bosses to leave early today. It’s a weekend, for goodness’ sake!” They head for the dining area carrying some bags as your mother went on, her lively voice booming throughout the household.

“Have you eaten already? We bought a lot of foods! I got your favorites, we have a blueberry cheesecake and orange chicken here—oh is that your friend? Jungwon?” She pauses in her tracks and you follow her gaze, seeing Jungwon giving her a bow with his lips stretching into a slight curve.

She kindly returns his smile and gestures him to follow the three of you into the dining area where your father was already arranging the foods on the table. “Come here, sweetheart!”

Chloe quickly follows behind Jungwon as he shyly walks to go beside you and greets your parents politely. While your mother continues with her little rant, you tell Jungwon to just serve himself some food while you went to the kitchen to get some ice cubes for the drinks.

You feel a little sorry for leaving him behind as you hear your parents immediately bombard him with questions even though they were just trying to make him feel comfortable, but you did promise him that you wouldn’t take long.

Little did you know, Jungwon had decided to take up the opportunity and sneak his own agenda into the casual conversation.

“You know, Ma’am, you have a really amazing daughter. She’s one of the best students in our school, both with her kindness and intelligence.”

You went still for a moment as you hear the words leave Jungwon’s mouth, his voice a little unclear due to the distance and the clinking of tableware, but you could still make out most of the conversation.

“Oh, I know how amazing she is,” your mother replies with a soft laugh. “And I’m glad other people sees that too. She’s well-loved at your school, isn’t she?”

Jungwon hums in response. “Very much so. Everyone likes her. I do too. I-I mean like as a student, of course. We work really well together in our academics.”

You couldn’t resist from laughing a little at Jungwon’s hurried explanation of himself, your memories flashing back to your old arguments as he mentions how good you work together when it comes to your studies.

“Is that so? Wait, did we disturb your work? I almost forgot that you’re here because of a project. How is it going?”

“Oh, not at all, Ma’am. We were actually just taking a break when you arrived. The food’s good, by the way.”

“Just eat up then,” your father chimes in. “You kids need to get energized for your studies. They make all the kids work so hard these days! Too many homeworks and projects, no time for resting or playing!”

You hear your mother laugh wholeheartedly at your father’s rant and she speaks again, her voice shifting to a softer one. You almost couldn’t hear it at first but as you strained your ears, the words that left her mouth next made you completely still.

“They really do make you work so vigorously, don’t they? That’s why we’re so proud of Y/N. Always striving to be the best. She’s already great. Sometimes, I worry that she pushes herself too much and ends up hurting.”

You immediately feel tears brim in your eyes, a slight ache growing in your heart as you tried to ignore how you felt and focused on getting the ice cubes out instead, though it didn’t help at all when your father spoke next.

“I agree, my love. She’s too hard on herself, I’ve noticed. I hope she sees how we all see her. Not just in her studies, I mean. But as a good person, a good friend, and a good kid. Everyone sees it. I don’t believe anyone would hate our daughter. It’s why you like her, am I right? Yang Jungwon?”

Your father’s teasing comment puts you out of a threatening breakdown, and you silently laugh the tears away before finally walking out of the kitchen, hearing Jungwon’s quick and defensive replies.

The following hour was filled with a light-hearted conversation as you enjoyed the food, although occasional teasing comments were sent your way whenever your parents would imply that something was going on between you and Jungwon.

But soon enough, Jungwon surprisingly excuses himself, thanking your parents for the food and their time and that he would be taking his leave now. You immediately look over to Jungwon and tried to conceal the confusion and slight panic you were feeling at his unexpectedness.

Even your parents were surprised at first and felt reluctant of letting him leave, worrying if something urgent came up or they had unintentionally made him uncomfortable. But Jungwon quickly reassured them that everything was fine and that you had already finished a part of your project anyway.

“I suppose we’ve kept you long enough, sweetheart.” Your mother starts to pack some of the food for Jungwon while you just stood there, unsure how to approach him without sounding disappointed, even though you also felt happy at the chance of spending the rest of the day with your family.

Jungwon seems to notice your nervousness right away and softly chuckles as he stands up from his seat, facing you and lowers his voice so that only the two of you could hear.

“Don’t worry, Bluebell. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought it’d be nice if you could spend some time with them instead of studying with me.”

He glanced at your mother who was securely closing a lunch box before turning back to you. “We can do the project some other time. We have nothing to rush for, we’re smart. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

You share a laugh at his remark, and it helps relieve the confusion you were feeling earlier, thinking that you might’ve done something wrong to make him uncomfortable.

“Yeah, whatever.” You shake your head with an amused sigh, miserably failing to not smile at him. “But thanks for being considerate. I really appreciate it.”

He returns your smile with a kind one, and you miss the way your parents look at the both of you and exchanging knowing glances. “No need to thank me. It’s what you need.”

Your mother clears her throat and you both break away from the eye contact, awkwardly looking everywhere. Jungwon politely receives the lunchbox and bids his farewell to your parents, and you quickly declare to send him off, much to their surprise. But they smile anyway and motion you to go along and wishes him a safe trip home.

As you made it out of the door, you noticed how the both of you walked slowly towards the gate as if you wanted the moment to last a little longer, even though you would eventually have to part ways.

When you finally stopped by the gate, you stood there silently for a moment, unsure exactly what to say or waiting for the other to speak up first. So you think it might be alright to tell him what had happened to you earlier.

“Jungwon.” Hearing the softness in your voice, he immediately meets your gaze. “I...I heard what you told my parents earlier. A-and what they said too.”

His eyes widen by a fraction and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. He suddenly feels like he’s put on the spot and he wonders if you took offense to it.

“I um...” you laugh nervously and scratch your nape. “I almost cried earlier, actually.”

Now his heart began to race and he steps forward, trying to not let panic seep into his tone as he finally finds his voice.

“I-I’m sorry, I just thought it would be helpful to—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t apologize.”

A brief silence envelopes the two of you before you decide to speak again, wanting to reassure him and be honest of what you truly felt.

“It’s fine. I was...I’m actually happy.”

You almost tear up as you remember how you felt while overhearing their conversation, but happiness and relief overpowered the feelings you’ve been suppressing to acknowledge for so long.

“Honestly, I...I’ve always wanted to hear that from them. I guess, I just never had the courage to ask myself.” You begin to fidget with the hem of your shirt, unsure how to phrase your words.

“It’s just, you know...very awkward, I think. And they might’ve been weirded out if I ask them that. I mean I know they wouldn’t be, it’s just...”

You trail off, heaving a deep sigh and running your hands down your face. Jungwon gives a reassuring pat to your shoulder as he also scrambles for a way to explain himself.

“No, no, it’s fine. I understand. I completely understand how you feel. I just...I thought it would be nice. Because...even if you hadn’t heard it, I simply wanted to let your parents know how lovely of a daughter they have.”

You slowly bring your hands down and listen intently to him, a wave of calmness washing over you at his sincerity.

“Well, I’m sure they already knew. But other people know as well. See how good you are at everything you do. Someone who’s very admirable. That’s what...I was hoping to relay to them.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away for a moment, stalling himself for a confession, the softness in his voice completely giving away the vulnerability he was allowing you to witness.

“The truth is, I kind of felt a connection between us when we found out that we basically have the same parents, even though the situation isn’t exactly ideal. And when I told you that maybe we could help each other’s families someday...”

He turns back to look at you with a subtle shift in his expression, “...I meant that. So when an opportunity presented itself, I grabbed it. We’re not who we used to be anymore, and I do care about you. This wasn’t anything big, if I may say, but I hope it helped, even by a little.”

Of course, you were past the whole rivalry thing with him now. And yet, something about his earnestness brings you a kind of comfort. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sure they understood. Thank you.” A genuine smile bloomed on your lips at the feeling, but your first instinct was to quickly shift the almost solemn atmosphere. “It was so heartfelt that I would’ve cried a bucket if I didn’t stop myself.”

Jungwon’s eyes turn into wide saucers at your words, and he couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at how you played off your tears like it was nothing.

“Hey, that wasn’t my intention.” He shakes his head in amusement and lightly pokes your shoulder. “But I’m just glad that you’re happy.”

“Oh really,” you reply with a playful mocking voice, “I thought you might’ve wanted to see me ugly crying with a tear-streaked face?”

He puts a hand to his chest with an exaggerated sound of pain. “Oh, Y/N. Do you really think I’m that bad? I would’ve been there with a pile of tissues and an actual bucket for you, I promise.”

Laughter once erupts from the two of you, the tension fading away by the second and replaced with a light atmosphere. Once you finally calm down, you stare at each other for a few moments with a warm smile lingering on your faces, a sense of understanding and connection filling the air.

You clear your throat and start to open the gate, though the wide curve on your lips remained almost permanent at this point. “Yeah, um...thank you for today, Jungwon. Take care.”

He gives you a nod as he walks out of your house, but not without facing you one last time, the radiant warmth on his face carving in your brain.

“Thank you too, Y/N. Have fun. See you on Monday.”

You both wave at each other before he finally turns around and you close the gates. And as you walked back inside your house, looking forward to spending the rest of the day with your parents, anticipation rushed through your system as you were reminded of going to his house soon.

You could barely wait until next Saturday.

𓇗 chase atlantic - talk slow 𓇗

As it turns out, Jungwon was telling the truth. When it was your turn to visit his house next week, there was no one else in the household other than his grandma. Jungwon’s parents were both at work and his sister was at university, making it only the three of them—including Maeum.

You were lucky enough to arrive at his house just before a heavy rain poured from the dark skies, and you knew for sure that it would take some time before you could go home later.

But the atmosphere in the Yang residence was enough to warm you up in the meantime, despite his parents and sister not being there. With the picture frames, trinkets, scattered things, and simple decorations everywhere, the place had a cozy and welcoming ambiance to it and looked a bit more lively than your household.

Not to mention that Jungwon’s grandmother also treated you like her own despite only having met you for the first time. You felt at ease with her warm welcome, along with Maeum’s enthusiastic response at your arrival.

Albeit a little too enthusiastic, you thought. Chloe was as laid-back as Maeum is energetic. You couldn’t help but think that it seemed almost like a reflection of their owner’s personalities.

Jungwon on the other hand felt a little nervous at first as you arrived, wanting everything to be perfect before the two of you could settle down to work. He definitely did not spend at least an hour of cleaning and organizing his room even though there was barely anything to fix anyway.

At least one of his worries was taken away when 15 minutes had already passed and Maeum did not pee on the floor or do anything horrendous. It felt a bit ridiculous to think of but he knew just how chaotic his dog could get.

Though that relief didn’t last for long when his grandma kept on doting on you, and even mentioned how you were a lot prettier in person.

You were just about to ask what she meant when Jungwon suddenly grabbed the plate of kimbap and fruit slices that she prepared (Jungwon believes he helped too, although half of it was just him asking her questions about love) before excusing the both of you from his grandma and practically dragged you upstairs to his room.

Once you made it inside, with Maeum following the both of you, Jungwon put down the plate on the coffee table and rounded the bed to get his laptop by his study desk.

“You can sit anywhere. I’ll just get my stuff.” You give him a nod and roam your eyes around his room, taking in every detail that reflected a part of him.

You could hear the rain getting heavier outside, every drop of the downpour blurring his windows. Jungwon reached for the AC remote, adjusting it to a warm temperature, but the rain outside persisted, and he turned to you.

“Are you cold?”

You gave him a shrug as you sat down at the edge of his bed on the floor, picking up a slice of apple. “Just a little. But I’m fine.”

He hesitates for a moment but he eventually opens his dresser and pulls out one of his hoodies, your hand pausing mid-air as he hands the neatly folded clothing to you.

“Y-you can wear this,” he meekly says, looking at anywhere but you as he adds, “only if you want to. It might...help.”

You pop the fruit into your mouth before taking the hoodie. “Yeah, thank you.”

He mutters “you’re welcome” before settling down beside you, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest at how adorable you looked in his hoodie. He maintains a respectful distance between the two of you, thankful that you didn’t notice the rosy color from his ears down to his neck as you kept busy with your own things by the table.

He tries to act casually and picks up a fruit as well, hoping that a conversation would steer him away from his weird feelings. “So uh, where were we last time?”

The next few hours were filled with a productive yet comfortable atmosphere, the silence occasionally disrupted when someone has a question or asks for a comment, or when Maeum would join the two of you. From time to time, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Jungwon and take in his simple appearance.

It wasn’t like he doesn’t already have the clean, approachable, and friendly look at school—just that he appears even more casual right now. His bangs were falling over his eyes that he blows away whenever it pokes them, his lovely dimple appearing every now and then, cheeks puffing up as he stuffed his mouth with food or simply puckering his lips, brows furrowing in concentration as he worked on his laptop, and the light from its monitor casting a glow on his face.

A subtle smile would touch your lips everytime at the sight. This wasn’t the genius and student council president Yang Jungwon right now. He was simply Jungwon. A boy who’s too good for this world and happens to be your friend.

What you didn’t know was that Jungwon was having an internal conflict by your side, unaware of the turmoil of emotions he was feeling as you worked in peace. He almost envied how undistracted you looked.

Despite staying focused on his own work, he was hyper-aware of your presence and every glance from you. Anytime that a part of your bodies would accidentally brush against each other, he feels like a jolt of electricity runs through him.

He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way. He was comfortable with you. In fact, he liked it very much that you were here, in his space. And yet, it made his heart flutter. He felt like he was working on autopilot, his mind half occupied with grappling the mixture of emotions you were making him feel.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as you gently tapped his arm, inquiring about a subtopic that you needed to understand in order to get through with one of your tasks.

Once you finally grasped the discussion, you turned back to your things and Jungwon went back to his, thinking that he’d be able to work with a more focused mind this time, not until he hears a comment from you.

“You’re really good at explaining things, you know. I’m glad it’s you that I’m working with.”

He laughs quietly, gaze falling down to his lap as he tries not to get too caught up with how your words affected him. “Thank you. You’re just a fast learner too, honestly.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply without looking, playfulness laced in your tone. “I guess that makes us good partners, doesn’t it?”

You both share a laugh and he shakes his head in amusement, seeing your eyes crinkle at the corners as you meet gazes. “I suppose we are.”

A bit more time passes before you two finally decide to end your work for the day, your bottoms already getting a little sore from sitting so long and your eyes strained from staring at your laptop’s monitors.

However, the rain didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon and Jungwon was wary to send you home alone in such gloomy weather, so he offered you to stay for dinner and watch a movie after, quickly informing your parents that you’d be home a little late.

And as you moved around the house for the following hours, Jungwon found himself sinking into an almost domestic feeling at the casual intimacy you both expressed, warmth spreading through his chest at the realization. He couldn’t help but think if he was the only one feeling a sense of curiosity and admiration between the two of you.

With the past weeks of studying together and the first visits you had at each other’s residence, he felt like something had now shifted again in your budding relationship. Maybe it wasn’t actually just the project that had brought the two of you together, but a woven tapestry of understanding and connection that he considered special.

He knew that it had only been a short time since the two of you managed to get close, and yet he felt like every moment spent with you was heading to a certain path, and he wanted to see where this goes, where it could be the start of something deeper and a different kind of real.

enhypen - your eyes only 𓇗 royalty

“Y/N, he gave you food and his hoodie, then you gave him back some food, and you two are basically attached to the hip now—how could we not think that?”

Right. Days after you went to Jungwon’s house, you washed his hoodie before giving it back to him, but he insisted for you to keep it, with the excuse that you looked adorable nice in his the item of clothing.

The next day, he gave you a food container filled with kimbap, claiming that it’s because you said you liked his grandmother’s, so he tried to make them for you.

You didn’t want to give back an empty container, so you decided to make him some food as well, sharing half of the prepared portions to your friends that they were currently munching on.

“Now that we’re at it, everybody actually thinks the same. I’ve heard other students say that you two must be dating. Even Miss Kang asked me the other day.”

You laugh at Rei’s words and casually shrug. “Can’t we just be good friends? We’ve gotten really close to each other, nothing more than that.”

“Sure, you’ve gotten a lot closer now.” Liz animatedly motions, her eyes widening as she emphasizes her words. “But it’s not just close, it’s like a different type of close!”

“How is it different?” You ask as you take another bite of your food and almost accusingly point the fork to the both of them. “This better not be because he’s a boy and I’m a girl, because I’m friends with Sunoo and Riki too—”

“Of course it’s not that, Y/N,” Rei quickly interrupts you. “We’re mature enough to know that. But you could be honest with us, you know? We tease you all the time but if you do like Yang Jungwon, what’s the problem in admitting that? It would actually make us happy for you.”

“—and tease you even more,” Liz adds, and Rei lightly scolds her for it because they were supposed to make you fess up.

You laugh as they start to bicker with each other, but your thoughts slowly drift off into a daydream, recalling all that has transpired for the past few months that led to the predicament you now found yourself in.

When you submitted the papers for your second project, you and Jungwon weren’t able to celebrate alone because it happened to coincide with your birthday, and you planned to go out with your whole friend group followed by a family hang out at night.

So when you all went to an arcade that day, Jungwon pulled you aside to give you a matching bracelet that he bought just for the two of you—a “seal” of your new-found friendship, as he declared.

And your friendship had only continued to blossom since then, with even the littlest things feeling special to your heart. Handwritten notes inside and outside of class were shared, with Jungwon often drawing cat doodles on the bottom.

You began to hold hands and link arms as if it was second nature, playing with each other’s hair, leaning on his or your shoulder for no reason at all, sharing an earphone whenever you studied together as you listened to one another’s playlists (and even forming your own shared one).

Jungwon would often remember little things about you, as you did with him, met with knowing and teasing glances from your friends whenever they witnessed it happening.

He would bring some food for the two of you when you’re studying together, and at one point he had started to buy food for everyone as well, so as to end Riki’s playful sulking about Jungwon’s special treatment for you.

Sometimes you would catch yourself smiling at Jungwon simply because you find him too endearing even when he’s doing nothing, mentally slapping yourself when you realize how idiotic you might’ve seemed and quickly looking around if anyone saw your moment of weakness.

Jungwon was a gentleman, sure, it was a given. He would open doors for you, save you a seat, help you carry stuff, listen attentively to everything you say, offer to help despite not asking him to or you insist that you can do it by your own, and he even follows the sidewalk rule despite you always joking that you’d both be hurt when a vehicle does crash to the side.

He was just kind in general, and he was the same to everyone, you knew it. You’ve heard of it. You saw it. And yet, it never failed to make your heart flutter or send butterflies to your stomach, much to your perplexity. Why in the world were you feeling it?

You weren’t that dense to not know what could possibly be happening. A simmering attraction seemed to bloom beneath the surface of every interaction between the two of you, although a part of you had convinced yourself that maybe Jungwon wasn’t even feeling anything.

Your friends however, held a different opinion. They agreed among themselves that you two were just being oblivious. It was evident with the way you stole glances at each other from time to time, thinking that the other wouldn’t notice.

While you internally melted in embarrassment whenever you caught yourself smiling at him, Jungwon wasn’t doing any better. More often than not, he would feel the weight of your gaze, making his heart skip a beat every single time, pretending that he didn’t notice your lingering stare.

He would especially feel it when he wears glasses, where you’re almost unable to tear your gaze away from him if it weren’t for the fact that you feel embarrassed at the thought of being caught. You were almost convinced that Jungwon wears it on purpose just so you would look at him more often than usual, and oh it was so true.

It was during another breezy afternoon when it all came crashing down on you. There wasn’t anything special happening, just you and Jungwon sitting at a gazebo (that you used to fight over), talking about a jigsaw puzzle of a cat that he has finally completed in weeks, then he goes on about the history of jigsaw puzzles that he has learnt days ago.

The sight briefly reminded you of the day that he likened you to bluebells, and you came to remember something. You had eventually discovered since then what the flowers meant, aside from what Jungwon had mentioned as humility and modesty. Constancy. Faithfulness. Hope. Gratitude. Wishes. Dreams. Everlasting love.

It made you wonder how Jungwon could relate such things to you when on the other hand, you thought that it was him who suited those things instead. Jungwon was everything that a bluebell represented, at least to you.

But Jungwon wasn’t one to lie, so could that have meant that its essence reflected the two of you? Like...like two peas in a pod. God. For the umpteenth time, Rei was right. She always was.

You were brought back to reality when Rei and Liz’s bickering gets a little louder, their passionate argument piercing through your cloud of reverie.

“—you? Why would she follow your advice?”

“Hey, I’m always right! I literally convinced her to make friends with—”

“That wasn’t you, it was her effort. And what if we’re wrong? What if we’re really pushing her? Maybe she doesn’t like Jungwon that way?”

“Nah, I know it. I memorized the pattern of boys that she likes. Jungwon is definitely her type, there’s no doubt.”

“No doubt? You’ve said that to me when I asked you about number 21 in Philosophy—and it was Socrates, not Plato!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at their usual banter, shoulders shaking with mirth and eyes almost closing in amusement. However, your laughter dies down when Liz suddenly turns to your direction with a surprised look on her face, slightly narrowing her eyes at you as if she realized something.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that you just...kind of laughed like Yang Jungwon right now?”

Rei’s eyes widen and she immediately nods in agreement at Liz’s observation, while you were left staring at them confusedly.

“...what?”

“What I said!” Liz gestures to you with wide eyes. “You sounded and looked like Yang Jungwon when you laughed! You know? That thing when he—”

“You’re tripping.” You vehemently shake your head but Liz doesn’t give up and explains further. “I’m not! I’m telling you, do you know when he laughs then his eyes close so hard and, and his laughter sounds so hearty and, ugh—”

She claps her hand frustratedly and points to you. “I’m sure you get what I mean! But really, it’s like Jungwon was here for a second! You even laugh more often now since you spent time together.” She sighs, “Wow, you’ve both really gotten closer, haven’t you?”

You slowly nod in response, still feeling confused by what she had previously pointed out.

“Well, back to what I was saying,” Rei redirects, “you can tell us Y/N. Are you really sure that you don’t like Yang Jungwon? Not even...a tiny, tiny crush?”

You snort and quickly shake your head. “Of course I am.”

As you idly leaned back in your seat and took a sip of your drink, a strange feeling gnawed at a part of your mind, the thought of possibly lying not only to your friends but also to yourself making your stomach churn slightly.

Rei quirks an eyebrow, completely not believing you. “Really?”

Your brows knit together. “Yeah, really. I’m...we’re just good friends. And I mean really, really good friends. I know it was stupid of me to have misinterpreted him years ago and now I can see how we click so well together, so that’s why we are what we are.”

You take a brief pause to ponder your next words, relieved that they both seemed to start taking you seriously now. “I know we both seem like more than friends, but really—we’re just very comfortable with each other.”

Just then, your voice starts to trail off as if you were muttering to yourself, and their convinced looks disappear just as quick as it had appeared. “We’re friends...friends. So there’s no way that what you’re saying is true. Me, liking him? That’s...no.”

Rei and Liz quickly exchange glances and you momentarily get lost in your thoughts again, almost obliviously speaking and your voice coming out quieter than you had intended to.

“Besides...do you remember Minjeong sunbaenim? She’s really pretty and kind. And smart too. They used to work together at the book club before she graduated.” You begin to fiddle with the straw, your eyes following the movement of your finger.

“I...I heard rumors back then that he liked her. Even the other seniors back then really liked Jungwon. So that...that means Jungwon likes girls older than him.”

Liz seemed to have processed your words a bit slowly as she spoke, unaware of how Rei already had her jaw dropped upon realizing your implication.

“Well, that was only what it was though, a rumor. It’s not an evidence to Jungwon’s preferences. And they said nothing actually happened between— wait.”

Shock dawns on her face and Rei mirrored it even further with a sound of disbelief, their reactions making you puzzled—much to their frustration. The next thing you know, Liz was shaking you ardently, now laughing her heart out.

“Y/N, you do like him! You like him!”

“What?” You laugh along confusedly, while Rei shushes Liz as she looks around the cafeteria, thankful that nobody seemed to bother enough to pay attention.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Liz gushed.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Rei chimes in. “You do have an older vibe sometimes.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I mean the kind of vibe that would make Jungwon sing noona neomu yeppeo—”

You facepalm. “Oh, cut it out.”

“And hey, whether he did like her or not, it’s you who’s with Jungwon now.” Liz chirps with a radiant smile, “I’m sure he likes you too!”

“Yeah, whatever. I didn’t say anything.”

After defending yourself by saying that you hadn’t confirmed or denied their assumptions, you instantly shifted the topic to the preparation for your upcoming finals, with them occasionally sneaking in teasing comments about you and Jungwon.

And though you tried your best to ignore everything, it felt like a whisper at the back of your mind that constantly nagged at you. Crushing on Yang Jungwon? Definitely not.

Sure, he’s a good friend and everything you’d probably like in a guy but...okay well...

...could it really be?

Sometime later that week, nearly the same thing happened when the boys were walking to their lockers, with Jungwon and Sunoo discussing something from class while Riki’s attention just flitted between them.

“I disagree. You can’t just see the world in black and white. Two things can be true at the same time, aka not mutually exclusive! Because if you think about it, the case should’ve been...”

Sunoo was about to interject when a quizzical look fell upon his face, Riki noticing right away and asking what had happened.

“I feel like I had heard that line somewhere before...” He mutters as his eyes narrow at Jungwon, but the words go past his hearing as he only continues to explain and prove his point, not noticing his friends’ looks. Then finally, Sunoo remembers. 

“Why did you sound like Y/N just right now?”

“Ohh,” Riki gapes and turns to Sunoo. “The ‘black and white’ thing? And the ‘mutually exclusive’ one, am I right?”

Jungwon’s little speech comes to a halt, and for a moment, all he could think about was your calm yet passionate voice when it comes to intellectual or philosophical discussions. He doesn’t even know why.

Sunoo’s face becomes a blend of disgust and being dumbfounded at his reaction, which makes Riki burst out laughing, and it’s only when Jungwon is jarred back to reality.

“Well, I— it’s just something she uses a lot,” he calmly says. “I must’ve picked up on it.”

“Uh-huh, and come to think of it,” Riki chimes in, “you now talk more softly with Y/N since you became closer with her. It’s almost like you’re trying to match her.”

“But I’ve been doing that since forever,” Jungwon’s brows furrows, “and I’ve always been soft spoken...?”

“Yeah but like, it’s gotten even more gentle now.”

“Really?”

“Because you’ve got a crush on her.”

“Wha—” Jungwon’s ears began to flush with a vibrant, fiery red. “I-I don’t have a crush on Y/N! Is it so bad now that I’ve picked up on her vocabulary? We all do that to each other as well and we’re friends, and me and Y/N are good friends—”

Sunoo stares blankly with pursed lips, his eyes holding an undercurrent of supressed amusement at Jungwon’s fumbling while Riki snickers beside him.

“I swear, I don’t like her like that. Absolutely not.”

“Jungwon, we’ve seen this movie before,” Sunoo flatly says. “It’s called ‘lying to myself that I don’t have a crush on my friend’, that’s what it is.”

Jungwon turned his head away with his nose held high, unwilling to accept even a single word from his friend. “I am not lying. I am a hundred percent honest. Cross my heart.”

“And your apple-red cheeks are definitely being honest right now too. It’s pretty cute,” Sunoo replies, his voice dripping with mockery.

“C-cute? I’m not—” Jungwon touches his face and immediately feels the heat that has crept up on it. The next moment, his hand goes to give a playful swat to Sunoo that he swiftly dodges.

And a cat chased a fox down the halls that afternoon, leaving their duck friend behind, entertained by the whole exchange.

Though beneath all the teasing from your friends, you two couldn’t help but actually ponder the possibility inside. You’ve half-succesfully convinced yourself that you’ve just really found a special kind of friendship with him. Jungwon thinks that he had just become too attached to you with how often you worked together, but it couldn’t have meant anything.

The whole thing seemed almost comical to your friends. How in denial you both were of your own feelings and oblivious to each other. You and Jungwon were both caught up in your own heads, missing the signs of brewing romance between the two of you. Denying, deflecting, rationalizing—it was a pattern that they watched with a mixture of amusement and concern.

They could only hope that with time, you two would eventually figure it out by yourselves and see the light, facing the inevitable truth of your admiration.

stephen sanchez, em beihold - until i found you 𓇗 jungkook - still with you

With the whirlwind of activities in your graduating year, it became a bit difficult to keep track of all the things that were happening around you. One of them being the school dance, which you weren’t even able to remember if it wasn’t for Jungwon asking if you were going to attend.

You opted for a simple but elegant looking dress of blue color—one of Jungwon’s favorite, something that you had already grown to love. You and Liz had a sleepover at Rei’s house the night before the dance, and the three of you were still at her place as you prepared for the event.

The venue was just as stunning as you had imagined, and so were Riki and Sunoo who you had arranged to meet at a certain spot outside the auditorium, albeit it took about ten minutes of the five of you running in circles while looking for each other.

They immediately informed you that Jungwon was still occupied with his president tasks at the moment, and that it would take him some time before he gets to hang out with the rest of you. Although disappointed, you completely understood the responsibilities that he was tied to and decided to just enjoy in the meantime.

But it didn’t really take long for you and Jungwon to see each other (though from a distance). With his insanely good looks and commanding aura that screamed authority, especially as he explored almost every area of the venue to check up on things, it wasn’t that hard to find him.

He wore a navy blue suit, with a waistcoat underneath that hugged his figure. His hair was swept back and parted to one side, with his bangs falling just above his eyes and revealed more of his forehead than his usual style. You couldn’t help but halt in your tracks to admire him, and that’s when Jungwon also turned his head to your direction.

He felt as if everything else had faded into a blur when he saw you in the dress, waving enthusiastically at him with a beaming smile. A tender smile touched his lips while he waved back at you, his heart swelling with warmth when you returned the gesture by raising up your fist, encouraging him from afar as you mouthed “Fighting!”

Jungwon would catch up with your group whenever he had the time and made sure to take as many photos with all of you as much as he could. You didn’t even know how Jungwon managed to balance his time, but you supposed it was just really the way he was built. Though, you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

But you knew that Jungwon wouldn’t like you being hung up on his struggles, especially when it was expected of his position already. And so you ate, danced, walked around, and laughed your hearts out with each other for hours, making sure to also check up on Jungwon and give him a refreshment from time to time.

After some dancing, you all decided to go back to your table to take a rest. Riki and Sunoo were bickering about the food that one of them spilled by the buffet table, while Liz and Rei fills up their storage with a hundred pictures since the night begun.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were expecting to happen tonight, so as you sat down quietly and drank water to refresh yourself, you mindlessly roamed your eyes around the venue before looking down at your lap.

You thought back to how your friends indulged in their humor whenever a slow or mellow music would play on the speakers, meant for romantic dancing. You couldn’t help but laugh everytime they cracked a joke whether it was about the couples or dramatically complaining about their single lives, and it brought a smile to your face again.

Suddenly, you hear the others intensely whispering to themselves as if something gossip-worthy has happened, but you were too occupied by your own thoughts to even pay any attention to what they were saying.

That was until you heard a familiar voice speak up, a sweet and gentle melody in your ears that shined through among the noises that surrounded you everywhere.

“Y/N.”

You look up to see Jungwon standing just a few steps away from you with an expectant smile on his face, one arm placed behind him while the other was extended towards you, reaching his hand out.

You immediately get a sense of what might be happening, though you quickly brush it off. It’s just impossible. However, your internal efforts are deemed futile with the words that come out of his mouth.

“May I have this dance?”

The other four beside you all make exhilarated sounds, keeping their reactions to a minimum as they waited for your response. It was so sudden that you found yourself speechless because among all the things you have expected to happen tonight, none of it was this.

And yet here you were, feeling like your heart was about to jump out of your chest as you smiled at Jungwon, taking his hand and getting up to your feet.

You were just about to ask him why he had decided to dance with you, when he slowly leaned down with his eyes closed, gingerly bringing the back of your hand to press lightly against his lips. Soft, delicate, and warm lips.

You hear Rei and Liz’s muffled squeals, playfully hitting each other. Riki just let out the loudest gasp you’ve ever heard from him, and Sunoo probably had his jaw dropped.

You couldn’t even blame them. Because above all the sounds that surrounded you at that moment, you could practically hear the pounding of your heart in your ears now, and it was all because this boy just kissed your hand like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

But seriously, where did Yang Jungwon got the courage to pull such a gesture?!

You couldn’t think straight anymore. And if you weren’t stunned yet, you were definitely by the next moment—when Jungwon looks up to meet your eyes, a hint of fondness in his gaze while his lips were still softly pressed against your skin.

Why was your heart fluttering? And why was there a weird sensation in your stomach? Is that what they call ‘butterflies’?

Before you could even fully register the thoughts running through your mind, Jungwon finally straightens with a warm smile and held your hand firmly, leading the both of you to the dance floor.

You didn’t even know how you managed to walk properly when your mind was still in a daze at the scene before you, and you were thankful that he was holding on to you the whole time, the very reason why you were able to make it there without tripping.

At this point, you slowly come to accept that maybe Jungwon’s just going to be the one who leads everything tonight with how shocked you still are. But as you two found a spot to settle in and get into position—fingers laced together, your free hand on his shoulder while his other hand is on your waist—Jungwon begins to waver.

He couldn’t look you in the eye, and you could feel the slight tremble of his hand in yours. And it wasn’t like you were doing any better. The unfading flush on your cheeks, and hands that were even shakier than his was enough to tell what you were feeling.

But his sudden shift in demeanor and the stiffly way you were moving from side to side brings you at a loss of words, and you think—you’re both too awkward to dance.

The realization pushes out laughter to bubble up from you, and he finally looks up to meet your eyes, a nervous chuckle of his own ringing in your ears. Hearing each other laugh with glee just makes the two of you get a bit louder, shoulders shaking with mirth and eyes fluttering shut in pure joy.

Anyone who was watching (a certain group of friends were) would’ve thought it was a fluffy, romantic moment, when the truth is that you were just two nervous (idiots) teenagers who went for a dance.

After a minute or so, your laughter dies down, though your faces were still graced with wide smiles, cheeks slightly hurting from it all. Jungwon sighs softly and attempts to rock your bodies back and forth in a gentle manner to actually begin to dance.

“Ah, we’re a bit awkward tonight, don’t you think?”

“Says the guy who just kissed my hand?”

You both break out into laughter again as you tease him for his gesture earlier, shaking your head in disbelief. “Did you get a surge of bravery or something?”

Jungwon playfully shrugs, a gleam dancing in his eyes as he speaks. “I don’t know. I just felt like doing it. A pretty lady deserves to be wooed like that.”

He pauses for a few moments as he searches for your eyes, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his own for a moment. “And you look really beautiful tonight, like a pretty bluebell. You always are.”

You instinctively conceal your emotions at the way his words and his gaze makes you feel, but Jungwon could faintly see the rosy color on your face betraying you, even under the luminescent mixed hues of the party lights.

“Thank you, really. You look dashing too, as always.” His lips curve into a lopsided grin, unable to deny to himself how your compliment made his heart flutter and feeling a bit of satisfaction for seeing his effect on you.

“This is...” he looks over to where your hands are intertwined and slightly loosens his grip on your waist. “This is fine, right? Tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

You laugh lightly and shake your head. “Yes, it’s fine, Jungwon. Thank you. And I really appreciate the concern but it’s a dance. Of course this is how it’s supposed to be.”

“Right,” he laughs as well and nods, his nerves gradually slipping as you both get comfortable with the position, naturally adjusting with the steps and moving closer together. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence envelopes the two of you for a while, only the music shifting to a slower, more romantic tempo and the chatter of other pairs dancing could be heard. And your fits of silent giggles in between that lightened the mood.

You’ve both acknowledged each other’s beauty outwardly before, so casually at that with the words carved into your minds now. And yet at this moment, something else seemingly sparks a new-found admiration from you two.

Under the blue and purple hues of the party lights bathing the dance floor, your faces seemed to take on an almost iridescent sheen, the lights casting an ethereal glow and softening your features.

It felt as if you were lost in the moment as your bodies moved in harmony and held each other’s gaze, the awkwardness now gone and replaced with a sense of fondness and connection that embraced the two of you.

You think to yourself that Jungwon has never been prettier in your eyes than in this moment. The lights just enhanced his beauty by tenfold, and you couldn’t help but seriously think that he was like Aphrodite’s son that came to life.

Meanwhile, he thinks to himself that he must be crazy for feeling so infatuated right now as he took in your beauty and how nice it felt to hold you so intimately. It’s just Y/N. The pretty, smart, and kind girl you’re now friends with after years of productive rivalry.

But his internal monologue seems to hit him right in the face as he comes to accept a realization that he had been avoiding for some time now. Jungwon tried to think of any other reason for the past few months at why he was feeling this way towards you.

Surely, he’s just delighted that the two of you finally settled in peace after so long, right? And he enjoys spending time with you...so much, that when you’re not there, he thinks of you. Misses you, even.

God, that sounded so weird. He felt like a silly lovestruck teenager about the whole thing—and indeed he was. But the more he thought about these strange, although not unpleasant emotions, it felt like he was falling deeper into this maze that he had created himself.

Falling. That was it. Was he falling for you?

If it meant enjoying every moment you spent together, wanting to be affectionate and caring to you, missing your presence everytime, finding you the most beautiful person in the room even if you were surrounded with a myriad of artworks, and wanting to learn about, from, and with you—was this falling?

He liked you. More than he’d want to admit. And even if it didn’t make sense to him for now.

Maybe this was the right time to tell you how he feels. He didn’t even need an answer from you, despite the slight fear that lingered at the back of his mind that you’d start treating him differently after this.

“Y/N,” he softly calls out your name, his voice almost mixing in with the slow music.

You response with a hum and he gently guided your intertwined hand up to his shoulder, your hands now resting comfortably on both of his shoulders. His hands followed suit, palms now settling on your waist and drawing you just a little closer to him.

The gesture sends another wave of blush on your face and Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, a flicker of amusement and affection in his eyes.

He clears his throat and holds you firmly, his gaze unwavering. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m really glad we’re friends now. I hope it doesn’t sound cheesy.”

You both laugh a little and he continues, “but I truly enjoy spending time with you. I’ve found you more likeable and admirable than I expected, and I don’t think I will ever get tired of you.”

He pauses for a few beats as he searches your eyes, as if to let the sincerity of his words sink in for a moment before he speaks again.

“If only I knew, I wish I took the initiative to explain myself back then. I couldn’t believe it took us this long to be close, but I’m glad it happened anyway.”

A smile graces your lips at his admission and he mirrors the warm expression on your face. “I can’t believe it either. But I suppose it’s better late than never, isn’t it?”

Another round of laughter bubbles up from the two of you and he nods, then you speak up again. “I feel the same. I’m really happy that we’re friends. I feel like we understand each other so well, in a way that no one else does.”

His face was illuminated with a radiant smile, reflecting the warmth blooming in his heart. But your words struck him harder than he was expecting, and for a moment, he feels a little selfish of wanting to ask you for a chance to be more than just friends.

His gaze darts across your features and he inhales deeply, bracing himself for the deeper part of his confession, pushing all his nervousness aside if it meant being honest with you about his feelings.

“Y/N, actually I—”

Just as you leaned closer to hear his gentle voice, a shout erupts in the distance, breaking the intimate moment between the two of you.

“President!” You quickly recognize one of the council members and even some students turned their head around, curious as to what had gotten him panting and sprinting towards the boy in front of you.

Jungwon kept his hold on you as he faced the guy, trying to keep his frustration at bay. “What is it?”

The student’s gaze flits between the two of you and he flashes an apologetic smile as he speaks. “Look, I’m really sorry to interrupt,” he turns to Jungwon, his face shifting into a troubled and almost desperate look, “but we have a problem at the E7 area. We tried to organize the...”

Jungwon tried his best to pay attention to his words but they only seemed to fade from his hearing, his thoughts filled with worries of whether he’d still be able to spend some personal time with you tonight. He reluctantly pulls his hands away from your waist, quickly erasing the sulky pout that formed on his lips.

He knew he had duties to attend to as the student council president, and he couldn’t just ignore his responsibility even though he badly wanted to just run away with you.

Once the student was done talking, he sighs deeply and turns to you, a mixture of apology and yearning swimming in his eyes. Even without words, you could already sense how he feels and what he would probably tell you, “Y/N, I’m really sorry...”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” You internally laughed at the words that came out of his mouth and gave him a kind smile instead. “I...I promise I’ll make it up to you. As soon as I can.”

You quickly nodded, trying to reassure him that it was no big deal even though you were just as disappointed. But before he could finally turn around, you spoke without thinking much of it.

“I can go with you, if you want.”

His brows arch up in surprise, and he couldn’t even hide the hopefulness he felt as he eagerly replied. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You nodded once more. “I’ll help you.” You gently slipped your hand into his, unaware of how his heart practically leaped with happiness as you gestured the council member to lead the way.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

The rest of the night was spent with you tagging along with Jungwon to help with his president duties, the council members recognizing you either as his friend or rival, while others unashamedly gossiped among themselves (or even directly asked you) that you were rumored to be dating.

It’s not like you minded whatever they thought, you were simply there to help. So you politely clarified every time, yet your heart skipped a beat at the thought of dating the president.

Jungwon on the other hand felt like he was about to combust whenever he was mistaken as your boyfriend, whether it was an implicit or explicit remark. God, how he wished it was true.

And although he was always quick to deny (much to his dismay) and reminded others to not get sidetracked, they all noticed the pinkish glow across his ears and face, betraying his attempt at nonchalance.

From time to time, you two were pulled by your friends on the dance floor for a few minutes (where Jungwon wishes it was just the two of you dancing instead), with Riki even getting into dance battles with other students and Sunoo making sure that everything was caught on camera.

Despite the interruption that had frustrated him through the roof, Jungwon was more than happy to have you by his side the entire night, always ready with a helping hand, engaging in light-hearted conversations, or simply reassure him that everything’s fine and he’s doing a good job.

Perhaps, what mattered was that you two were able to spend time with each other, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned for the night.

He’d go as far as to say that it might have been more enjoyable than just slow dancing with you, to walk around the venue and ensure that things were smooth sailing.

It was what led him to realize that maybe he should just let this go on for a little longer and see where it goes, before he finally confesses to you.

He was certain that he had a lot of time for it. After all, he was Yang Jungwon, a council and academic leader. Time management was something he had already grown accustomed to in order to be where he is now.

If it’s really meant to happen, then there would be no need to rush. As long as the two of you were comfortable in each other’s presence, growing and learning together—everything was alright. Time wouldn’t be a problem.

yeonjun - boyfriend 𓇗 wang jun qi - i like you so much you’ll know it

Jungwon thinks the universe must have decided to play a joke on him. He planned to wait for at least a few days after the dance to give you a proper confession, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and just the two of you somewhere private and romantic.

But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and you both found yourself occupied with school works and preparations for graduating, leaving you with little to no time at all to share a personal moment again since the school dance. Or at least not in the way that he was expecting.

School breaks were mostly spent on studying and preparing for college applications, and on the few occasions that you found yourselves in the same place, whether your friends were there or not, things just didn’t work out.

Jungwon would often find himself second guessing his plans and eventually gives it up, afraid of jeopardizing the friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

During the rare moments when he finally builds up the courage to just spill his heart out, something absurd conveniently interrupts and breaks down his hopes to tell you how he feels.

Like that one time Riki scared you all to death when he choked on his bungeoppang, or maybe when Liz freaked out because some firecrackers went off nearby.

He often thinks back to the school dance, blaming it as the start of this curse against him. He could only accept the unfortunate circumstances that pops up everytime against his will, though he couldn’t help but think it must be fate’s way to protect him from a possible rejection.

He had even started writing a diary which were just mostly filled with thoughts about you. He knew he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it if he confides about the struggles of his romantic life to Riki and Sunoo.

One thing that he held on to was that he was certain there wasn’t anyone that you liked. That, at least assured him. But he felt a little guilty at being relieved of it.

He knows you deserve to be loved and taken care of, but he wanted to be the person to do that. And yet, how would that wish come to life when everything seems to stop him from getting his message across to you?

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen, he often thinks. 

In reality, it wasn’t like the both of you had actually parted ways. If anything, the connection between the two of you only grew. It was with the seemingly mundane and casual tasks of your school life that your bond had deepened, unknowingly realizing that you were becoming more fond and comfortable with one another.

You would often study together, eat lunch anywhere, help each other with schoolwork, and even running errands. Classes and hallway encounters were filled with smiles, shared glances, ordinary questions, or a few playful jabs at one another.

On bus rides, you would often give up the window seat (which you both liked), much to Jungwon’s surprise and confusion. But truthfully, you didn’t mind if it was him. Sometimes, you would fall asleep on his shoulder, then he would drape his hoodie or jacket over your thighs to keep you warm.

Other times, it would be him that falls asleep on you in the library when he’s gotten too tired of studying and reviewing his council tasks, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder as you kept busy with your own work.

You also had occasional bike (dates) rides by the river where your conversation would range from your dreams in the future to alien theories. Then you would sit together on a blanket laid on the grass while eating convenience store food, and even then, Jungwon couldn’t bring himself to finally do it.

Spending time with you and getting to know each other better mattered more to him than to break the moment just to confess his deepest feelings to you.

And whenever you didn’t have much time to meet inside or outside of school, you would check on one another over chat or phone calls, which had become a normal part of your routine. You were now a part of each other’s everyday lives.

It nagged at Jungwon whether you felt the same way that he did. He didn’t want to lose the friendship he had formed with you. It was special. But he wasn’t sure either if he could contain his feelings any longer.

Unbeknownst to him, you were having an internal crisis yourself. As you sat by your study desk one afternoon, you found yourself slumping against the table, the exhaustion from studies and your thoughts about the cat-eyed boy mixing together.

And speaking of cat...

“Meow.”

Chloe suddenly climbs onto your desk, walking all over the scattered papers before she settles on one spot. You place your arms on the table and rested your chin on it, the company of the feline creature offering a momentary distraction and relief from the whirlwind of emotions in you.

Just then, she whips her head around as you start to pet her, and there it was—the eyes that always reminded you of someone. You grunt and slam your forehead on the table. Why is he everywhere even when you’re trying not to think of him?

As you lift your head up again, the sight of Chloe brings you back to the day you met her. You visited a cat café with a friend, having no expectations at all, considering you weren’t really a cat person, and the thought of adopting one hasn’t even crossed your mind once.

However, as you were approached by the seal-point colored creature at one corner of the café, something stirred in you. Chloe was really cute. Maybe even the most adorable cat you’ve ever met in your whole life.

It’s like you were struck with such undeniable beauty, like that day you first saw Jungwon at the school festival. A ridiculous thought, but it was the closest you could compare the experience to.

You found yourself enjoying the day as you played with Chloe who seemed to be having fun in your company too. The staff had informed you that she was from a shelter and has only been at the café for a few weeks, but they haven’t seen her be so attached to someone like she was with you, especially within such a short amount of time.

As your visit drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a slight heaviness to your heart at the thought of having to leave the cat behind. You knew it was well taken care of at the café, but a nagging feeling just gnawed at you like...you wanted to bring it home with you.

...home?

You almost couldn’t believe your own thoughts at first, but it truly didn’t feel right to not see Chloe again, or specifically to not have her with you.

Damn. Is this what they call the cat distribution system or whatever that running joke is?

Chloe seemed to have sensed your internal conflict, and as if to weigh on your mental debate even more, she clings to you for the remaining hour of your time.

That’s it. This cat just chose me. You made your decision right then and there. You were going to come back to this café and bring her home soon.

Soon was, well, a few weeks or so, with the meticulous process that the adopting took and doing your own part as well by preparing a space in the house for Chloe and everything that she was going to need.

It wasn’t actually that long, but it felt like forever to you. Though by the time she finally stepped foot into your home, it was all worth it. You were determined to treat this creature as your kin, and shower her with all the love and affection you could ever give.

Still, beyond all of the joys (and frustrations) of having a new member in the family, a small part of you questioned yourself: you didn’t even like cats, or any pet for that matter.

So why have you decided to take her in? She’s very cute and fluffy, and she needed to be taken care of. That’s it. You kept on convincing yourself that it was the only reason. Everybody gives in to their cuteness aggression once in a while, right?

But deep down, you knew that somehow, this cat reminded you of...the very person you claimed you used to dislike—Jungwon.

Of course, you liked Chloe just as she was. Not because she reminds you of the boy. But you could barely accept the thought that dawned on you ever since Jungwon first visited your house.

Her loveliness wasn’t just the prelude for you to take her home and treat her as your child. It was also because no matter how you looked at her, well especially into her eyes, it’s like you were seeing him.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you slowly sink into a moment of clarity. Sure, you didn’t know what love was yet, at least not romantically. But at that moment, it’s as if things fell into place.

You realized how happy you were with him, how everything feels easy and natural when he’s around, how you found yourself craving his presence all the time, admiring everything that there is to him, flaws and all, and wanting to take care of him—more than just a friend.

Jungwon was everywhere whether you liked it or not, even at times where you didn’t realize it. In your thoughts, your dreams, your diary entries, in every romantic song you’d listen to, and literally everywhere that you’d see the color blue and orange.

He was in the stars that lit up the night sky, the moon that illuminated the clouds in the vast darkness, and in the eyes of every cat that you’d see.

Maybe, no—there was no doubt to it anymore, you liked Yang Jungwon.

Your eyes land on the small calendar on your table and an idea pops into your mind. The school festival. With a new-found determination, you begin to clear up your things on the table to make some space for craft materials.

If you were going to confess to Jungwon, it had to be something proper but classic. A letter. You had lost count of just how many sheets of paper you had already used up by perfecting your handwriting and revising your message so many times, and even during dinner your mind was occupied with all of the things you wanted to tell him.

You poured your heart out into the letter, from every word written inside to the way it was folded and how it looked outside, everything had to be real good. After all, this wasn’t just any simple letter that you usually gave your friends.

It was a letter of confession to your former rival—a friend that you had grown to love more than you realized, and you had to let him know just how much you cared about him. Even when there’s a chance that he didn’t feel the same.

Or so you thought.

jimin - serendipity (full length) 𓇗 &team - firework 𓇗 zhang yi hao - forever star

Time, it seemed, had flown by and then it was February. Jungwon’s birth month. He had always looked forward to it, every day a step closer to graduation and to celebrate another year of his life.

But now, he couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of dread as the school year inched to a close, yet his feelings remained untold. He wasn’t even sure if you felt the same but regardless, he wanted to be honest with you about how he feels.

Truthfully, Jungwon didn’t even care anymore if it turns out you were going to different universities. He had already imagined all sorts of scenarios.

Travelling to your school, making time in between hectic schedules, late nights filled with talking over the phone, sending you flowers every now and then, making prep meals to keep at your dorm—he had it all visualized already. Sometimes he felt a bit too optimistic at the thought, and his diary was a witness to all his near-Shakespearean complaints.

Then came the opportunity for confessing. The long-awaited school festival. Jungwon knows he might be stuck with his duties again, but it was also a good time to open his heart to you. A vibrant environment, a vast selection of foods and places to go to, countless things to experience, and a fireworks display at night? It couldn’t have been any better.

On the night before the festival, he was thankful that the preparations had drained him so much that he practically plopped onto his bed, or else he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep with how giddy he was feeling for the next day.

Before he fell into a deep slumber that evening, his eyes were set on the window where the frigid breeze of the snowfall seeped in through his windows that made him pull up the covers even more, a stark contrast to how he suffered under the heat of the sun earlier that day and soaked his handkerchief with sweat.

A subtle smile played on his lips as he finally closed his eyes, having only one thing in his mind—unlike the volatile weather that February, his feelings were now certain, and he was determined to tell you everything.

The following day, you could barely contain your anticipation for the festival, evident with how your group chat was already buzzing with endless messages in the morning. Excited must’ve been an understatement, especially when you arrived by the school gates and met the others.

The whole place was bustling with activities and lively chatter from the crowd, the colors, sounds, and aromas from everywhere all mixing in your senses and overwhelming you in a good way.

You prepared a bit more than usual and brought a point-and-shoot camera with you, determined to make the most out of your last school festival as a high schooler.

As it always happened with school events, Jungwon would briefly meet the five of you for a quick chat before he got pulled back to his president duties, with him now openly protesting at the tasks.

Although for most of the day, you were actually a complete team. Travelling from booths to stalls, various displays and games, and watching outstanding performances from fellow students.

Jungwon’s schedule wasn’t as hectic as usual, but every now and then, he would still have to excuse himself or begrudgingly be pulled aside to look over some events and ensure that everything was running smoothly. He would roll his eyes almost everytime, complaining as to why the council and other departments always needed him.

He just wanted to happily spend the whole day with his friends especially with you, uninterrupted. To hell with duties, he thought. He had never been frustrated of his position until he became friends with you.

But a small part of him had to admit that he liked it when you saw how diligent he was as the president. Your constant praise would make him feel a bit too proud inside, and he’d always try to hide the shy smile on his face. It somehow made up for his frustrations.

The longest he had been away was for an hour, near sunset, when he was asked to check on stage preparations for the performances later. Reluctantly, you had to move forward and leave him be, although Jungwon wished he could just stop everything and be with you.

You were all having too much fun that you had almost forgotten what you prepared for that day. It was only during nightfall when the first faint stars glimmered in the darkness and the air becoming cool and crisp that you had remembered it.

All the relaxation that you felt from idly walking around during sunset was now replaced with a rush of adrenaline again, the pressure of a time crunch falling with your anticipation and nerves.

You told your friends that you were just going to look for a certain someone and to call each other when needed, setting a specific spot for all of you to meet later.

They were all quick to agree as they already had plans in mind, and well, maybe because they knew who exactly you were going to find. It was a fast and unspoken conversation just with their shared glances that this might finally be a chance for the two of you.

So as they went off to the vast oval field, with Sunoo and Riki even bickering what area they should go to next, you headed off to nowhere, with literally no specific destination in mind as you just walked around the frustratingly massive school grounds, your heart skipping a beat every time you’d think that it was finally him that you saw.

But what was this mission of yours anyway? It was simple and so well-thought-out. You had the letter for Jungwon that you made about a week ago, tucked safely inside your jacket. You didn’t know until when you could keep on waiting to have an alone time with him, but you also had to do it when the day was coming to an end already, so you needed to find him now.

And what was the plan? Again, simple. Give the letter to Jungwon then run away, since you didn’t want to see how he would react. Yes, a really good plan. Because that’s what brave people do when they confess.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous at the whole thing. Your thoughts were racing a mile per minute and it didn’t seem like the surge of adrenaline in your system would go down anytime soon. You didn’t even know where you were going anymore. You just needed to find him, see him.

At the same time that you roamed through the crowd, Jungwon was also looking for you. He had a serious plan of his own, and he wasn’t going to have it fail this time. At around 4:30 in the afternoon, Jungwon went out of the school to pick up a bouquet of tulips and baby’s breath that he ordered a few days ago, frantically trying not to bump into any of his friends when he came back, especially you, lest the blooms in his hands would certainly be questioned.

So he left the flowers by his desk at the student council office, carefully hidden from anyone’s sight and any possible danger, that he will only retrieve when he finally has you somewhere private and undisturbed.

As he wove through the busy crowd, he went on a rundown of his plan. He would give you the bouquet, declare his heartfelt confession, and...well, wait for how you would react.

He could practically feel his senses on alert for any hint of you, his system now running on a mix of agitation and excitement, powered by the magic of a strawberry Yakult earlier that he hoped would calm his nerves.

Meanwhile just meters away, you stopped in your tracks to take a breather, your mind filled with worries and doubts for what could possibly happen next. The air felt charged with so much liveliness from the bustling crowd, the aroma of sweet cotton candies nearby doing very little to put you out of your current dilemma.

You stood there, looking like a lost child as your gaze travelled around for a few seconds before momentarily lowering your head, eyes cast down with a small frown. Maybe you should just give up on it. Maybe this was all a stupid idea. Confessing to your friend, really? To Yang Jungwon?

It was at that moment that Jungwon finally sees you amidst the sea of people, your motionless figure standing out from the tide of students flowing towards their destinations. He immediately feels a pang of worry and wonders why you’re alone, yet he couldn’t help but think if you were also looking for him.

You take a few deep breaths, deciding that consequences could come later, and all that matters now is to do this when you’re still running on a surge of adrenaline. You clench your hands, raising them to your shoulder level as you inwardly cheer yourself up, mouthing encouraging words.

The sight brings a faint smile to Jungwon’s face, just like it always has since you were in 8th grade. From the hallways, cafeteria, lockers, debate meetings—anywhere that he could see you at school, even when simply passing by your room.

He would look at you whenever he has the chance, with you being blissfully unaware of his lingering stares and almost lovesick smiles. He didn’t know back then why he was inexplicably drawn to you, even when you ardently debated with him.

But now he understands.

And as if the universe conspired at that moment, you looked around again with a determined gaze, until your eyes fell onto a set of bright boba eyes, staring right back at you.

The eye contact brings a soft smile to your faces, like it always did whenever you two would exchange a glance. Seeing him wearing his student council shirt making him a conspicuous presence in the crowd brings you back to the moment you first saw him at that booth in 8th grade, only that you two had now grown up in different ways, and had come to understand each other.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you walked towards one another, each step making your hearts pound even more in anticipation, the world seemingly fading into an animated backdrop as you met halfway.

Jungwon couldn’t stop the growing smile on his face as you both finally came to a halt, gacing each other, his radiant expression mirroring yours and the growing warmth in your hearts.

“Hi,” Jungwon breathes out, trying to relax his racing heartbeat. “Why are you alone? Where are the others?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh...” he smiles softly. “I was looking for you too.”

You laugh together, instantly falling into a light conversation and letting each other know what you did and had missed out on when you were apart.

Jungwon was just waiting for your little chat to end before he would ask you to go with him, whereas you were looking for the right opportunity to give him the letter and run.

So as soon as a brief pause took over your conversation, Jungwon mustered up the courage to finally ask you, feeling as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

“Y/N, can we—”

“Jungwon, there you are!”

What the...? You both turned to look at where the voice came from, and Jungwon internally groaned upon seeing a student who wore the same shirt as him.

He had desperately wished that it was nothing related to his duties, but that sliver of hope was shattered as soon as the council member spoke.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere! The kids from the music department was asking if you could—”

No. Jungwon couldn’t help but internally panic. Just when he finally got the chance, and now you’re slipping from his hands again?

No way.

He quickly made up his mind and grabbed your hand before you could even register what was happening.

“Sorry, I’ll meet you later!”

In the blink of an eye, you were now running away from the poor council member who was taken by surprise at the president’s actions, and you couldn’t help but shout a quick sorry too.

“Yang Jungwon, where are we going?!”

He laughs loudly. “I don’t know!”

One moment you were casually talking to him, and the next you let him drag you and run off to nowhere. Now you were both laughing your hearts out, the sound mixing with the sudden booms and whistles that echoed across the sky.

You two looked up to see fireworks erupting overhead, painting the velvet evening sky with streaks of vibrant colors, serving as an enticing feast for your eyes.

Each burst of the chromatic sparks was like a blooming flower, its petals going down into a rainfall of shooting stars. The night sky ephemerally turned into a garden filled with luminescent floras.

With your hands still clasped together as you raced through the crowd, Jungwon looked back at you with a bright smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with delight, spilling endless words of amazement.

You mirrored the joy on his face as you smiled back, the colorful flames not only lighting up your path but also the utter happiness in your expressions.

The whole scene felt cinematic, its beauty making the night feel magical, a sense that anything was possible, but it also gave you a touch of melancholy.

You didn’t know what the future held for you and the boy who held your hand right now, but at this moment, you could only wish that this was how it was always going to be with him—to bask in the feeling of freedom, hope, and happiness.

Jungwon thinks so too. As your hands remained intertwined in the seemingly endless chase, he felt that this was where he is free, where he belongs. With you. And he knows he won’t ever be able to let you go now, more than friends or not.

Eventually, the running had to come to an end as you felt like your legs were about to give up on you. The two of you stopped at a secluded area in the school grounds, the number of students now barely existent in the quiet clearing.

You immediately approached a tree nearby and rested your back on its trunk, with Jungwon following closely behind, his laughter making your heart soar. The explosions in the sky had gradually vanished, the smell of gunpowder now lingering in the air.

As you leaned against the tree with your ponytail a bit loose from all the running, laughing breathlessly with a radiant smile, and a gentle breeze rustling some petals to fall around you—Jungwon thinks you couldn’t have been any prettier.

As a matter of fact, the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

And there it was again, the familiar flutter in his heart whenever he’s with you. The somersaults that his stomach was having whenever he’d hear your laugh or see that wide smile on your face.

And he realizes, now is the time.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before approaching you, his voice turning soft and a little nervous as he calls your name.

“Y/N.”

You turn to meet his gaze, your laughter fading as you recognized that certain tone in his voice. The one he always uses when he has something important or serious to tell you.

You push yourself off the tree and walk towards him, trying to appear casual despite being just as nervous as him as you anticipated whatever he was going to say.

He looks down for a moment before his eyes return to you, gulping nervously when he tried to compose himself, yet the tenderness in his voice had betrayed him.

“Can I...can I hold your hand?”

“Sure,” you quickly agreed and he slowly reached his hand out to take yours, inwardly cursing himself as he noticed that it was slightly shaking.

It didn’t escape your senses too and so you gently squeezed his hand, silently reassuring him that it will be alright. You could see the nervousness in his eyes, but he pushes through it.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while now...but I didn't want to ruin things and I was scared of what you’d think...but now, I don’t think I could keep it in any longer.”

Yang Jungwon barely kept a secret from you, aside from these brewing feelings. So hearing these words from him right now, your anxiousness and anticipation reach an all-time high.

You tried to think of all possible things, though there was one that stood out, and you couldn’t help but feel a little stupid for being hopeful. It was hard not to when the boy was looking at you so delicately and his hand seemingly held onto yours for dear life.

Jungwon panics inside as soon as he realizes that his little rehearsals in front of the mirror went to waste, every single word that he practically carved into his mind now gone out of the window. In this moment, blown by the gentle breeze of the night, perhaps.

But your touch grounds him to reality, and he knows that nothing would change whether he would profess practiced words or not—he had fallen for you, hard, and the way to declare that now was simply to listen to what his heart says.

“Y/N, I really admire you. You know that, right? But there’s more than just that.”

He takes a deep breath. This is it, Jungwon. No more hiding.

“I’m captivated by your kindness and strength. I really look up to your intelligence and courage. I-I think highly of you, you know? You’re very understanding and I really appreciate you. You matter a lot to me.”

“And you’re really beautiful, inside and out.” His voice quiets down for a moment, and he helplessly smiles. “I just...adore you.”

“You deserve more than just this, whatever this is that I’m doing, I...I actually bought you some flowers but I left them at the office and I can’t go back now because the travel from here to there would give me the misfortune of running into the council again—”

You silently break out into laughter at his exasperation, evident from how the words came out of his mouth without a pause. Jungwon takes a break to laugh with you, a shy smile accompanying the rosy pink that delicately painted his cheeks.

But after a few moments, his laughter fades into another deep inhale, his expression shifting to something more earnest, and maybe even a little anxious.

“Y/N...I’m really, scared, of losing our friendship, but I can’t keep this hidden anymore.”

A short pause hangs in the air that makes you tighten your hold on his hand ever so slightly, and Jungwon takes a moment to admire you before letting his heart speak once more.

“The truth is, I’m not sure if this is love, but it feels special, and I think there’s potential for something real, something else between us. If you would have me, I’d take care of you, and I want—I’ll strive to be worthy of and earn your affection.”

You reflect the mellow expression on his face and it echoes the fondness swirling in your heart, your mind now rid of any thoughts, save for the words of the cat-eyed boy holding your hand.

“You don’t have to feel anything for me, I just couldn’t keep it in any longer and I had to tell you.”

He gulps thickly, and the hopefulness in his voice makes you want to just pull him into a gentle embrace, to assure him that his feelings weren’t unrequited.

“But if you would, if you would...give me, us, the chance, maybe...” he searches your eyes, as if looking for comfort in them. “...maybe we could be more than just friends.”

Jungwon feels like he’d just ran out of air after finally laying bare his heart, but as you only stared at him with a stunned expression, it’s almost like he had to hold his breath and desperately wait for what you would do next.

His gaze darts across your features, analyzing every little shift in your expression and overthinking the words that left his mouth.

Was he too direct? Was it not heartfelt enough? Could he have said something wrong? Do you feel awkward at him now? Would you push him away? This was it. He was going to lose you, this friendship, and—

“Jungwon.”

His eyes draw up to meet your gaze, and you feel a pang of worry at how vulnerable he looks right now, so you kindly smile at him.

“Thank you.”

He blinks one, two, three times, and it’s like you knocked the air out of him again. “Wh-what?”

You warmly smile at him, patting the back of his hand. “Thank you for telling me how you felt.”

It was true. Despite your initial surprise, you had the feeling that it must’ve taken a lot of courage for him to say those things, and that he was just as nervous as you.

However, your words don’t fully reassure Jungwon, even as he breathes a sigh of relief. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes as his gaze travels across your face, and he stays silent, waiting for you to say more.

Just then, he sees that familiar glint in your eyes and the subtle smile on your lips—a telltale sign that you were definitely not going to respond in a way that he would expect, or at least be prepared for. And Jungwon doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or anxious by it.

“Is this your way of telling me that you want us to be ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’?”

He closes his eyes with a silent laugh, almost in disbelief at how playful your tone was, considering the soulful confession he had just made. He feels as though his heart was bursting with happiness right now at the implication of your words. So when his eyes stare right into yours again, he takes a few seconds before he speaks with a fond smile.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t care about any names, Y/N. All I want is a chance from you.” He takes a step closer, and you weren’t sure if you were just imagining it, but his gaze seemed to have softened.

“Any names, any chances, I’d take it. I wouldn’t mind taking it slow and wait for you. But all of it, only...”

Only what...?

To your surprise, he slightly leans down and lifts your hand up to meet his face. Then it happened before you could even think about what he was going to do. His lips found its way to the back of your hand, his touch just as gentle and reverent as when he had done it before.

But this time, Jungwon doesn’t open his eyes to meet yours, not even to woo or sweep you off your feet. Instead, his lips linger on your skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s taking all his time to let you know how sincere he was about his feelings.

And when he finally straightens up again, you could feel your heart skip a beat at the look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, his voice the softest you’ve ever heard from him.

“...only if you say yes.”

So, it seemed like Prince Charming from that third Cinderella film was right. At this moment, the stars were shining brighter tonight—all because of the person you adored.

Perhaps, this was love, with Yang Jungwon.

You smiled at him before you looked away and reached for the letter inside your jacket. Jungwon is confused at first, and he feels as if he was now caught in a whirlwind of falling petals as you handed him the envelope.

“I...I was about to give you that tonight, and let you know how I feel.”

His eyes moved from the letter in his hands and to your eyes, and he thinks to himself that he would’ve completely melted by now if it weren’t for your hand holding his.

Then just as he thinks of your touch, you bring the top of his hand to meet your lips in a quick yet soft kiss without tearing your gaze away from him. His breath catches in his throat, but it doesn’t feel suffocating. He feels as if he’s being embraced gently by your warmth.

“But I’m here now, and that’s what matters,” you add with a smile, and Jungwon feels like his knees would’ve buckled if he didn’t try to remain composed.

“You don’t have to earn my affection. You already have my heart with you—I like you a lot, Yang Jungwon.”

The thumping of his heart echoes even louder in his ears, and his face lights up with a gentle smile, one that makes you feel that it’s a smile you’d want to protect for the rest of your life.

You only stare at each other for a moment, holding a meaningful gaze that spoke volumes of how you saw each other now. With a sense of understanding and appreciation that enveloped your hearts, that this was where you felt safe and belonged to.

The joy and contentment in your faces were illuminated once the second wave of fireworks burst in the sky, the spectrum of colors and patterns reflecting in your irises, as if further igniting the spark between you two and turning them into a waterfall of dazzling flames.

You both turned to look up at the same time, admiring the beautiful array of brilliant rubies, cupid pink arrows, blazing embers of a hearth, golden rays, electric blue, and aquamarine waves—each luminary streak falling down in drops of star dust, mirroring the sparkle of warmth in your hearts.

Jungwon lightly tugged your hand to pull you closer beside him, your gazes still fixed on the magic of the dancing lights above as your shoulders brushed against one another. He intertwines your fingers and traced his thumb at the back of your hand, the small gesture conveying his affection for you.

A moment of quiet intimacy falls upon the two of you, but the warmth and comfort you found in each other’s presence was enough proof of how your brewing emotions had now turned on a new page, with the pirouette of fireworks and star-lit sky bearing witness to the whole scene.

And as you stood side-by-side with your former rival, student council president, and good friend Yang Jungwon, maybe even your lover now—you know that there wouldn’t be any other answer to him than yes.

© 2025 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲𝐞𝐭 on [tumblr].

all rights reserved. do not plagiarize or injang (and maeum) is coming to get you.

💌 : you’ve made it here? thank you so much for reading! get yourself some blueberry cheesecake 🥰

[strangerstilinski]

𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

summary: steve is plagued by bad dreams. one night, he needs a little help finding his way back. [3.8k]

content warnings: roommate!steve, hurt/comfort, night terrors/ptsd, panic attack?, copious amounts of pining, could actually be either canon compliant or au depending on how you want to interpret his nightmares, this was mostly just an excuse to write sad cuddles with stevie

a/n: no, this most certainly has not been sitting in my drafts for the last 9 months. what are you talking ab-? ok, yeah, it definitely has. but i finally got my shit together! everybody cheer! [p.s. mar ily to the actual ends of the earth thank u for proofing this for me]

as always, please reblog if you enjoy! xx (if you're feelin really crazy, you could even say smth nice)

dividers by @strangergraphics

It's a knock against your bedroom door that wakes you. A quiet rap of knuckles on wood so soft that you nearly fall back asleep after convincing yourself you must've dreamt the noise entirely— until it sounds again.

A soft grumble of confusion escapes you as you push your weight onto your forearm to sit up in bed, using the knuckles of one hand to rub sleep from your eyes and squinting toward your bedroom door in confusion; fighting to focus the way that the faint light coming in through your bedroom window illuminates the hallway through the crack in the door. The familiarity of the shadowy figure slowly solidifies under your hazy gaze.

“Steve?” You call out in question, voice a little hoarse from disuse.

“Yeah.”

His voice is quiet on the other side of the door, the sound more of a breathy exhale than a word, really. You run your fingers through sleep-mussed hair as you try to focus on the clock on the bedside table. Your brain can barely comprehend the early hour, even as the clock clicks quietly, the last number flipping as one minute gives way to the next. It takes a few seconds, but your eyes begin to adjust to the dark rather quickly and it's with newly awakened attention that you turn toward the door again.

“You can come in.” You call out softly, your words slightly less scratchy with sleep now that your drowsiness has begun to bleed away and the quiet night around you comes more and more into focus.

The door creaks open a little further after a moment and you find Steve there in the dark. His chest is heaving, his lungs expanding and deflating rapidly beneath his ribs. The sound of his quick breaths is loud in the silence, bare feet shuffling against the hardwood in the hallway as he continues to stand just outside the door.

You wait, but he makes no move to enter. He looks so meek like this. His sharper edges have been softened and shrunken by the weight of his anxiety. The threadbare tshirt that's stretched across his shoulders hangs loose around his neck. You can see the crooked line of scattered moles you love so much decorating the line of his throat and eventually disappearing beneath the fabric, though the cotton sags enough to reveal a bit of the hair below his collarbones.

It all makes him appear smaller, somehow. Like a man so much younger than he is. Like a boy standing in the dark outside of his parent's bedroom, patiently awaiting comfort.

“Sorry. For wakin' you up.” Steve manages quietly, his words clipped.

The full-blown panic attack he'd been on the brink of moments before in the privacy of his own bedroom had receded, but just barely. The world around him still shifted in and out of focus, a buzzing sort of white noise filling his ears like cotton.

He glances up at you— Where you've pushed up onto your elbow to squint at him in the dark, your face baring the faint imprint of creases from your pillowcase. Steve spares a fleeting thought to how lovely you look like this, sleep-induced wrinkles on your cheeks and heavy lidded eyes. But he's only granted a moment to admire the sight before the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears forces his gaze to drop to the floorboards again.

With difficulty, he swallows past the lump lodged in his throat, pinching his eyes shut for a moment when a discarded pair of jeans on your bedroom floor look just a bit too much like a thick, crawling vine making its way toward him in the dark.

“No! No, it's okay,” You're reassuring him in a rush, “What's wrong?”

“I, uh.. I-I need your help.” His admission comes out a little like it causes him physical pain to say it out loud. His fingers shake as they comb through the sweaty hair that's flopped down over his forehead in sleep, pushing it back from his face, though a few stubborn strands immediately break free and curl over his brow again.

“Okay,” You readjust yourself on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit up a little straighter, crossing your legs beneath the blankets while you watch him in confusion, “Y'can come in.” You repeat softly.

“I just-” Steve pants, voice hoarse with the way his labored breaths have dried out his throat, “I-”

“Steve?” Your skin has begun to prickle with that itch that tells you something isn't right, but lingering drowsiness fogs your brain just enough that the severity of it hasn't quite sunken in.

His gaze flicks once again to the rumpled pile of denim on your bedroom floor, one pant-leg outstretched in his direction, and the longer he keeps his eyes trained on it, the more the shape of it melts into the dark vines from his nightmare. He blinks, just once, and he swears the thing fucking moves. He thinks it might be crawling its way across the scuffed floorboards, toward him-

Steve's panicked breathing picks up, and your own heart ticks a little faster with worry. You watch as Steve's hand meets the trim around your doorway, his long fingers curling tight around the wood as he tries to steady his wobbly legs.

He makes an awful sound, like he's suffocating. He's nearly gasping for air, choking on the words as he pushes them out, “I- I can't-”

The blankets that cover your lap have already been tossed haphazardly to the side as you stumble from the bed in a rush. You're reaching out for him even as your mind struggles to comprehend what's wrong — why it is that he seems to be panicking.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” You soothe as gently as you can manage, doing your best to push your own anxieties down to focus on the man in front of you. “Steve-”

His cheeks are warm beneath your palms as your hands find either side of his face, thumbs dragging soft over the apples of his cheeks while your fingertips tangle lightly in the tufts of hair that curl out from behind his ears. The ragged breaths rushing past his lips fall over your face when you guide his gaze up from the floor to meet your own, his dry lips parted and quivering with every exhale.

“It's okay, you're okay.” Your words don't come out nearly as firm as you want, one of your hands leaving his cheek to drag over his sweaty forehead. 

Your fingertips smooth over the furrowed line of his eyebrow before falling back to his cheek and finally settling over the column of his throat. His racing pulse thumps soft against your hand, a barely-there fluttering like a hummingbird's wings flapping beneath his skin.

Steve reaches up. His sweaty palm grips your wrist so tight it aches while his head tips a little farther into your touch. He lets out a shaky breath once he makes it just one small step through the doorway.

“What is it? What d'you need my help with?” You ask, voice a little airy with concern.

His chest continues to rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths, and with the help of the soft glow of the streetlight outside your window, you manage to catch the longing glance that he casts to the bed behind you. You're quick to guide him toward it, back peddling until you feel the cushion of the mattress against the backs of your thighs. You settle into the rumpled blankets again and tug at Steve's hand until he has little choice but to climb in after you.

“What is it? What's wrong?” You ask, words whisper-soft.

It takes a moment before his breathing has calmed enough for him to respond, the clock on the bedside table clicking quietly once more as one minute flips to the next, the sound of Steve's ragged inhales and shaky exhales drowning out the silence of the night.

“I, uh. God, it sounds so stupid now, but I-I had this dream,” Steve starts slowly. His trembling fingers prompt you to tighten your grip on the large hand still cradled in your own as he continues, “It was- Fuck, I just- It was a bad one and I-” A harsh breath is forced past his lips, “Feel like I'm still dreaming.. Even now, I feel like.. Like everything's about to flip on its side n' then the nightmare'll take over-”

Your heart cracks at the wobble in his voice, and you can't help but reach up to smooth some of the bedhead back from his face once again, “You're not, though. You're awake,” You promise softly, “You're with me, you're safe.”

“Well, to be fair, you'd probably say that in my dream too, though, right?” Steve points out with a weak laugh, muscles in his jaw tense as he gives a self-deprecating shake of his head.

The dim light pouring in from outside catches the sharp line of his jaw, casts a pretty glow over his long lashes when his downcast eyes focus on the mess of blankets surrounding the two of you. In any normal situation, you'd be ecstatic to have Steve in your bed. But tonight, in the presence of his distress, that elation is decidedly overcome by something more akin to sorrow.

“Yeah, I guess I probably would,” You laugh quietly, though it's a joyless sounding thing, “What can I do then? How can I help?”

“I dunno, I just- I.. Didn't wanna be alone, I guess.” His voice is quiet, embarrassed maybe, and it only makes that urge to pull him into your arms that much stronger.

“You never have to be alone.” You tell him. And you mean it.

“Right,” Steve nods once, adam's apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows, “Thanks.”

You want to help. God, you ache to help — but you have no idea where to start.

“How.. How do you usually bring yourself back after you wake up? When you are alone?”

“Sometimes I, uh, I count my fingers-” His voice is scratchy as he speaks.

He brings one of his hands in the narrow space between you with a small, playful waggle of his fingers. But both of your gazes fall to the slight tremble of his hand, and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“-I read somewhere once, 'm pretty sure, that if you're dreaming, the number of fingers? On your hand? It'll be off.” His words come out choppy, unsure. Like he's expecting you to misunderstand him.

“Off.. Like, you'll have twelve fingers or something?” You clarify carefully.

“More or less.” He shrugs like it doesn't mean much, but you know it does. “It's stupid. And I'm probably not even remembering it right-”

“It's not stupid,” You insist, continuing only a moment later when he only frowns in response, “You are not stupid, Steve Harrington.”

Steve laughs weakly, the sound dejected and harsh, “That's a first.” He jokes.

Now's not the time to get into it, not really, but his words make your stomach twist with a pained emotion you can't quite name. You find yourself needing to reassure him just once more, even if he might not believe you.

“I mean it.”

He doesn't respond to that, though his eyes shine a little at his waterline. The silence that follows feels heavy enough to smother you both. Another click sounds from your alarm clock, seemingly louder now, though you know its volume is the same as it always is.

“You.. Y're warm,” Steve whispers after a moment, tongue poking out to wet his dry lips before his eyes flick up to meet your own, “That helps, y'know? Because there's no warm or cold in.. in dreams.”

You squeeze his hand once before pushing up onto your knees and turning to prop a couple of pillows up against the headboard. You lean back into the cushion when you're done and urge him to lay with you with a small wave of your hand.

Steve only hesitates for a second before he follows your silent command, crawling forward as you fall back with a sense of familiarity. The two of you move a bit like there's a tether connecting you to one another. It's easy. Like it could just be a ordinary Thursday night, settling onto the sofa in the living room for the newest episode of Night Court. The simple normalcy of it has a shaky sigh tumbling past his lips when his head finally meets your chest, and he all-but melts into your side.

“How's this? Okay?” You ask cautiously. When Steve nods, lightly-stubbled cheek scraping against your shirt, you wrap an arm around him and take both of his hands into your smaller ones, “D'you wanna count with me?”

“Please.” Steve's response comes so quiet, so vulnerable.

You've never seen him like this. You're flooded with the overwhelming urge to protect him, to shield him away from every bad dream he's ever had, and every one that threatens to haunt him in the future. He avoids your gaze though his face is upturned toward your own, his chin dipped into his chest so he can focus on the way your joined hands fit together.

It's slow going. You fold Steve's fingers down one at a time, the two of you counting them off together beneath whispered breaths. 

He audibly sighs in relief when you finish his first hand with five fingers, and his breaths truly begin to even out as you carefully curl your palm around his knuckles and fold down finger number ten on his other hand. 

The moment you finish, Steve is grabbing one of your wrists in a gentle grip, his thumbs smoothing over your soft skin before he starts to count off the fingers on your hand as well, silently this time. He continues to calm, though it's a gradual thing. The once rapid heaving of his chest slows imperceptibly. His body relaxes more heavily into your own.

His whispered counting comes to a stop when he reaches your last finger, but he doesn't release you. You allow your free hand to card through his hair all the while, combing delicately through the silky strands, damp as they may be. Your fingertips rub over his scalp softly while he continues to toy with the fingers of your opposite hand.

“You okay?” You murmur in question after a few minutes have clicked by in the silence.

“Yeah.. Yeah, 'm fine.” Steve admits quietly, and he almost means it. He's comfortable here, in your arms — far more comfortable than he thinks he has any right to be. He narrows his eyes as he focuses determinedly on the smooth length of your fingers beneath his own, “Sorry. I just- I mean, Jesus Christ, 's fucking humiliating-”

“Would you.. Do you want to talk about the dream?” You interrupt carefully.

Steve doesn't say anything for a moment, and you're about to reassure him that doesn't need to tell you anything, but he speaks before you can.

“Usually, it's these.. Well, they're kinda bats.. But also not..?” He chuckles darkly, squeezing your hand once before loosening his grip and unfolding your fist.

He begins straightening your fingers one at a time, his thumb stroking soft along the inside of each one as he continues, “Tonight it was the vines. Sometimes.. Sometimes it's this.. This giant thing. Made up of blood and flesh, but in all the wrong ways. 'n there're these face-less, alien-looking...” He pauses like he's debating the final word, “'s just.. It's kid shit, y'know? Or, maybe horror movie shit. Just.. Monsters.”

“It doesn't sound like kid shit. It's.. It sounds terrifying. Honestly.” You acknowledge when he falls silent, your fingers still combing gently through his hair. “The bats..?” You repeat, leaving the word open in question.

“The bats..” Steve swallows, no longer counting your fingers but merely stroking the length of them idly as he speaks, “They're huge. Like, the size of a fuckin' hawk. But they've also got, like, four tails? N' I dunno if bats even have tails, normally. But they just- Just tear into you 'til you either bleed out or wake up.”

The motion of your hand running through his hair stutters, but just for a moment, “Jesus,” You pause for only a second before you have to ask, “And the vines?”

“They're.. Damn, what's the word? Sentient, kind of?” He explains in a soft rasp, “And strong as all hell. If they get ahold of you, you're not gettin away, y'know? They wrap around your limbs and you're stuck. They- they wrap around your neck and you can't fuckin' breathe.”

The air seems to catch in his chest at just the memory. A small hitch in his purposefully steady breathing that has you readjusting on the mattress to press yourself that much harder into his warmth.

“I'm sorry-” Your chin presses into the crown of his hair for a moment.

The gesture is meant to comfort him, and you hope it does, even as your nose fills with the scent of his expensive shampoo and a delicious, sleepy scent that's entirely Steve. It makes your stomach swoop familiarly, though you try to push the feeling down. 

“-That all sounds awful.” 

He swallows thickly before continuing in a quiet voice, “And it's not just me, y'know? More often than not it's the people I care about. It's Robin, or the kids, or Nance and Jonathan. It's-” 

His voice grows hoarse with emotion before he cuts off to lick at his lips, head tipping back. His wide, earnest gaze flicks up to you, his eyebrows pinched with something pained. 

“Sometimes it's you, and that's- Fuck, 's worse. So much worse than when it's just me. Christ, it's fucking scary. Having to watch any of you dying.. Bleeding out, right in front of me — and there's nothing I can do, I can only watch-”

“I know it doesn't feel like it, but they're just dreams, Steve,” You whisper carefully, “That's all they are. They can't hurt us, any of us.. And they can't hurt you.”

He nods once after giving your words a moment to sink in, stubble on his chin scratching softly against the cotton of your shirt. You ache to say more, to find the right words to magically make it all better, but you know there's no articulation that will serve as such an all-healing balm. Even if there was, he's gone this long without someone to placate him with empty, pitying promises, and the absolute last thing you want is to make him feel any smaller than he already does.

Silence falls over the room again like a weighted blanket, a contented sort of quiet that you're both grateful for. 

The rumble of a lone car cuts through the night, headlights colliding with shadows against the far wall. The glow reflects on the window as the car comes and goes, and for just a brief moment, you get a clear view of the twin beauty marks on his cheek — You have to rein in the all-encompassing urge to drag your thumb over them.

Now's not the time.

But you do wonder what it might be like, to share a bed with Steve under more normal circumstances. What it would feel like to wake in the late hours of the night and have his head resting on the pillow beside your own. For your sheets to hold that musky, sleep-riddled scent that lingers on his skin now.

You watch Steve's full lashes flutter as he blinks, his unfocussed gaze trained on the way your fingers curl and straighten under his own ministrations, bending them this way and that as his thumb presses into the meat of your palm. Your tongue has gone heavy in your mouth with the words you long to say:

I want you.

I love you.

I'll protect you.

You push them down, tough as they are to swallow, and instead break the silence as gently as you can, “You know, you can always come in here after a bad dream. Even if it's not as bad as tonight. If this helps, then I want you to.. I don't want you to worry about waking me up or-”

“Thanks, I- Yeah, maybe.” Steve murmurs noncommittally.

“Steve,” You speak sternly. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you carefully tip his head back, his chin jutting up as he's forced to look at you. “I mean it. You're more than just my roommate. We- We're friends. I care about you. I don't mind.”

Steve swallows, hesitates. His adam's apple bobs before he nods his head in your hold slowly, “Okay.” He says finally, a weight that he didn't realize was even there suddenly lifts from his shoulders.

You allow yourself to drag your thumb lovingly over the long line of his brow, just once. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, “Then it's settled.”

The wonky streetlight outside your window flickers for a moment-

You probably wouldn't have even paid the momentary darkness a second thought if not for the way Steve stiffens suddenly. The flickering only lasts a second or two before it re-settles into that same dim stream of light that always illuminates your bedroom at night, but Steve lets out an audible breath of relief when it does.

Neither of you mention it, but the shakiness of that gust of air when it pushed past his lips is nearly enough to break your heart.

You watch the way his jaw flexes, your gaze drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck covered only by the long, curling ends of his hair. You can almost make out his jumping pulse at the hollow of his throat, the dark shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly as Steve forces the too-quick beat of his heart to slow once again.

You're about to ask him if he's okay, but Steve must feel it coming, because he manages to speak first.

“You should get back to sleep.” He says softly.

He releases your hand to prop himself up on an elbow, a small gap of space growing between you that feels so much larger than it is.

Your hand slips from the hair at the back of Steve's head, but you manage to grab ahold of his bicep.

“Do you wanna stay?” You find yourself asking.

“Y'sure?” Steve asks in surprise, “I mean, you.. really don't mind if I stay?” He questions cautiously, golden eyes wide and entirely too pretty, looking a little like even after all this, he can't quite believe you'd let him stick around any longer than necessary.

In lieu of responding, you slip further underneath the blankets. You roll onto your back and open your arms — a silent beckoning for him to join you.

Steve huffs a soft breath through his nose, a relieved sounding thing. The walls that he was rushing to put back up just a moment before crumble in an instant, the stiff set of his shoulders falling slack as well. He drops his head down onto the pillow beside you before draping an arm around your waist to drag you back against his chest.

You're lulled back to sleep by the soft puffs of breath he lets out against your neck and the warm weight of his body wrapped around you.

The last thing you'd ever wish for is for Steve to suffer, but you can't help finding yourself somewhat looking forward to the next time he'll crawl into bed with you — Regardless of the circumstances.

You're more than happy to be his rock.

[its-a-me-mango]

Oh hey... it's been a while Telly...

Everypony, this is URGEN, and I need your help, I have a sad TV that needs cheering up, can you help me? You guys think you can help me? Pretty please?

THIS IS A FUN LIL OC/SONA DRAWING/WRITING/WHATEVER EVENT THINGY AND YOU'RE INVITED TO TAKE PART!!!

INFO BELOW THE READ MORE!

Hi welcome to below the read more, nice down here innit.

THIS IS NOT AN EVENT WHERE YOU SUGGEST THINGS TO ME, THIS IS FOR YOU TO DO, I WILL BE IGNORING ANY ASKS RELATED TO REQUESTS FOR ME TO DRAW!

Anyway so as I said, you're invited to have your sona, your OC, your AU or heck even one of the SMG4 crew help cheer up Telly! You can do this in anyway you like, wethers it's taking them out somewhere nice like a park or city, to playing games with them, or just hanging out with them! You're in charge of picking out something fun for your character of choise and Telly to do together! They love doing anything as long as its with friends so you're welcome to do pretty much anything!

You can also make this in an medium you'd like, be it art, comics, writing, or anything else you can think of, there is no strict medium this has to be done in so go wild and most importantly have fun!

For the sake of keeping things clear in the SMG4 tag, you can use #SMG4CheerUp as the tag for this event, you are obviously free to @ me but if not, I will check the above tag instead.

Before I go any further, just want to make this clear:

THERE IS NO PRIZE! THERE IS NO DEADLINE! THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION

Just saying this as I don't want people expecting anything from me in return for this, nor do I want people putting themselves down or comparing themselves to others, I want people to have fun for the sake of having fun.

I'm obviously not super stricks on rules as this is for fun but I do have a few requests:

No just straight up brining Mr Puzzles back, that kinda defeats the point. You're more than welcome to use your AU or OC version of Mr Puzzles for this, but no actual Mr Puzzles, let him rot in prison for a bit please.

I know I said you're welcome to do pretty much anything but please keep your work age appropriate! Telly is meant to be no older than 10 at max so nothing too outrageous please! I don't mind a bit of angst or anything like that but you know, be nice to the kid alright, I will kill you otherwise /j

Also for this please don't use their teen/adult design, this is focused on them as a kid so please keep them as one, no aging up to do anything not age appropriate please.

Please keep in mind that Telly is mute and cannot talk! They can write/type to talk (as they don't know sign language yet) and they can make static noises, but no actual speaking for them!

TELLY USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS AND NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE JUST REFER TO THEM AS A CHILD/KID

That's all I could think of lol, will add more if I think of anything else.

TELLYS REF IS HERE FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT (it is also linked on my pinned post at all times) I'm not overly strict on design so feel free to add your own lil details to them, I think it's fun! :3

My media asks are off for now, as I'd rather people make their own posts, it's what Tumblr's for and I wouldn't want anyone's amazing work to sit and rot in my inbox! I will be reblogging everything I promise.

You're welcome to ask me any questions but my response will likely be either "yes" or "if it's fun for you go for it!"

There is no deadline as stated, but I'll say this is open for at least a month-ish, or at least until Mr Puzzles comes back or something lol (watch that be, this week! wow how short lived /j)

ANYWAY WITH ALL THAT OUT THE WAY, GO FORTH AND ONCE AGAIN, HAVE FUN ABOVE ALL ELSE!!! :3

[scoutofmymind]

i just saw you reblogged an Anora post😍 would u ever be interested in writing a reader x Luigi prompt inspired by that movie? love your writing girl you are just so fantastic

Losing Dogs — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW - MNDI, sex work, rich as fuck Luigi, Dancer!Reader, p in v, come eating (whoooops), reader is addicted to uncertainty.

Wc: 7,158 (This is an unfinished work, I’m willing to continue if requests for it are substantial, but for the sake of keeping it on Tumblr and not posting it on Ao3, I had to stop where I did 💕)

Notes; Luigi Mangione, heir to a Sicilian real estate empire and alleged regular at underground poker clubs where he watches rather than plays, never expected to find himself falling for a dancer at Sapphire.

Click here for part 2

"It's actually funny," Luigi mumbles, more to himself than his companions, wedged between his two cousins fresh off the plane from Sicily.

Tony, the giant of the family, shares Luigi's sharp features but stretched larger, like someone had taken Luigi's face and expanded it to fit a bruiser's frame. Then there's Lorenzo — shorter but somehow taking up just as much space, his body a testament to long hours at his father's dockyard; the scar splitting his right eyebrow catches sunlight every time he smirks. “First time on American soil in what, five years? And this is where you had to come firs-“

The door is swung open, the facade is deceptively plain — just black marble and smoked glass, a discreet Sapphire etched in gold above the door marks this as their destination.

The bouncer, a mountain in a tailored suit, doesn't bark or posture like the ones on cheaper doors. He just stands there, radiating quiet competence, his earpiece gleaming. "IDs," he requests, somehow making the single word sound both polite and non-negotiable.

His eyes linger on the Italian passports, but his face betrays nothing.

Inside the antechamber, it's all dark wood and soft amber lighting and a woman in a pencil skirt recites the house rules with practiced efficiency: no phones on the floor, no photographs, minimum table service in VIP is $500, and — she pauses here, sliding elegant paperwork across the marble counter — there's the matter of the $200 per person convenience fee that will be withdrawn immediately.

Tony balks slightly at this. "Two hundred just to walk in?"

"It's to ensure our clientele maintains a certain standard," she explains, her smile professional but cooling several degrees. "The amount is credited toward your evening's entertainment, of course."

Lorenzo elbows Tony, muttering something in rapid Italian about American prices, but Luigi slides his card across, knowing this is how places like this filter out the tourists and trouble-makers.

Through the second set of doors, bass pulses like a heartbeat, but it's still muffled, promising rather than announcing, and the air smells of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, not beer and desperation.

The main floor unfolds before them like a fever dream in black marble. Sapphires reputation for being high end suddenly makes visceral sense — everything gleams with the kind of wealth that doesn't need to announce itself.

The lighting is precise, strategic; LEDs trace abstract patterns across coffered ceilings while hidden spots paint the stages in liquid gold. "Dio," breathes Tony, his complaints about the entrance fee forgotten.

Three circular stages dominate the space, each with its own constellation of private tables, but it's the architecture that catches Luigi's eye — the way the room seems to spiral inward like a nautilus shell, the tables far enough apart that conversations stay private, close enough to feel intimate with the performance space.

A hostess materializes — there's no other word for how smoothly she appears — in a black dress that costs more than most people's monthly rent. "Gentlemen, will you be joining us at the bar, or would you prefer a table?" Her eyes flick to Lorenzo's Rolex, Tony's Brunello Cucinelli jacket, making rapid calculations.

"Table," Lorenzo says before anyone else can speak. "Something close." His English is heavily accented but the universal language of status needs no translation.

She leads them through the crowd — if you can call it that. The usual press of bodies you'd expect in a club is absent here.

Instead, there's space, carefully crafted distance.

Men in suits that cost more than Beamers speak in low voices, and a tech billionaire Luigi recognizes from CNBC sits alone, staring into middle distance while a dancer performs with the kind of grace that suggests formal training.

They're led to a half-moon booth with a perfect view of the main stage. The leather is butter-soft, the table's surface black glass that seems to swallow light, with a subtle panel of buttons for service inlaid near the edge.

"Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess says, then hesitates. "And gentlemen? I'd recommend staying for the next set."

That's when Luigi notices the music tumbles into something that isn’t the typical club thunder — instead, it's something classical, deconstructed and woven through with electronic elements; Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major, he realizes, but reimagined as something darker, more modern.

The server approaches with the same calculated grace as the hostess, but there's something different in her manner — a hint of genuine warmth. "Welcome to Sapphire. I'm Aria." She sets down crystal water glasses with practiced precision. "Our special tonight is the 1982 Macallan, though—“ her eyes drift meaningfully to Luigi, "We also make an exceptional Manhattan.”

Before anyone can order, the lights shift — subtle at first, then with purpose.

The deconstructed Chopin fades into silence, the main stage, empty moments ago, now holds a single figure in darkness, and the murmur of conversation around them dies without prompting.

A single cello note cuts through the quiet, followed by another, building a melody that feels both ancient and startlingly modern.

As the music swells, light bleeds onto the stage, revealing her.

Her whose movement matches the music's duality — classical technique fractured and reassembled into something hypnotic.

She doesn't dance around the pole so much as she seems to bend gravity to her will, each transition so fluid it looks like liquid mercury.

Luigi notices something else.

The crowd's reaction.

These men, who deal in billions and shape markets with a phone call, are completely still. It's not the typical attention of a gentleman's club — it’s the silence of an audience witnessing something they don't quite understand but can't look away from.

Both Tony and Lorenzo order bottles with the casual arrogance of men used to throwing money around, and Luigi can't tear his eyes away long enough to ask about their other cocktails.

He's never been much for bourbon, but right now he doesn't care — the performance has him in a trance that no spirit could match.

It's not long before he hears his cousins acting up, murmuring something to each other in their native tongue, that lyrical Italian that Luigi understands but rarely speaks, his own command of it lost somewhere between private schools and college lectures.

“Where's her tits?” Lorenzo mutters, Tony leaning in to complain right behind him, “I thought this was a strip club?”

Luigi furrows his brows, the spell broken.

He turns his broad chest toward them both, pausing only to acknowledge the two women who parade over their bottles of champagne with divine precision and grace, their movements a stark contrast to his cousins' crude commentary. "You buy a fuckin' room if you want tits," he growls, flicking his finger first in Tony's direction, then Lorenzo's, each gesture sharp as a warning shot. "Don't put a bad name on us, cugini — Papa has investments here."

The cousins exchange glances but settle back, chastened more by the mention of their uncle than Luigi's reprimand.

On stage, the music shifts again — something even darker now, all cello and static — and her routine evolves with it, the control is absolute, each movement deliberate yet somehow wild, like watching lightning decide where to strike.

The pole becomes less prop and more partner, an extension of her artistry rather than its center, and Luigi finds himself leaning forward, elbows on his knees, aware that he's staring but far past caring.

He notices details his cousins miss — the way her muscles tell stories of dedication, how her face reveals nothing and everything at once.

There's mathematics in her movement, philosophy in her form.

A sharp sound of crystal meeting crystal breaks his concentration — Lorenzo, already refilling his glass, the champagne sloshing slightly over the rim.

The cousin catches Luigi's glare and shrugs, muttering something that sounds like an apology but isn't while Tony's attention has already wandered to one of the cocktail waitresses, his earlier complaints forgotten in favor of more immediate distractions.

Reluctantly, the music fades and she descends from the stage with the same fluid grace that marked her performance, moving through the club like water finding its path, stopping at tables where regulars sit with their crystal glasses and dollar bills.

Luigi, needing air — or space— or both, makes his way to the bar, leaving his cousins to their champagne and their increasingly loud discussions about Italian soccer to a couple of women who couldn’t care less, but would open a ear to anything if it meant getting them in a private room.

"Sanpellegrino," he murmurs to a bartender, suddenly wanting clarity rather than clouds. The sparkling water arrives in a glass with lime, and that's when he sees her — the girl who was just on stage —materialized a few seats down, leaning across the bar to speak with the bartender.

Her right hand rests on the polished wood, and there, in delicate script across her inner wrist: "God is dead."

Before he can stop himself, the words leave his mouth, soft but clear: "And we have killed him.”

Your head turns, eyes finding his with an intensity that makes him forget the rest of Nietzsche's proclamation, and for a moment, the club, his cousins, everything else fades away.

You tilt your head slightly, a subtle smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "Most people just ask if it's about Satan," you grin, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Or they try to save my soul."

Luigi takes a slow sip of his sparkling water that tickles his nose, appreciating the irony. "Nietzsche would've had thoughts about both responses." He gestures to the empty seat between them. "Though I doubt he ever imagined his words would end up here.”

"Oh, I don't know," your voice becomes airy and light, sliding onto the stool next to him, closer than the one he'd indicated. "The death of God, the birth of tragedy, eternal recurrence — seems fitting for a club where people come to forget." You eye him, take inventory of his posture, what he’s wearing, and the sparkling water he’s drinking. "Besides, what better place to question values?"

Luigi finds himself leaning in slightly, aware that this conversation is rapidly becoming more intriguing than anything happening on stage, or back at the table with his cousins. "So, you studied philosophy?" he asks, though it's more statement than question.

"Columbia," you answer, then add with a knowing look, "Before you ask — yes, this is how I pay for it. And no, I'm not looking for rescue from this life of sin."

The directness catches him off guard, but he appreciates it. "NYU. Comp Sci.” he offers in return. "And I wouldn't presume to rescue anyone who quotes Nietzsche.”

"Let me guess," your eyes scan him with amused precision, "You were more Camus than Nietzsche?"

Luigi can't help but smile, caught between surprise and appreciation. "The Myth of Sisyphus was my thesis," he admits. "Though these days I'm pushing more rocks up hills than contemplating them."

A glance over his shoulder reminds him of his cousins' presence — they're still at the table, but their attention has shifted to their phones, probably already bored without the promised spectacle they came for, or having scared the girls enough to deny them private rooms.

He feels a shift in the air as one of the floor managers approaches — the kind of interruption that seems inevitable in a place like this, and you notice too, but instead of immediately pulling away, you reach for a cocktail napkin and a pen from behind the bar.

"Speaking of eternal recurrence," you scribble over the napkin, "I'm here Thursdays and Fridays. If you want to continue our discussion about the death of God, or-“ you slide it toward him, "the birth of tragedy."

•

Thursday.

Oh, Thursday, Thursday, Thursday.

"Happy thirsty Thursday, bitches!" Julia's voice rings through the dressing room as she weaves between vanity stations, balancing a bottle of Prosecco.

You're perched on the counter, nose nearly touching the mirror, wielding your liquid eyeliner with the precision of a surgeon — or at least attempting to.

"Honey," Julia pauses behind you, pressing a cool glass into your hand while gently easing you back from the mirror, which has begun to fog from your focused breathing. "Don't you make enough for some contacts? I swear you're going to give yourself a repetitive stress injury.”

You accept the prosecco without turning from your reflection, then the shot she presses into your other hand. The old rule echoes in your mind — drinking before shifts is bad business — but tonight feels different.

It wasn't any one thing that set this mood — but maybe it was the way your boots crunched through dirty ice on your trek from the subway, or how the wind cut right through that orange and brown balaclava your mother had knitted, sent from Santa Monic with a note saying "stay warm".

You sit by the bar, chin propped on your fist as you survey the crowd through half-lidded eyes.

The regulars hunch over their drinks like old friends, while first-timers betray themselves with darting glances and tentative sips. Music thrums through the floorboards —some nameless pop song stripped down and remixed until only the bassline remains, vibrating in your chest like a second heartbeat.

His "Hey" materializes beside you, soft enough that it nearly dissolves into the din. You don't need to look to know it's him — that particular shadow in charcoal grey wool.

He's shed the usual entourage of boisterous cousins, and there's something different in his approach — a hesitation in steps that usually claim every room they enter.

You turn, "Sanpellegrino?" A ghost of a smile plays at your lips as the glass catches the low light. His face is different tonight — something raw beneath the polished exterior, like fresh paint that hasn't quite dried.

"About last week," he begins, easing onto the barstool as if it might disappear beneath him. "The, uh — your number - it -"

"Let me guess." You slide his drink across the mahogany with practiced grace. "Either your suit met an untimely end at the cleaners with it still in the pocket, or one of those cousins of yours lifted it."

Breaking your cardinal rule — never give your number to a customer — only to have it vanish feels like the universe's personal punchline.

Seven digits sacrificed to whatever deity presides over dry cleaning.

Luigi's grimace tells you everything. "Dry cleaning," he confesses, shoulders dropping slightly. "My housekeeper has a scorched-earth policy with receipts. By the time I realized-“ He lifts the glass, ice clicking against crystal. "I spent the week with Camus instead. Came strapped with counterarguments about the fundamental absurdity of existence."

You find yourself fighting back a smile.

In five years of working here, you've had countless men try to continue conversations, usually with tired lines about destiny or missed connections, but none of them ever showed up having done philosophical homework.

"Well," you say, leaning against the bar, "you did make it on a Thursday. That's something Sisyphus would appreciate — the eternal return and all that." You glance at the clock, then back at him. "Let's hear your defense of absurdism.” You find yourself reaching for his hand, your usual pitch tumbling out like second nature. "We could continue this conversation somewhere more private?"

The words hang there for a moment, and you watch his expression shift from philosophical intensity to something more certain.

In the private room, you move sinuously to music that's now more vibration than sound, while he dissects existentialism with the intensity of a doctoral candidate defending his thesis.

Even as you straddle him, skin gleaming in the low light, he's animated — one hand conducting an invisible orchestra while the other remains fixed to the armrest like it's been superglued there. His voice never wavers as he explains how Sisyphus's comprehension of his eternal task is actually his triumph over the gods.

"— and if we examine the boulder as a metaphor for societal expectations—" He's still lecturing while you execute a move that's earned you countless thousands, your body folded into an artful display of flexibility, each movement a masterpiece of calculated seduction.

"Babe," you cut in, flowing back into his lap with liquid grace. You press your palm against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath expensive wool. "Are you even into this?" Your voice carries equal parts amusement and genuine curiosity. For the first time tonight, he falls silent.

Luigi freezes mid-sentence, mouth still shaped around 'existentialism,' blinking like someone emerging from a trance. "What? Of course I'm- Why would you think-"

"Because I've been doing inverted crosses and Russian splits for fifteen minutes, and you're more invested in French philosophy than the fact that I'm practically naked in your lap."

Color floods his neck, creeping up like watercolor on wet paper. "I just- I thought- You seemed so engaged in our discussion last week, and I spent days researching, and-" He drags fingers through dark curls, leaving them charmingly disheveled. "I'm completely fucking this up, aren't I?"

You laugh, soft and genuine, settling deeper into his lap as your arms drape over his rigid shoulders. "Most guys in here pretend to be intellectuals to get closer to the dancers. You might be the first one pretending not to notice my body to prove you actually are one."

"I notice," he blurts, then looks like he wants to dissolve into the leather seat. "God- I mean, I'm extremely aware. I just thought if I-"

"Luigi," you interrupt, oddly moved by his fumbling sincerity, "you can appreciate both Camus and tits. The universe is absurd enough for both."

His laugh is nervous but genuine, shoulders finally releasing their tension beneath your touch. "I suppose that would be a false dichotomy." Then, after a pause where his eyes actually — finally —trace your silhouette, "Though I have to admit, I'm finding it considerably harder to focus on French existentialism now that I'm not actively trying to ignore-“

"My existence preceding my essence?" You smirk, rolling your hips in a way that makes his breath catch, his head resting on the crushed velvet back of the chair beneath him, his eyes stuck on yours in a narrow gaze.

"That's — uh - that's Sartre, not Camus," he manages, hands still firmly gripped on the armrests like they're keeping him anchored to reality.

"Look at you, still managing to be pedantic." You run a finger down the cable knit of his sweater — Hermès, you notice, because of course it is. "You can touch me, you know. Club rules allow it in private rooms, and I'm giving you permission. Unless you'd rather discuss Kierkegaard's views on anxiety?"

His hands finally leave the armrests, hovering uncertainly near your waist. "I actually did read some Kierkegaard this week too," he admits, and you can't help but laugh at his commitment to the bit. "But maybe,” his hands finally settle on your hips, warm through the thin fabric of your tiny, ruffed lace bottoms, "we could table the philosophical discussion for now?"

"There he is," you murmur, noting how his pupils have dilated, his cheeks having gone pink, his aura radiating like a halo around him in the soft neon light of the shared private room, another dancer nearby with a regular client. "Though I have to say, this is the first time I've had to actively encourage a client to be less respectful."

•

Three months in, and you're lounging by his infinity pool overlooking Central Park. The Upper East Side condo had been a surprise — you'd known he was wealthy from his clothes and manners, but this was old money, generations of it seeping from every handcrafted molding and imported marble tile.

You adjust the Van Cleef he gave you last week — "Just because," he'd said, as if dropping $50K on jewelry was as casual as picking up coffee, and you run your fingers over the spine of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, thinking about power dynamics and the eternal dance between giving and taking — every gift, every dinner, every weekend in the Hamptons — you catalog them mentally, like entries in a ledger.

Not because you're calculating, but because you've learned that everything has a price, even if it's not immediately apparent.

Luigi looks at you like you're an answer to a question he never knew to ask, and when he kisses you, it's reverent, like you're something precious. When he talks about the future, it's with a certainty that would be frightening if you let yourself think about it too deeply.

But you've spent years understanding the transactional nature of desire.

Even as you feel yourself falling into the gravity of his affection, there's a part of you that remains detached, analytical. You recognize his love — it's evident in every gesture, every thoughtful gift, every time he shows up at the club just to drive you home after your shift, never asking you to quit, never making demands.

Your own feelings are more complicated.

You care for him, deeply even, but there's always that voice in the back of your mind tallying the cost of everything, wondering when the bill will come due, because it always does.

It's not that you don't feel love — it's that you've learned to view love itself as another form of currency, something to be exchanged, measured, quantified.

You’re snapped out of your daze when Luigi emerges from the townhouses study nook, still clutching his Advanced Algorithms textbook at his side. He's in his final semester, juggling classes with the machine learning research project he's hoping will revolutionize his family's investment firm.

The place isn't his — it's his parents', who spend most of their time at their place in Puglia.

"My brain is absolutely fried," he groans, collapsing onto the lounge chair beside you, a loud sigh following. "If I have to debug one more recursive function or optimize another binary search tree, I might actually lose it."

You close your Beauvoir and look at him with amusement. "The heir apparent to the Mangione empire, defeated by code?"

"Don't," he mumbles into the cushion. "Papa’s already called twice today to remind me about graduation expectations. Apparently, anything less than building the next revolutionary trading algorithm would be an embarrassment to five generations of Mangione bankers."

You run your fingers through his hair, and he leans into your touch like a cat — for a moment, you see him as he really is, not the polished future tech innovator, not the philosophy-quoting client, but just a 24-year-old kid trying to live up to impossible expectations.

Moving from your own lounge chair to his, you settle into his lap with a practiced grace that blurs the line between habit and performance, your hands splayed across his chest, and you can feel his heartbeat quickening beneath your fingers.

"What would you think if -“ you lean down, pressing kisses along his collarbone, tasting the salty skin of spring and expensive cologne, "I were to treat you tonight?" Your voice carries the same silky tone you use at the club, but there's something else there too — something that makes you uncomfortable if you think about it too hard.

"Mm?" His voice is gentle, soft but frayed around the edges. You can hear the weight of those endless phone calls with his father in it — arguments about the family's ventures, about graduation expectations, about codes both computational and criminal that you don't yet know about. "How so?"

You kiss your way up his neck, buying time, wondering when exactly you started using intimacy as currency, even outside of work.

His hands settle on your hips, and they're trembling slightly — from exhaustion or desire or both.

"Let me take care of you," you murmur against his jaw. "No thinking about algorithms or binary trees or whatever your father wants-“ You feel him tense slightly at the mention of his father, but you continue, "Just us."

He draws back just enough to study your face, and there's something in his gaze that makes your breath catch — like he's reading between the lines of your carefully constructed script, past the glitter and practiced smiles to something you thought you'd buried deep enough that no one would find it.

His thumb ghosts across your lower lip, and you brace yourself — waiting for him to name the thing you both see; how you turn every genuine connection into a filed entry, every moment of vulnerability into a debt to be repaid.

Instead, his voice comes soft as a confession, “You don't have to earn your place here, you know."

The words land like a punch to the chest, stealing your breath mid-motion.

Because isn't that exactly what you've been doing all these years — keeping a running tally, maintaining equilibrium, treating your heart like a balance sheet?

Even here, you're performing mental arithmetic — calculating the precise exchange rate between vulnerability and safety, between affection given and security received.

You recover with the grace of long practice, muscle memory sliding you back into familiar patterns. "Maybe I just want to," you say, but there's a tremor in your voice that betrays you, a hairline crack in carefully maintained armor.

His hands come up to cradle your face like you're something precious, something breakable, and he's looking at you with that devastating combination of tenderness and insight that makes your flight instincts scream. "Tell me what you're thinking," he whispers into the space between you. "Really thinking."

And that's the problem, isn't it?

You're thinking about debt and worth and the price of everything. You're thinking about how many private club dances it would take to equal the necklace around your throat. You're thinking about the way his family's wealth feels like a weight even as it lifts you up.

You think about the way he watches you – not just your body moving through practiced routines, but the quick flash of your wit, the sharp edges of your mind. How he's never once suggested you quit, never tried to "save" you from choices that were always yours to make. How he handles your thoughts with the same reverence others reserve for your curves.

And somewhere beneath the ledgers and calculations, beneath the careful arithmetic of survival, something dangerous is blooming — something that tastes like truth and terrifies you more than any amount of nakedness ever could.

So instead of words, you answer with your mouth against his, and for once there's no performance in it, no mental tallying of what this kiss might be worth.

His fingers thread through your hair like he's memorizing you, and for one crystalline moment, you let the numbers fall away, let yourself exist in the simple miracle of being wanted exactly as you are.

"May I ask something?" Luigi whispers softly against your lips, his palms pressing into your back as if he could somehow draw you closer, make you more real.

"With those manners, you can do just about anything, Lu." you murmur, rolling your hips against his with an urgency that would never appear in your calculated club performances.

"Well," he clears his throat, and you can feel him stalling beneath you. His request had tumbled out rushed and nervous, like ripping off a bandaid, words escaping before he could think better of them. "My parents are coming back from Sicily soon — they do usually in spring." He looks at you sheepishly, sweat beading on his brow. "And we do this dinner-“

You lean up slowly from his neck where you'd been losing yourself in the essence of him, in this space where things are simple. Where there are no student loans crushing your shoulders, no club schedules dictating your nights, no complicated family dynamics lurking beneath perfectly polished surfaces.

"Mm, is that so?" you murmur, studying the way his throat moves when he swallows, the tension gathering in his jaw.

"It is," Luigi says, blinking up at you like he's emerging from deep water. His fingers find the strings of your bikini, twisting them absently — an unconscious tell, like he needs something physical to hold onto while his usually precise mind fumbles for words.

This is the same man who can explain market derivatives or quantum entanglement without breaking stride, but now his throat works visibly, precision failing him when it matters most.

"And- well," he swallows, those clever fingers still tangled in thin strings against your skin, "it wouldn't necessarily be about meeting them - you know- as much as it would be about - uh..."

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, oddly touched by this glimpse of the infamous Luigi Mangione – who can debate quantum mechanics in three languages – tripping over a simple invitation. "Are you asking me to be your dinner date?"

Your mind immediately unfolds a scene worthy of Gatsby — crystal chandeliers refracting old money whispers, wines older than your grandmother, silverware that could pay off your student loans. You know whatever you're picturing probably falls short of the actual Mangione world, but you let yourself imagine anyway.

His hands are still at your hips, thumbs brushing against bare skin in that absent way of his, like touching you is as natural as breathing. "Not exactly," he admits, and there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "I'm asking you to be my date. Period."

The implication settles between you like morning dew — delicate but impossible to ignore.

"Luigi," you breathe, and for once, you're the one struggling for words. “I-“

He shifts beneath you, spine straightening as one arm anchors you against him. His other hand finds your cheek, and those eyes — amber-bright, search your face with an intensity that sends a shiver through you, despite the winter bleeding into a blazing spring.

"I'm asking you to let me introduce you to my family. Properly. As the woman I—" He stops, and you can see the gears turning, watch him weigh each syllable with the same meticulous protection he applies to his billion-dollar code. "I care so much for you."

The words hang between you, heavy with everything he's not quite saying, and you realize this might be the first time in his life Luigi Mangione has chosen imprecise language.

That "care" is a placeholder, a variable waiting to be defined by something larger, something neither of you are quite ready to name.

The words hover between you like smoke, dense with unspoken weight — family legacies, billion-dollar empires, carefully segregated worlds. You think about everything you've heard whispered at the club about the Mangione name, about old money and new power, about the precise way Luigi has always kept his family's orbit separate from your shared nights.

And yet here he is, offering to bridge the gap.

"What do they think of me?"

Something flickers across his face — subtle, but you've learned to read the micro-expressions that betray his thoughts. "My sister already likes you," he says, each word measured and deliberate, his fingers still tracing absent patterns on your skin. "She says you're different — real."

But you notice the careful omission. "And your parents?"

Luigi's jaw tightens just enough to catch the light differently. "My mother," he begins, then seems to reset. "She's traditional. Concerned about appearances. But she'll come around."

The weight of what he's not saying about his father fills the space between his words. "And your father?"

His eyes catch yours, something dark and protective flashing in them. "My father is calculating. He's had his goons look into you." Luigi's fingers press slightly harder into your hips, like he's trying to hold you in place against some unseen current. "He knows about the club. Your student loans. Everything."

"Of course he does," you murmur. You're not shocked about him knowing your connection to the club — given his investment portfolio, that was inevitable — but the thought of strangers dissecting your life still leaves you feeling raw. "And?"

"And he thinks you're either a liability, or an asset. He hasn't decided which yet." Luigi's honesty cuts clean and quick, but his thumbs trace gentle circles against your ribs like an apology. "That's part of why this dinner is important. He'll be watching how you handle yourself."

"A test?" The word tastes bitter.

"Everything's a test with him."

There's something in his voice — not quite resentment, not quite resignation, but somewhere in the territory between the two.

You wonder how many tests Luigi has passed, failed, or refused to take over the years.

You stare down at him, your hands settling over his where they anchor you at your hips. The world seems to quiet around you — just the whisper of leaves in the breeze and distant city sounds filtering through the moment like white noise.

He doesn't shy away from your scrutiny.

Instead, those eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch — pleading, vulnerable in a way that seems almost impossible for someone born into his world of calculated moves and careful masks.

But you can't help but appreciate the absurdity of it all.

Your first real conversation had been about existentialism, of all things — you'd challenged his clinical view of human behavior as merely predictable patterns, and he'd been intrigued by your passionate defense of life's beautiful chaos.

Now here you are, living proof of his father's worst nightmare

An unpredictable variable in their carefully ordered world.

Luigi, heir of Marco Mangione, a rich, sophisticated in his own right, business mogul of some sort — important and wealthy enough, you know, for one of his three children to buy the club dancer he’s been seeing for three months a fifty thousand dollar piece of jewelry between an eggs Benedict breakfast and an Eleven Madison Park dinner.

But also Luigi — who showed up at 2 AM after your shift with mint chocolate chip ice cream melting in his Maserati's cup holder, because you'd texted about craving it.

Luigi, who got brain freeze from eating too fast while you both sat in his parked car, you still in your platform heels and him in his $5,000 suit, sharing a single spoon and laughing about nothing.

The duality strikes you; the man who moves billions through digital empires with a keystroke is the one who remembers how you take your coffee. The Mangione heir, and the boy who gets adorably flustered when you wear his dress shirts around.

Then, your mind drifts back to last week's conversation with Julia.

You'd been perched in your usual spot on the dressing room counter, legs swinging, while she sat at her vanity.

"Saw your boy at Paradiso," she'd said, casual in that deliberate way that meant it wasn't casual at all.

Your hands had stilled on your stockings.

Paradiso.

Not just a casino — the casino. Where million-dollar hands were dealt in back rooms and real business happened over whiskey and poker chips.

"He was with his father." Julia had turned then, arm draped over her chair back, dark eyes serious despite her light tone. "Spitting image, those two. But Luigi wasn't playing." She'd paused, checking to see if you were really listening. "He was doing that thing he does — you know, when his brain goes all Beautiful Mind? But he wasn't counting cards. He was watching. Patterns. Players. Money movement."

"His daddy kept introducing him around," Julia had added softly. "To men who looked like they buy countries.”

You realize that this uncertainty is something that fuels your curiosity further — and if you're honest with yourself, it's part of what draws you to him.

You'd seen that same distant look Julia described, but in softer moments; Luigi calculating the exact trajectory needed for a paper airplane to sail from your bedroom window to the fountain below, his hands moving through the air as he mapped invisible vectors.

Or the night he'd gotten excited explaining market microstructures, his brilliant mind spinning beautiful patterns from chaos.

But there's another side to those patterns now.

Its power flows, influence matrices, the invisible algorithms that govern his father's world — and Luigi reads them all like sheet music, even if he never talks about the song they're playing.

His hands tighten slightly on your hips, bringing you back to the present moment; to those brown eyes still watching you, waiting for an answer about a dinner that suddenly feels like more than just meeting the family.

You wonder if he's already mapped out all the variables of this moment.

The invitation isn't just about meeting his mother, enduring his father's scrutiny, or bearing his siblings judgment. It's about acknowledging what you've been carefully not discussing — that falling for Luigi Mangione means entering a world where dinner parties are strategic moves and casual observations can carry the weight of corporate empires.

You think about the way he looks at you sometimes, like you're a glorious aberration in his ordered universe.

"You're thinking too hard," he murmurs, and there's that smile — the real one, not the calculated curve he shows to his professors and business partners. "It's just dinner."

But you both know it's not.

You trace your fingers along his jaw, feeling the slight tension there. "Your father's going to hate me.” you say, but what you mean is: I see the patterns too, even if we don't talk about them.

His eyes darken with something between worry and pride. Because you do see — maybe not the complex mathematics of power and influence that he tracks, but you see him.

The brilliant mind that draws patterns out of mayhem, and the heart that chose disorder anyway.

•

You could spend forever like this with him, lost in the heat of morning light. Luigi's head falls back, eyes half-lidded and languid, looking at you like you're some Renaissance masterpiece come to life.

The months together have stripped away any need for performance, leaving only this raw, honest thing between you.

"You need—" Your words dissolve into a gasp as his hands map the contours of your skin with quiet worship, your hips working over him in gentle circles. "T-to help me pick out a dress."

He lets out a low sound from deep in his throat, his palms steady against your back as he guides you down. The world tilts, and suddenly, he’s above you — lean muscle and sun-warmed skin, haloed by the morning light streaming through the windows. “Mhmm,” Luigi groans, the gold chain around his neck swinging with each rhythmic thrust.

You grasp that same chain, pulling him closer, and he quickly obliges. “Tell me how good it feels,” you whisper against his lips. For a moment, his hips falter, an uncoordinated tempo, but he quickly regains his rhythm. “You’re too quiet today.”

Usually, Luigi would be breathless and chatty, his praise flowing like a devoted worshipper at the feet of a saint. But today, you can sense his anxiety, and it stirs your own.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes, his spit-slicked kisses trailing over your chest, warm tongue tracing your nipples before moving to your neck. “You know you’re my-“ he’s cut off by another low moan, “my sweet girl.”

You’re not convinced, studying his features to find some sort of hidden answer there, but all you can assume is that he’s nervous about the party — about his parents, his grandparents, his siblings, distant relatives — and it does nothing to ease your own nerves.

He whimpers, truly whimpers, your body filled with warmth from the inside out, Luigi riding out the last of his orgasm for every bit it was worth and yet you’d gone rather ridged, shoving his chest down slowly between your legs. “Clean up your mess.” You murmur, more as a demand, which you’d learned rather quickly Luigi liked very much being told what to do.

He’s eager, always.

He first trails his tongue along your thighs, descending to the mess he left inside you, threatening to stain the sheets. “Good boy,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair—this wouldn’t be the first time he’s tasted himself from you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last if you had any say in it. “What’s with the radio silence?”

Despite the sight before you — the devotion, the raw intimacy — you can't help but ask.

“I-I’m just tired, I guess.” Luigi is lying, of course; a tired man doesn’t have sex for three hours. He stares at you, his eyes glossy and his mouth slick with his own pleasure, making it hard to take him seriously, yet he looks at you as if he has something to prove.

“Is it about the party?” you ask, gently wiping his mouth with your thumb. “Be honest, Lu.”

He blinks at you several times before allowing himself a slow nod, still lying there between your legs. In this moment, you're both stripped of your usual armor — him without his tailored suits and careful control, you without your practiced distance.

"Should I just-" You close your legs and sit up, leaving him there on sheets. Even now, part of you still wants to solve this for him, make it easier. "Not go? Would it just be easier if I didn't?"

"No." Luigi rises quickly to his knees, crawling across the vast expanse of his bed toward you. The California king makes your studio apartment mattress feel like a child's cot in comparison. "Baby— fuck," he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture so uncharacteristically unpolished it makes your chest ache. He shakes his head, sighing. "I'm just — yeah, of course I'm nervous." His hands lift in frustration, fingers splayed like he's trying to grasp the right words from the air. "This is the first time I've ever done this."

You turn to look at him finally, having kept your gaze fixed on the Manhattan skyline outside his window. It's easier than seeing him like this — mouth still glistening, cheeks flushed, all his careful composure undone by pleasure and something deeper. "First time you've done what, Lu?"

There's a weighted silence between you, his eyes meeting yours before darting away like he can't quite hold your gaze. It reminds you of those first nights at the club, when he'd try to maintain that perfect Mangione composure while coming undone beneath your hands.

"I've never introduced anyone to my parents." The admission hangs heavy. Luigi's had his share of lovers — you both know this, have discussed the parade of socialites and models that graced his bed through high school and beyond.

But none of them made it past the velvet rope of family approval.

None of them earned a seat at the Mangione table.

You see it now in the slight tremor of his hands, the tension in his shoulders — he's not just afraid of his father's judgment or his mother's disapproval.

He's afraid of the worlds colliding; your straightforward honesty meeting his family's carefully orchestrated performance, the raw truth of what you share together being dissected under crystal chandelier light.

“Fuck.”

[bloatedandalone04]

Under the Tree

➪the one where you and tyler celebrate christmas together, and he has a surprise waiting for you underneath the tree.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of smut, nothing too wild (yes, i write fluff too).

Word Count: 2.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Merry Christmas !

The department store was crowded, but what store wasn’t during this time of year? Christmas was next month, after all.

You were currently in the ornament aisle of the store, practically shoulder to shoulder with Tyler and an elderly woman that was standing to the left side of you. While you felt a little bad for dragging your boyfriend here after he just finished a rather grueling chase yesterday and likely still needed to rest, Tyler was still a pretty festive guy. And the chances of there being another tornado for the next few months was unlikely, so he would have lots of time to rest. 

And he didn’t even look annoyed or irritated at the moment, even though you had been in this aisle for about fifteen minutes now. His arm was slung around your waist as your eyes flickered all over the various boxes of Christmas tree ornaments, an active debate going on in your head as you thought about what theme you wanted to go for this year. 

This would be yours and Tyler’s first Christmas together, alone that is. You’d been together for almost three years, and the first year you had spent the holiday with your own families, and the second year with all of them together, but this year it was just you and him. Tyler’s family is going on a vacation this year, so you and he spent last weekend with them, and your mom was taking care of your dad since he just had surgery on his leg, so it wasn’t really a good year for them. Though you were planning on stopping by a few days after Christmas. 

With that being said, this was the first year it was just you and Tyler, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t so excited to spend the holiday with him. 

“No rush, babe, but is there a reason we’ve been standin’ here for over ten minutes?” he asked after watching you glance between two different boxes over and over again. “Again, no rush at all, but…someone’s grandma is looking a little pissed off.”

When you looked to your left and saw the elderly woman glaring at you, your hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to hold in a laugh. “She has a valid reason,” you said, leaning more into your boyfriend’s side to give her a little more room. “This time of year is…stressful for everyone.” 

Tyler hummed in agreement, wrapping his arm tighter around you as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “True…but I don’t think pickin’ out what to put on the tree is very stressful,” he teases, “Or at least it’s not supposed to be.”

You laughed quietly, watching as the woman grabbed a box of all red ornaments before briskly leaving the aisle. “I don’t know which ones I want,” you whined, pulling him back to where you were before. “I don’t know if we should do red and green, or white and gold, or white, gold and red.” 

Tyler laughed under his breath as he looked at the multitude of different colored ornaments on the shelves. “Well, we have a pretty big tree, why don’t we do a mix of all of them? And maybe we can add some random ones here and there. We still have the ornament my mom got us last year to put on too, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you smiled, looking back at him. His mom had gotten you a cute ornament that said both yours and Tyler’s names on the brims of a Santa hat that two penguins were wearing, and you were kind of obsessed with it. “That’s actually a really cute idea. You’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”

Tyler smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist again as he pulled you back against his side. “I love Christmas, you know that,” 

You nodded, wrapping both your arms around his middle as you leaned your head against his chest. “I know you do,” you hummed, “But most guys don’t.”

“Baby, I think we’ve long since discovered that I’m not like most guys,” he grunted, reaching for both the big boxes of the red and green ornaments, leaving you to grab the smaller box that held both white and gold ones. 

When he gestured for you to finally leave the aisle, you rolled your eyes. “Must you always show off?” you huffed, grabbing the smaller box before following after him. 

“In front of you?” he grinned, “Always.”

-

“Pick a movie already,” you groaned, worried that the candy cane hot chocolate you had made for both you and Tyler would be stone cold by the time a film was even chosen. The living room was only lit up by the recently put up Christmas tree in the corner, an array of ornaments scattered on its branches, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think it was one of the cutest and prettiest things you had ever seen. 

Tyler turned around from where he was hunched over the fake fireplace. The remote had been lost a long time ago, so whenever either of you wanted it on, you had to get onto your knees and hit the button manually. 

The look he gave you had you cackling as you draped the big throw blanket your mom got you a few years ago across your body. “I did,” he said, “Two of them, actually. You said no to both.”

You laughed and sipped on your drink. “The Grinch is so overrated, and Home Alone is so overplayed,” you mumbled, placing your whole palm around your mug to warm your hand. “We watch it, like, five times every December.”

Tyler, once he turned the fireplace on, stood up and towered over you, his hands on his hips. His red and green Christmas pyjama pants he was wearing made your smile grow, even though you were wearing matching ones, complete with Max from The Grinch scattered all over the fabric. “Because it’s a classic,” he defended his choice of movie as he moved towards the couch. “And it’s good. Your choice was awful, but you don’t hear me complainin’, do you?”

His words weren’t harsh at all but rather teasing as he grabbed his own mug before sitting next to you and leaning over to kiss your cheek when you draped the blanket over him as well. “Love Actually is good,” you muttered, bringing the rim of your mug up to your mouth again. 

Tyler laughed, reaching for the remote with his free hand. “Babe, it’s barely a Christmas movie,”

“Okay, you have not seen it enough times to be able to say that,” you said and Tyler grunted. 

“Alright, fine, it doesn’t feel like a Christmas movie,” he corrected himself as he flipped through the Holiday section on Netflix. “How about…this one?”

You looked up and saw that he was hovering over Four Christmases, and your lips curved into a smile. “Okay,” you answered, cuddling close to him while being careful not to spill your drink. 

When the opening scene started, Tyler turned his head and nuzzled his nose against your temple. “We should do that,” he murmured, draping his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to his side. 

“What?” you laughed, your eyes still on the TV but your focus was almost entirely on your boyfriend. 

“You know…roleplay,” he said, and your face heated up as you looked over at him, seeing the mischievous look in his eyes you were very used to by now. 

“Roleplay?” you echoed, tilting your head back to get a better look at his handsome face. “You wanna call me a bitch, hmm? And tell me you hate my earrings?”

Tyler’s face heated up now and he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he rushed out, but you just laughed and draped your legs over his under the blanket. “I just meant, like…you know, pretendin’ we don’t know each other, only for me to kiss you in front of a room full of people like it’s the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.”

You bit your lip and pressed your cheek against his shoulder, running the tip of your nose along his jawline. “You already do that,” you murmured, “Kiss me in a room full of people. What would be different?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before pressing his own against it. “We could make it like our first date all over again. I could act all cool and confident, when really I was already fallin’ head over heels for you, and you could pretend you aren’t completely obsessed with me already and just dyin’ to hear more of my storm chasin’ stories.”

You scoffed, pulling back to lightly slap his shoulder. “You’re so full of it,” you shook your head before moving closer to him again. “It wasn’t your stories that drew me in, it was you. Just you.”

Tyler smiled down at you before leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to your mouth. “Everythin’ about you drew me in,” he mumbled against your lips. “Your eyes, your laugh, your smile…and those tight jeans you were wearing definitely did somethin’ to me.”

You rolled your eyes and placed your hand flat against his face, pushing him away from you. “Once again, you’re full of it,” you muttered, quickly pulling your hand away from him when his tongue poked out and licked your palm. “And disgusting.”

Tyler laughed, and the sound made your mouth curve upwards in a smile as you turned your gaze back to the movie. “You love it,”

-

Christmas Day always seemed to creep up on you ever since you became an adult, unlike how it seemed to take forever to arrive when you were a kid. 

With that being said, it was just as exciting as it was when you were younger. Back then, you, like any other kid, loved receiving gifts, but now that you are older, you love giving them out. 

Okay, maybe you go a bit overboard every year, but your mom could always use another mug, and your dad could always upgrade his housecoat. And Tyler could always stock up on that piney, sexy cologne you fucking love. 

When you woke up on the 25th of December, alone and cold in your bed, you groaned and grabbed Tyler’s Tor-nae-do hoodie and shrugged it over your shoulders, the grey fabric matching well with your Grinch pajamas. 

You left the room and walked down the stairs, hearing the faint sound of Christmas music playing from the living room. When you entered the room, you found Tyler sitting on the couch, his laptop placed on his thighs and his legs kicked up on the coffee table as he scrolled through the comments on an old upload. 

“Working on Christmas?” you asked with a tired grin, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorway. 

Tyler looked over at you, his handsome grin forming on his lips as he closed his laptop, instantly giving you his full attention like he always did. “Someone has to,” he teased, setting it aside as he leaned back on the couch. “Kinda hard to make money when you’re in bed and sleepin’ all morning.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, pushing off the wall when he reached his hand out to you. “It’s only ten thirty,” you mumbled, crawling onto his lap as you snuggled up on his chest. “And yeah, yeah…you’re the breadwinner out of the two of us. I know that.” 

Tyler hummed as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your body as he held you against him. “That’s not true and you know it,” he murmured, dipping his head down to nuzzle his face against your neck. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “Merry Christmas, Ty,” you said back, sitting up on his lap and placing your hands on his chest. “What do you say? I make breakfast, we sit for a bit, then open presents? Maybe after we can have a nap too…you kept me up late last night.”

Tyler smirked, shrugging a bit as he ran his hands up your back, under his hoodie. “What can I say? I know how to celebrate a holiday,” he grinned, then sat up a bit. “How ‘bout presents first? I got you somethin’ I’ve been dying to see you open for weeks now.”

One of your brows raised as you let out a soft hum. “Weeks, huh?” you echoed, a small smile forming on your lips. “Alright, we’ll do presents first.”

“Okay,” he immediately agreed, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze. “Open mine first. It’s right there, under the tree.” he nodded towards the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree lit up in a soft, warm tone, and under it was a small, surprisingly well wrapped box. 

“Okay,” you said, getting off his lap to retrieve the box, and one of the gifts you got him. You walked back over to him and sat down on the couch beside him, rather than on top of him again, and placed your gift for him on his lap. “Remember, we said we weren’t going to go overboard since it’s just us this year, right? You remember that?”

Tyler grinned and draped his arm around your shoulders. “Babe, just open it,” he laughed, his other hand wrapping around one of your thighs to pull you closer to him.

You laughed quietly too, draping your legs over his lap. As your fingers began ripping at the wrapping paper, you noticed that Tyler began to shift beside you, but he only gestured for you to keep going when you looked over at him. “Are you okay?” you asked, glancing up at him again as you pulled off the rest of the paper. “You’re acting kinda weird or anxious or-”

You cut yourself off when you opened a small box, and you quickly looked down to see what was in it. When your eyes caught sight of the princess cut ring that was sitting on the velvet cushion inside the box, your throat closed up as a soft gasp left your mouth. 

“Ty,” you murmured, your eyes burning a bit with unshed tears as you tore your gaze off the stunning ring to look over at him. 

Tyler looked less nervous now as his fingers ran up and down your thigh, his eyes wide but his face relaxed. “Baby,” he said back, reaching up to caress your jaw in his hand. “I love you. More than anythin’ in the world. You know that.”

You nodded quickly, your hands shaking a bit as you looked between him and the ring in the box. “Yeah,” you whispered, gripping his arm tightly with the hand that wasn’t holding the box. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Tyler rasped, taking the ring out of the box as he held it between his fingers. “I want to marry you, babe. I want everythin’ with you, forever.”

Your cheeks heated up in a blush, your eyes filling with tears as you moved closer to him. “I want that too,” 

“Yeah?” Tyler grinned, taking your left hand in his as he held the ring up to you. “Will you marry me, baby?”

You were nodding before he even finished asking the question, your arms thrown around his shoulders as you pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. “Tyler, oh my God,” you mumbled against his mouth, your voice muffled by his lips. “Yes.”

Tyler laughed against your lips, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he pressed multiple kisses to your mouth. Neither of you knew how long had passed before you finally broke the kiss and pulled back so he could slide the ring onto your finger, and already you were absolutely obsessed with it. 

“It’s so beautiful, Ty,” you said quietly as you gazed down at the new addition to your left hand. 

“Yeah? I tried findin’ the prettiest one because you’re the prettiest girl,” he smirked, running his hand up and down your spine as you snuggled up against his side. “This one will have to do.”

You scoffed and shook your head, nuzzling your face against the side of his neck. “It’s perfect,” you mumbled, kissing his shoulder. “I love it. I don’t even want you to open my gift now because you’ve given me the best one by far. I feel cheap.”

Tyler laughed, holding you tightly against his side as he looked down at the gift bag you had put on his lap. “Oh yeah, it’s gonna take you at least…I don’t know, four Christmases to catch up to me now,” he said, a proud smile on his face, and he was clearly happy with his stupid joke as he reached for the bag. “Oh, and thanks for the cologne by the way, wifey.”

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]