#pebble stoner

[meggie-moo]

friends’ and i’s stardew valley grandparents :D

[wheeboo]

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then a tap hits your window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s every time he’s around.

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

Your heart stutters in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it was with him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you could𑁋”

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could really use a shower right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You question, turning towards him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” 

Those words almost make you want to cry. 

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

“Don’t lie to me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Not really.”

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t feel proud of yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N! Wait up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do. 

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

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

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

“Wait, Chan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”

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

His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well. 

He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.

“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.

He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on. 

Chan doesn’t hesitate.

In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.

He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.

Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath. 

He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform. 

One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board. 

One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.

The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late. 

It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.

And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.

Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails. 

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.

“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”

Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.

Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be. 

“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”

“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”

Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”

But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”

But Chan only shakes his head dismissively. 

“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”

But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.

He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better. 

Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks. 

Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.

Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.

Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.

His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.

“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.

Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”

Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.

Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut. 

“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence. 

Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About your fall?”

Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.

“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.

Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”

“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”

Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."

“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”

Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.

“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”

Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”

Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”

Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”

A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”

“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?” 

Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”

Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs. 

“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?” 

Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.

Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.

And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.

He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day. 

Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.

“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly. 

Chan turns to look at him in surprise. 

“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”

Chan chokes from his words. 

“Chan?”

“...hm?”

You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.

“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”

Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm. 

“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”

“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.” 

You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day. 

And then your face lights up.

“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.” 

Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head. 

For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world. 

And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.

It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly. 

“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.

You blink at him, dazed. “What?” 

Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”

You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Maybe this would all be worth it in the end. 

And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.” 

“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.” 

You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”

Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you. 

The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.

He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you. 

Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.

“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.

You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.

It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.

“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.” 

“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”

Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things. 

“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.

You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”

Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again. 

The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.

He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”

“It’s freezing, idiot.”

“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”

You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”

“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.

Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.

Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints. 

It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan. 

“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.

A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.

“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.

“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile. 

Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”

Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”

Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.

You give a nod. “Sure.”

You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle. 

He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.

“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton. 

Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”

You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more. 

“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.” 

“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”

A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.

“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.

You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”

Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”

You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.

The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy. 

The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.

You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it. 

“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.” 

You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”

“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought. 

“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.” 

Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”

“I haven’t?”

“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”

“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”

Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.

“You ever think about it?”

“Huh?” You utter out.

“The future.” 

You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever. 

“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.” 

The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat. 

“I think you’d be happy.” 

Your breath catches. “What?”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”

Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes. 

Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales. 

His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.

Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”

Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”

But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”

Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath. 

“You’re my favourite person, you know?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.

“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”

Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”

Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.

Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.

“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.” 

Neither of you say anything more.

“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?” 

Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.

Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”

Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”

The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.” 

When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.

“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”

“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”

“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave. 

He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.

Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’

“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.” 

“But not anymore.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.” 

Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?” 

“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.” 

Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.

The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?

Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust. 

Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.

“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters. 

Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.” 

Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”

Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.

Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.

“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.” 

No, this is not happening.

A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown. 

No, no, no, no.

Your throat tightens.

This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what? 

For this shit? 

Your vision swims.

Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand. 

Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.

You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.

A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.

[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n?? are you okay? i don’t know what’s happening, but your friend jeonghan ran into me saying about how you ran away crying??

A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.

[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n answer me please i know you’re not okay

A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form. 

What does this mean for you?

Your future?

Your dream?

[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n please i’m worried about you. i care for you so so much

There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.

One last ding from your phone.

[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹] i’m coming over, okay? stay there for me, y/n i’ll be there in 5 mins

You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him. 

You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t. 

Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.

You freeze.

The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one. 

“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door. 

You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.

“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”

The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.

And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.

On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther. 

“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet. 

His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you. 

You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment. 

“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this. 

But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”

You swallow a breath at that.

You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.

Because you know better.

Because you know this warmth is only temporary.

Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.

Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.

At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.

He stiffens.

His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely. 

“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you. 

You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this. 

And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.

And that’s somehow worse.

You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”

Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot. 

“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”

“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”

“I’m not your responsibility!”

“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”

The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once. 

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart. 

But they do.

Because you love him. God, you love him so much.

But you can’t give in.

Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.

“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like a knife.

But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips. 

“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.

If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you. 

You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”

The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.

Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.

“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.” 

The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant. 

And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.

Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure. 

So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.

“Go home, Chan.”

“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”

“I don’t love you, Chan.” 

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Silence.

You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.

You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out. 

And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.

“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”

He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.

Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side. 

The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking. 

Because you love him.

And you just let him go.

The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.

He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.

“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth. 

Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air. 

Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath. 

“Chan𑁋”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.” 

“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”

Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers. 

I don’t love you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.

Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”

Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”

“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.” 

Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”

“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”

Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

A beat of silence passes. 

“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”

Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.

And he thinks about you.

And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?

He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.

Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts. 

He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you. 

Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.

He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.

“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?” 

Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”

“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”

A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.

“Y/N? You need to eat.”

The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital. 

There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.

But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.

The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.

“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you. 

You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.

Chan. 

Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you. 

You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.

For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.

Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.

“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.

Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.

Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”

Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.

A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”

His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.

But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life. 

“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.

A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.

Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.

And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.

Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb. 

And then… nothing. 

The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.

“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”

Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it. 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.

His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?

“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”

Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.

“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.

Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?” 

“If she ever wants to see me again.”

Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.

“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”

And fuck, that stings.

Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.

Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua. 

“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”

Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.

“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.

Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another. 

“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.” 

Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.

And God, you look wrecked. 

He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.

Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.

Because what right does he have? 

His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body. 

For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say it, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.

“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?” 

A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.

Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Still no response from you. 

“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.” 

His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him. 

But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.

Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you. 

“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.” 

A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.” 

The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can. 

And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.

You find yourself running. 

It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it. 

So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment. 

Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?

But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.

You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.

By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place. 

One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door. 

The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.

“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants. 

Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”

You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently. 

“Chan!”

Silence.

You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”

Still nothing.

Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course. 

“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”

The lock clicks.

Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.

He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.

Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”

“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”

Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.

“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.

You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.

Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.” 

Chan doesn’t budge.

Your expression darkens. “Chan.”

When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages. 

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.

“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”

Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”

You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”

When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him. 

“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look. 

At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head. 

Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck. 

But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that. 

All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest. 

“Chan…” You call his name so softly.

Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.��� 

Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you. 

You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once. 

There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.

“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence. 

Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him. 

As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.

“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”

An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”

Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day. 

“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”

You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone. 

Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.

Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you. 

“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.” 

You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.

So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away. 

But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

And it breaks you.

You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”

“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.

Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”

“I know.”

“I hurt you.”

“I know that, too.”

“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”

Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it. 

His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?

And yet, you don’t pull away. 

Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat. 

You still don’t pull away. 

“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”

Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Chan?” 

He blinks up at you, waiting.

“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?” 

Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.” 

Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.

Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.

It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist. 

He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.

Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more. 

Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones. 

“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”

Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”

“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”

Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second. 

A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.

“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.” 

His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his. 

You. 

That’s all his mind is screaming at him.

You, you, you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.

You don’t.

Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt. 

You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.

“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.” 

The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.

“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”

His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out. 

When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.

You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.

“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”

A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”

You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”

“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”

The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for. 

Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.

“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.

Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”

“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.” 

“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.

The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.

“Chan?” 

“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute. 

“I love you.”

The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home. 

He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.

“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased. 

There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.

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[irradiatedpiratebooty]

Ontop of that, keeping the insecurity consistent by having most of his passing dialogue (when romanced) be things like; "are you sure you want to be stuck with this ugly mug?" And implying the SS deserves better than him.

And also, fun fact, if you reach low affinity with him, where he has a disapproval talk with you, the SS can ask him "what are you gonna do about it?" (Not word for word, going off memory here) Where he responds, not with anger, but with a stutter and a "just don't mess up again, okay? Or we're through."

He's NOT used to people standing up to him like that. He sounds genuinely afraid of you.

Hancock having a line thats something along the lines of "when nobody wants to talk to you, a book will be your best friend. Not that I have to worry about that"

Only to also have lines that quote classic literature ( "I like the new outfit, emperor" for example)

I love this insecure asshole

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Eddie, high as fuck: Oh you're a stoner? Name every stone then

Jonathan, also high as fuck:

Jonathan: Rock, pebble.... boulder???

Eddie: Ohhhhh true that

Steve, just watching the two of them:

Steve *face palms*

[blue0baby0navy]

omg what u said abt charlie smoking got me thinkin fr. hcs of him and a stoner reader when :33 (if u want

Erm hcs now! Cuz i felt like it!! And i agree also this one might be short🤷🏼‍♀️

Charlie x stoner! Reader

You and charlie both smoke so…its not a surprise after all long day you’ll both blow of some steam by puffing

When yall get the munchies, yall eat a combination of cereals (lucky charms, fruity pebbles, fruit loops etc.)

When yall are high you cuddle while watching cartoons. Specifically cartoon network cuz its superior.

Sometimes gall go to work smelling like STRAIGHT SKUNK so pim looks at yall like “😟”. Not in a judgy way but in a concerned way

Sometimes you’ll over do it and green out or get cotton mouth. When you do he’s there to help. He’ll hold you hair back as you ‘frow up’😥 and he’ll help you sober up cuz he doesn’t like seeing you that way

When he greens out he’ll deny it at first

“Oh no im good i-im fine..” as his leg is tapping rappidly

He gets anxiety when he greens out soo… you’ll calm him down by laying with him. Getting him some water with advil for his headache. You’ll also rub his temples as he lays his head in you lap

You guys have showed up to work high. Never again. No i will not elaborate cuz its just a bad idea with everything that happens

HII!! I hope you enjoyed, it was a little difficult writing this since i don’t really smoke so Yeah! Hope you enjoyedd!!

ᵇˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵇˡᵒʳᵖ ᵇˡᵒᵖ

[blondbrat]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 2 : 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 ‘23 𐙚 — stoner!matt sturniolo part 2. smut

warnings; pure smut hehe, mentions of weed, protective!matt, f!reader pt.1

“let him hear whata pretty slut u are, mm?” he loves the way ur glossy eyes widen. all foggy and ditsy from the previous cherry kissed drags ! ! placing messy smooches all over ur collarbone as u nuzzle into his neck all flustered and cheeky at the lil idea ! ! ur cunnty fluttering at the naughty tingle. “Matt!” U whine feeling so fithly by the way it filled ur cloudy thoughts, all eager and needy : ((

giggling in matts neck, the strong weedy smell filling ur senses “damn mama, gotta get high with you more often” he chuckled huskily. gripping ur plush hips and dragging his girl plopped down on his lap ! ! “nah’ but im being for real baby, letting him hear your heavenly moans” he whispered. eliciting a surprised squeak as he softly rutted against ur clothed, pretty pussy. feeling the way ur thighs clenched together coyly ! ! why did he have to be so teasing? ? : ((

“mmph, feels so good matty’ you swoon. ur head feeling so light and fluffy, lolling on his shoulder — the sweet, wet mess in ur panties making u feel even needier : (( “yah baby? fuck ma, your wet arnt’ ya?” he smirks. lifting ur dewy thighs just to grind them back down on his throbbing bulge ! ! becoming almost unbearable the moment ur pretty doe eyes find his.

all u could do was nod dumbly. his bulgy zipper meeting ur puffy clit : (( making u all whiney as his lips slam against urs tasting ur sweet, berry lipgloss. a groan falling from his tongue as u opened eagerly. his tongue sweeping in ur drooling mouth. ur lashes flutter closed — his hands glazing ur soft thighs before squeezing ur ass. “fuck, words ma” he drawls against ur lips. “n-need you matt!” you mewl blushing. feeling the smirk the curled against ur lips. “fuck, knew it pretty girl, ima’ show my brother just how much your mine ma”

you were ditsy to the lil fact that he keeped his door a crack open. he knew chris was downstairs, huffing on the plush coach.. and he loved showing off ur blissful moans ! ! especially the lil giggles and mewls that the weed elicited in ur dewy thoughts. ur heart beating in rhythm with ur throbbing cunnty : ((

be was impatient ! ! So were u hehe letting his large hands replace his mouth, now occupied with ur flushed skin groping and squeezing ur soft flesh as his lips trailed down ur front. biting at ur pebbled nipples teasingly as he rolls the pretty buds against his tongue ! ! so coy as his hot tongue leaves ur full tits gliding down ur tummy as he lays suckled, bubblegum marks. u squirm underneath him as his licks the top lace of ur panties, pulling the flowery fabric as it softly snapped back down. u squeaked ! ! he laughed smugly as his teeth gripped the tiny things and dragged them down ur thighs ur aroused glaze dampening ur inner thighs. the sight making his cock swell unbearably more ! ! u blushed clenching ur legs together as if u were embarrassed : (( u just felt so dirty, absolutely dripping for him as ur pretty mind spun in a delicate high ! “dont hide for me, baby. lemme see this pussy” he pries ur legs apart his eyes devouring the sight of ur sweet cunt. drooling and puffy ! ! he smirks coyly, watching u giggle and fluster all sweetly. u were just so needy ! !

his fingers glide up ur inner thighs, before finally cupping ur cunnty ! ! you gasp softly as his digits dive into ur dripping folds. letting ur sweet essence coat his long fingers. licking his lips as his eyes met urs, so pretty. All glassy and wide, so naughty. “how ya’ want it mama tongue or cock, baby?” he grins watching ur hips buck up as he twirls circles around ur puffy clit all teasingly : ((

u whine ! ! “n-need u inside me!” u mewl, so high and needy u couldnt take it ! ! making grabby hands towards his shoulders as he plays with ur swollen cunnty : (( ! ! “damn baby, i like this stoner you, y’know what you fucking need pretty girl”

it wasnt long before ur plushy thighs are sprawled around his waist, his large hands gripping onto ur hips as u bounce on his cock ! ! ur lashes fluttering open and closed as pretty moans and mewls of pleasure leave ur cherry smoked lips. ur glossy state just making u so bold ! ! ! his groans and ur soft screams filling the cozy room as u grind his tip into that sweet spot inside u ! ! Gummy walls clenching him so tightly — fucking up into u so fast you couldnt even think ! ! “taking me so fcking good baby” he groans — kissing u messily as his eyes roll back ! ! The sounds u were making were absolute heaven him hoping that his fcking brother heard ! ! : ))

he felt ur drooling walls clench around his, squeezing his cock as he guides ur hips knowing u were so lost in pleasure u could only whimper and moan ! ! “fuck mama, cum for me. Let it all out baby girl, wanna see that pretty little curl” the moment his words flowed through ur cloudy head, u cummed ! ! ur lips curling in their mewling pout as u writhed on top of him his head throwing back as he pumped into u, thick ropes of cum shooting inside as you rode him through both ur orgasms — full tits bouncing as ur loud angel moan filled the room ! ! and god, it was the hottest thing he had ever seen

chris couldnt unhear ur moans for weeks — but matt made it perfectly clear that his girl only smoked pot with her man : )) and only he could make u feel so good hehe

[vampynights]

CLYDE (ELECTRICK CHILDREN) — hanging on the telephone

✰summary: clyde’s not the conventional type to bring home and your parents make that abundantly clear. still, he’s desperate to keep you in his life somehow. do you choose between the approval and love of the people who keep a roof over your head, or the boy who made you feel alive for the first time ever?

✰warnings: cursing, smoking and weed usage (i’ve never actually smoked so bear with me), mentions of drinking, lots of tension, pretty slowburn (this is kinda an understatement, it took around 6,000 words to get to the lovers part), angst with comfort, unhealthy relationships with parents, afab reader, reader uses she/her pronouns 

✰a/n: this is not only the first fic (or oneshot) i’ve written in a while but also my first ever clyde fic so please excuse any mistakes!!! i’m open to any requests for clyde seeing as there isn’t enough fanfiction of him out there. 

✰words: 14.3k (it's a long one so strap in.)

————————————

Meeting Clyde was an accident but to her, it was almost a blessing. 

Y/N didn’t intend on letting it go as far as it did. He was just the weird stoner kid she met at a music venue. If you asked her, she’d tell you the story of how they met was as cliché as it could get. Girl bumps into boy with a drink, boy shrugs it off and promptly begins flirting with her, and they hit it off almost immediately. She’d never been to something like that before and it was obvious but Clyde was nice enough to make sure she didn’t feel too out of place (or bump into any more people.) 

By the end of the night, the two were walking around the streets of Las Vegas, talking endlessly about everything and anything that popped into their minds. Both of them knew that by bringing up a random story or question, they were simply procrastinating saying goodbye to one another, yet neither of them bothered to point it out or put an end to it. 

“Okay so- wait. You’ve never gone, like, fucking rogue on your parents for not even a day? What, do you just stay at home and shit?” Clyde is inebriated and exasperated, running a hand through his hair with one hand while the other raises to his mouth and grabs the cigarette in between his lips. He blows out the smoke and Y/N lets her gaze linger on the sight for a few seconds before looking at the street ahead, shaking her head. 

“I mean…yeah? I’m not really the type to disobey my parents for no reason. I didn’t feel any need to.” She looks down and kicks a pebble in front of her. She can feel Clyde staring at her but she refuses to make eye contact, weirdly embarrassed by her admission. 

“Yet here you are walking around with a random guy at night, real fucking smart. Were you even allowed to go to that venue?” He asks, laughing as he raises the cigarettes to his lips again. 

“Nope,” she replies, emphasizing the ‘P’. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looks around. It’s surprisingly vacant, though she assumes it’s because they’ve unknowingly departed from the busier streets and are now walking around aimlessly. 

“Well aren’t you just a little rebel-“ he begins to tease her though is cut off by a harsh shove, making him laugh and stumble to the side. She playfully glares at him and flips him off. 

“Shut the fuck up?” She giggled. “I bet you’re probably a fucking nuisance to your parents.” Though it’s a rather mean statement, Clyde knows she’s only joking through the smile that spreads across her face. He smiles back and for a split second Y/N swears she feels her heart skip. 

“Well actually,” he raises the cigarette to his lips again, “I don’t live with them anymore. Well, technically I don’t.” 

Y/N feels a tinge of guilt for even bringing up the subject of his parents after hearing that, though Clyde is quick to notice the way her smile falters and he quickly adds to his sentence.

“Not that I really give a shit though, I like being on my own a lot better than staying over there. It’s suffocating,” he says through the cigarette in between his lips. 

“How come?”

“I don’t know, they’re like…not supportive of who I am and shit?” Clyde shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. Y/N feels as though he’s excluding a large majority of the story though drops it. She instead chooses to focus on how they’re approaching her neighborhood. She sighs, disappointed at the prospect of having to leave Clyde. He glances over at her from the corner of his eye at the sound and then directs his attention to where hers is, staring at a street sign in front of them. 

“Is uh- is this where you live?” He asks her, holding the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it and throwing it on the ground, stepping on it with his shoe to put it out. Y/N nods and then turns to face him. They’re both silent for a few seconds, staring at each other awkwardly as they try to formulate a proper goodbye. 

“This was…fun,” she eventually speaks, her lips pursing together into a tight smile. Clyde nods and smiles as well, though he is a lot more relaxed.

“Can I get your number?” He blurts out. Her eyes widen only slightly before she quickly begins digging into her bag, pulling out a pink flip phone with small bedazzled jewels on it. She holds it out for Clyde to take and he laughs at the sight, grabbing it and inspecting it.

“Cute,” is all he says as he flips it open and begins putting his number into her phone. He pulls out his own and puts her number into his, Y/N staring in awkward silence.

He shuts both phones and hands hers back, beginning to walk backward and away from her. “I’ll call you!” He shouts out to her, waving goodbye. She waves back, standing in place and watching him leave. Looking back down at her phone, she can’t help but grin wildly and laugh to herself as she walks back home, a blush spread across her cheeks the whole time.

———

It takes Clyde two days to call her. In those two days she did nothing but think of him. The way he pat her shoulder after she profusely apologized for spilling her drink on him, the way he whispered into her ear whenever someone he knew walked past and he had a strong opinion on them he just needed to share, and the way he asked her to walk with him before the band they were watching even finished performing all snuck their way into her mind throughout the day. 

What was in the forefront of her mind however was his smile. The smile he gave her as he offered to be her ‘guide’, the smile he gave her when she told him her name and the smile he gave her as they said goodbye. If there was anything she learned about him after the night they spent together, it was that he would very easily become her new favorite person. 

She was in her bedroom when he called, flipping through a fashion magazine while lying on her bed. Laying on her stomach with her legs swinging in the air, she mindlessly stared at the model on the page in front of her, though her mind was anywhere but on the skirt she was showcasing. Coincidentally enough, she was thinking about Clyde when the loud ringing alarmed her out of her thoughts. 

She jumped and got up, racing towards her phone on the dresser and picking it up to see the caller's I.D. Her heart raced as she read the name and she purposefully waited for the phone to ring for just a couple more seconds before picking it up to avoid looking eager. 

“Hello?” She could hear Clyde’s voice clearly through the speaker and her heart raced. It had only been two days since they met yet it felt like an eternity since she had heard his voice.

“Hi,” she breathed out, subconsciously checking herself out in the mirror and fixing her hair as if Clyde could see her. 

“What are you doing?” He asks and she can hear muffled music in the background as if he were listening to a live band in a different room. 

“Uhm nothing really…just doing some light reading…” she glances over at the magazine on her bed and paces her room. 

“Light reading? What the fuck is that?” He laughs on the other end and Y/N bites her lip to try and control the smile on her face. Sighing, she sits down on her bed and flips another page of the magazine absentmindedly. 

“Doesn’t matter. What are you doing? Sounds like you’re at a venue or something again.” She runs a finger down the page. 

“Close but not really. I’m uh watching some friends practice…they’re in a band and shit. They’re actually kinda good but y’know music is subjective and all that bullshit so maybe you won’t agree,” he mumbled into the phone, and she laughed in response. Laying down on her back, she stared up at her ceiling and tapped her fingers on her stomach. 

“Right…I’m sure they’re good. Well if they’re anything like the bands we heard the other night, they were amazing.” 

Clyde chuckles and clears his throat. “Yeah no they were great…they’re actually playing again at the same venue next week…if you wanna go check it out.” 

“The same venue only a week later? Wouldn’t they wanna broaden where they play and stuff?” Y/N furrows her eyebrows and rolls over on her side.

“Well they’re small bands and a shit ton of people usually go over there so…either way, it’s better for us cause it’s closer. So are you in or nah?” 

Y/N takes a moment to think. She was dying to see him again though the prospect of going against her parent's rule of sneaking out at night wasn’t one she was intending to break more than just once a month. Still, she found herself abandoning all logic and agreeing. “Yeah, sure. What day?” She tries to sound casual though a bit of excitement shines through her tone. 

“Next Wednesday at 11 pm. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you out long like last time,” he laughs, “unless you want me to.” 

Her heart skips at his words and she can practically hear his smirk over the phone. “We’ll see.” She’s trying her best to play it cool despite the tremor in her hands. 

“Cool.” 

And with that, they’re left in awkward silence for a few seconds. Y/N thinks of what to say and though she really, really doesn’t want to come off as desperate, she can’t help but ask the question that’s been nagging her ever since the day before. 

“How come it took you two days to call?” 

There’s a brief pause on Clyde’s end that makes her panic. Did she freak him out? Was she being overbearing? Was two days a reasonable amount of time to wait before calling someone and she was just clingy? His laughing cut off her train of thought. 

“Missed me?” He asked teasingly. She felt her cheeks grow warm from embarrassment but he spoke before she could defend herself. “I’m gonna be honest I just got kinda busy. Trust me when I say I wanted to call you, though.” 

Y/N smiles widely, not bothering to push it back. The confirmation that he had also been thinking about her, maybe not as much as she was thinking of him, but that she was on his mind at all overjoyed her. She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger and closed her eyes. 

“I’ll believe you. For now.” 

He snickered at her last statement and opened his mouth to reply before a voice other than his could be heard from the phone. She couldn’t tell whose voice it was, though the person seemed agitated with him. She stared at her nails as she waited for Clyde to speak to her.

“Listen, I gotta go but I’ll call you again soon, alright? And if not, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Kay?”

She was disappointed at the fact that their call had to be cut short though nodded to his words before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Uh- yeah! See you.” 

They exchanged a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone. Y/N flipped hers shut and set it down on top of her chest, her hands resting on her stomach as she smiled up at her ceiling. She knew it’d be a long week before Wednesday came.

—------------

She didn’t understand what part of her behavior may have changed throughout the week, though to her parents, it was fairly obvious that she was a little too happy. The next Monday Y/N could sense something was off the moment she stepped foot into the dining room. The atmosphere was tense almost, and what made things worse was Y/N couldn’t pinpoint why. Did they somehow know about her secret rendezvous? Maybe she was too loud on the phone the night before? Or perhaps they knew she snuck out the other night. They wouldn’t have waited this long to confront her, however. 

As she approached her seat at the dinner table, she cautiously stared up at her father through her eyelashes and pulled out her chair. Her father was too busy setting the table to notice. 

“Y/N! Can you come help me set the plates?” Her mother called out to her from the kitchen, startling her. She let go of the chair and began to walk towards the kitchen, taking one last glance at her father before directing her attention to her mother. She paced around the kitchen grabbing plates from cabinets, forks and knives from the drawers on the counters, and began transferring the food from the pots and pans onto the plates. Y/N walked over slowly and grabbed a plate, taking hold of a large spoon and scooping out some of the rice in the container to pour it onto the plate. The air felt a little lighter in there, and they both did their tasks in mutual silence for a minute before her mother began speaking. 

“You seem happy lately. Anything new?” It was an innocent question. Her mother was usually the type to inquire about her life so this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. The guilt from sneaking out three nights ago plagued Y/N’s mind, however, and what once was a warm and comforting inquiry of how she was doing now became a terrifying interrogation. Y/N tried her best to remain calm and continued to fill the plate with food, setting it down and reaching over the counter to wash a spoon in her hands. 

“Nothing new, just happy that it’s summer,” she replied cooly, mentally applauding herself for responding without a shake in her voice. Her mother hummed in response and left the kitchen with a plate in her hands, walking out to the dining room. Y/N turned the sink off and sighed under her breath, looking down and gripping the counter with her hands. She was definitely not made for the lifestyle of sneaking out against her parent's permission. She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath, grabbing her plate and walking out to the dining room. 

Her father was seated already, flipping through a newspaper while her mother set a plate down in front of him. Y/N fought back the urge to roll her eyes at his inability to make his own plate and placed her plate down on the table. She silently walked back into the kitchen and looked in the fridge for something to drink. Her family wasn’t the type to drink anything deemed ‘unhealthy’, meaning the only things available to drink were water and homemade juices. She’d rather drink her own piss than ingest an entire cup of her mother's kale juice, so she instead opted for a water bottle. She’d kill to drink some soda, however. 

As she walked back to the table she found her mother and father already seated, staring at her expectantly. It was uncanny, almost, the way they both looked over in her direction at the same time and smiled. She froze for a split second and smiled back (though it came off as more of a grimace), her teeth in full display before she continued to walk back to her seat. She sat down and smoothed out her pants before looking down at her food and closing her eyes. Before every meal, they were expected to pray. 

‘Oh heavenly father,” her father began, sighing deeply as he intertwined his hands in front of his plate, “we thank you for the opportunity to be blessed with the food in front of us and we are grateful for the roof over our heads and for each other. Thank you for my wonderful wife who prepared this delicious meal, and thank you for my truehearted daughter who continues to stay on the right path, the path that you have created for her.” His prayer continued, though Y/N tuned out. 

The guilt was eating at her. Her father sat just inches away praising her for her obedience and loyalty to god, when just three nights before she was out on the streets with a boy who she knew very well both her parents and God wouldn’t approve of. Not that she really gave a damn about God anyway. He was always something her parents believed in and pressured her to believe in as well. Her doubt of his existence didn’t make her guilt any better, though. Even though she knew deep down she didn’t fully believe in him, she didn’t completely deny him either. And if he did exist as her parents insisted, was she just a horrible person and daughter for doubting that? She already felt like a horrible daughter for sneaking out the way she did. For years her parents publicly and privately praised her for being the “most well behaved child they’d ever seen.” They had confidence in her that she’d always do the right thing, and made it abundantly clear that if she were to ever, ever, disobey them she’d be betraying their trust completely. She was too caught up in her thoughts and failed to notice both of her parents staring at her worriedly. 

“Y/N?” Her mother reached out and grabbed her arm, gently shaking her. Y/N snapped back into reality and blinked, staring down at her food and then looking at her parents. “Are you okay sweetheart?” Her mother asked. Y/N could only nod and grab her fork, stabbing into the meat on her plate and shoving it into her mouth.

—--------------

Wednesday night, Y/N found herself pacing her room in an attempt to relieve the anxiety that surrounded her like a dark cloud. She’d gotten past the first two stages of her plan: she kissed both her parents goodnight and waited for them to fall asleep before hiding out in her room like a hermit. She placed a bunch of pillows under her blanket strategically to look like a body (something she’d learned from the corny sitcoms she was allowed to watch. She found it ridiculous though did it anyways,) and began getting ready. She didn’t own a lot of clothing that would be deemed ‘appropriate’ for the occasion and ended up wearing a loose black dress that stopped just short of her knees. She put on a leather jacket that she stole from a friend who had a lot more freedom to wear whatever they wanted, and some dark brown eyeshadow to try and give herself a more ‘edgy’ look. She assumed that’s what Clyde would be into based on the appearances of the girls he hung around with. 

It was a struggle to get out of her house without making any noise. She had to take off her shoes while she walked down the stairs and past her parents’ room to avoid any creaking in the floors, and it took her almost three minutes to unlock and open the door without making any noise. By the time she stepped out of her house, it was 10:55 pm and she had to be at the venue by 11, though her house was about a ten-minute walk from there. She was now not only incredibly nauseous from the fact that she was sneaking out in the first place but also that she had only 5 minutes to get there on time. Maybe he wouldn’t be there on time? He seemed like the type of guy who was never actually on time for stuff, so maybe, just maybe, she’d get there before him. Right? 

Wrong.

By the time she did get to the venue, sweaty and out of breath, she could see him standing against a wall with his arms crossed, smoking a cigarette. She didn’t understand why he smoked so much but decided now was definitely not the right time to ask any questions like that. She nervously walked up to him, trying to get a good look at his face underneath the colorful lights above them to gauge his mood and decide whether or not it was smart to actually go say hi or if she should just walk away and never talk to him again. It was hard to actually pinpoint his mood however, seeing as he remained rather stoic as he stared out at the street in front of him. He must have sensed her presence before he glanced over from the corner of his eye, and his eyebrow twitched just slightly. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and threw it on the ground, stepping over it before cooly walking over to her. She stayed frozen in place.

“Took you long enough. Was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” he mumbled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his navy blue hoodie as he walked towards her. Y/N laughed quietly, looking down at her shoes to avoid his gaze. 

“Sorry. Turns out sneaking out of your house with the intention of meeting up with someone is a lot harder than just sneaking out in general,” she was about to explain herself in further detail, feeling as if she needed to or else he’d get mad before he laughed and place an arm around her shoulder casually. Her eyebrows rose and she stiffened under his touch though didn’t make an effort to shove him off or anything. He was warm. She smiled softly as he began to lead her into the venue, rambling about how the bands already started but they weren’t missing out on much. 

—--------------------

That was a month ago. Every day since then, they have been in contact somehow, whether it was exchanging phone calls or texts, or meeting up with each other. They started hanging out more during the day as well, with Y/N lying and saying she was visiting her friends from church. The guilt of lying to her parents and disobeying them grew every day, though her affection towards Clyde was growing at an even more rapid rate. The guilt was worth it if it meant she got to see him one more time. One day, they were in his…room? She still didn’t know what to call it, she just knew that’s where he stayed most of the time. They both sat on his bed with their hands in the air, in the middle of a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’. Y/N was obviously winning with only three fingers down, meanwhile, Clyde had eight of them. 

“Okay sooo…” she began before smirking mischievously. Clyde sighed and rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as well. 

“Ah shit you’re about to kill me, aren’t you?” He asked, giggling as Y/N placed a finger over his lips and shushed him. 

“Shhshhhshhh….never have I ever smoked.” 

Clyde narrowed his eyebrows at her. “Gotta be more specific. Like weed or cigs or-”

“Just put the finger down, Clyde, we both know you’ve inhaled any smoke you can think of naming,” Y/N laughs and grabs Clyde’s hand, forcing a ninth finger down as Clyde scoffed. 

‘I’m asking you, dumbass. What haven’t you smoked?” He asks, causing Y/N to go silent and stare. Clyde stares back. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Over the past month, the two had gotten close enough to have a basic understanding of each other and their families, and Clyde knew damn well that she wasn’t experienced with any of that. In response to her silence, he chuckles and gets up, walking towards a book bag in the corner of the room. Y/N watches him wordlessly, having a growing suspicion of what he is going to pull out. She’s proven right when he turns around with a large smirk on his face, a tiny ziplock baggie in his hand with weed in it. Y/N scoffs and rests her back on the wall, her knees going up to her chest. 

“Wanna try? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just notice how you’ve been eyeing my shit whenever I smoke,” says as he approaches the bed, going to the bedside table next to it and digging through it. She couldn’t find the courage to correct him and tell him that the reasoning behind her staring when he smoked was because she thought he was attractive, not because she wanted to try it though. She stared as he went through the drawer, thinking through the pros and cons of what would happen if she smoked with him.

She did have a bit of a curiosity when it came to smoking and drinking, though her parents always told her it was a sin to do either. Though she was already sinning by being in this room with Clyde, she figured there’d be no harm in trying. He made a small ‘aha’ noise once he found whatever it was he was looking for and sat down in the bed in front of her, setting the items down. Aside from the baggie of weed, there were what Y/N understood to be cigar papers (from what Clyde had described it to look like in one of their previous conversations). Clyde picks it up and waves it around in front of her face. 

“Let’s see if you’ve been paying attention to anything I’ve said in the past,” he mumbled, setting it down and taking the weed out of the baggie. “What’s that? Do you know?” He nods towards the cigar papers. Y/N hesitated to answer, afraid of being wrong and embarrassing herself, though when she looked at Clyde’s face she saw nothing but a warm fondness in his eyes that made her whole body warm up. She knew he wouldn’t actually judge her, maybe tease and poke fun at her, but no real judgment would ever be made. 

“Uhm…cigar papers?” She answered, wincing a bit at the end of her response. Clyde’s smile eases her anxieties, however, and he laughs as he begins to pack the weed into the papers. 

“Shit, you have been listening! Good job.” 

The praise goes straight to her stomach as she feels it twist and turn. She was falling deep, a little too deep. She smiles in return and watches his movements. The two are silent for a few minutes, comfortable just enjoying each other's company. Once Clyde finishes, he holds up the blunt and rotates it in front of Y/N’s face. 

“Okay, serious talk now. You seriously don’t gotta do it if you don’t want to. I know your family have your own fucking reservations and shit about this type of shit,” he warns her, his tone genuinely rather stern. Y/N smiles at his concern. 

“Clyde, seriously, it’s fine. I wanna try. Plus, I’m not too concerned about anything bad happening, I mean, you smoke this stuff all the time, right?” Clyde nods and searches his pockets for his lighter. When he can’t find it, he begins lifting the blankets and pillows to find it around his bed.

“Yeah but this is your first time and well…shit get’s weird on your first time. I got you though. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Y/N’s almost glad he's preoccupied searching for his lighter so he can’t see her face after he says that. Little does she know he’s glad his lighter was hidden somewhere under his covers so he didn’t have to look her in the eyes and accidentally show off the blush that sneaked its way up to his cheeks. Once he finds it he chuckles to himself and glances over at Y/N, who is nervously staring at him. 

“Alright, you ready?” 

—---------------------------

It wasn’t a surprise that Y/N was high out of her mind from only a couple of hits. Clyde watched amused as she lay on his bed, staring up at his ceiling and rambling about god knows what. If he’s being honest, he stopped tuning in ten minutes into her rant and gave up trying to make sense of what she was saying. He was having just as much fun watching her fall into deep relaxation. He’d always found her to be on edge constantly, even when it was just the two of them in a secluded area, so to see her openly say what was on her mind with no hesitation was a sight to behold. And he was beholding it alright. 

As he listened to her rant he sat up and reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a water bottle, holding it out so she could take a sip. She whined and pushed it away, making him laugh and grab her hand. “C’mon dude you gotta drink something. You’ve gone through like three bags of chips, isn’t your mouth like hella salty?” He asks her, motioning towards the chips.

She looks over and stares in amazement at all the empty chip bags in front of her. “Holy shit…” she mumbled, clearly not fully present. “I ate all of those?” 

“Yeah, now open your mouth.” He grabs her chin and forces her mouth open despite her protests, placing the bottle up to her lips and tipping it slightly so it doesn’t all flow out. She drinks and he watches with an inexplicable expression on his face. He couldn’t believe that people like her still existed in the world, somehow so pure yet the slightest bit tainted. She was hopeful for a better world but not delusional, she was detached from the world he lived in yet kept an open mind and wanted to know more about it, and she was beautiful. Not just in a physical sense, but beautiful in the way she spoke. Gorgeous in the way she laughed and alluring in the way she presented herself. 

He slowly moved the bottle away from her lips and watched as she wiped her mouth, his eyes flickering down to her lips and staying there for a few seconds. They always looked so inviting. 

“Y’know, Clyde,” she began speaking and he looked away from her lips and up into her eyes. “I always thought you were really cool,” she huffed out, laying her head down on his lap. He tensed and looked down, his breathing growing shallow. There was a large pause in between her sentences. She closed her eyes and Clyde could only stare in silence. He hesitantly reached his hand down to her hair, hovering above it to see if she was okay with him touching her head. She didn’t make any indication for him to move, so he began to gently comb his fingers through her hair. The two sat like that for a while before Y/N continued her point from earlier. 

“You are really cool…” she lifted herself off his lap and instead moved closer to him, their bodies inches away. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what she was trying to do.

She glanced down at his lips and Clyde subconsciously licked them. She moved even closer. 

“I think I like you.” 

That confession alone was enough to make him stop breathing for a couple of seconds. Sure, there had been a couple of signs out there that seemed to hint towards her having an attraction to him. That was all it was though. An attraction. He’d always been doubtful of the idea of her ever gaining any actual feelings for him, he was far too damaged to be hers. He’d only ever entertained the idea of them being together at night when he was up late at night and needed something to soothe him to sleep. So to hear her say something like that, he just couldn’t believe it. She was high. It had to be because of that. He refused to believe any other reason. 

She began to lean in and Clyde could feel the overwhelming urge to allow her to kiss him wash over him. He couldn’t allow that to happen, however. Not while she was not in the right state of mind. He put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her movements, making her furrow her eyebrows and pout at him. The sight alone was testing him. 

“C’mon. You’re high, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he mumbled, watching as her pout developed into a frown. 

“What? But I thought-” 

“Just go to sleep or something, I don’t know Y/N,” he sighed out, running a hand through his hair. Y/N shrugged and laid her head back down on his lap, yawning and closing her eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look down, knowing that if he did, he’d regret not kissing her.

—-------------

Things were tense after that. He drove her home after ensuring she was fairly sober, making sure she left after ingesting a fair amount of fast food. He could still see the wide smile that plastered itself onto her face when he presented her with an extra large cup of soda. That night he didn't sleep, though that was fairly common for him. This time, however, he refused to lull himself to sleep with daydreams of them together, afraid that he’d get overwhelmed. They didn’t see each other for another week after that, which after spending almost the entire month together, obviously aroused suspicion from Y/N. She couldn’t recall much of what happened that day, knowing that she got high and did go on a tangent about baby whales, though everything else was a blur. She first assured Clyde was busy. After all, he had been acting semi-normal when he bought her food and dropped her off, and a day later the two talked on the phone for about ten minutes. But then he changed. He texted her less and when he did text her, it was fairly short replies with no warmth or jokes like usual. She’d begun to get the feeling that she did something wrong but had no idea what it was. 

After two days with no contact on the phone, she grew extremely worried. Not only for his sake but also for their relationship. Did she say- or do- something while high? She decided that night she was going to check on him. 

After sneaking out and lying to her parents about what she was doing for a little over a month, she began to grow increasingly good at deceiving them. Of course, it never felt good, and she found herself actually praying for forgiveness some nights, though she was far too addicted to the rush she got from doing so to ever stop. That night, like most, she kissed her parents goodnight and waited until around 10 p.m. to sneak out. She didn’t bother texting Clyde to let him know she was visiting, not wanting to risk him running away to avoid her. 

When she arrived at the building he usually stayed at, she went straight to his usual spot, though was unable to find him. She frowned. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be out at night, the issue was he had more than just one or two spots he went to hang out, and she really didn’t feel like walking around the streets of Las Vegas at night in search of him. She decided to suck it up, though, knowing that her relationship -or lack thereof- with Clyde was more important than preserving her energy. 

She stopped by Johnny’s room to see if he was there, pushing the door open slightly and clearing her throat over the loud video game sound effects and music coming from his T.V. making him glance over and nod in her direction. 

“Yo,” he spoke absentmindedly, his fingers harshly clicking the buttons of the video game controller in his hands. Y/N smiled at him though he wasn’t paying attention. 

“Have you seen Clyde?” she asked, her hand gripping onto the door. 

Johnny takes a second to answer, his eyebrows furrowing though Y/N can’t tell if it’s because he’s too focused on the game or if it’s because he’s actually trying to think of when the last time he saw Clyde was. Y/N raises her eyebrows expectantly, and Johnny pauses his game and looks at her. “He went to the park with Snow, said he needed to clear his mind or something,” he says while scratching his head. Y/N can tell he wants to say more and stays in her place by the door. 

He continues. “Not that it’s any of my business but uh…did you and Clyde get into some argument or something? I didn’t wanna eavesdrop but when they were leaving I heard her mention something about girls and then your name and…well I don’t know I just haven’t seen you around this week so I just assumed.” He shrugged and leaned over to grab a beer bottle on a tiny wooden table, chugging the liquid down. Y/N smiled. She remembered her first impression of him wasn’t the best, thinking he was a bit of a dick and standoffish, though he eventually came around. She sighed and patted the side of the door, getting ready to make her departure. 

“Ya know Johnny that is a GREAT question. I’m about to go find out,” she replied simply before waving goodbye and rushing off. Johnny stared after her and shrugged before returning to his video game. 

Y/N wasn’t too worried about Clyde hanging out with Snow this late at night alone. She’d interacted with Snow several amount of times before and she was a very sweet girl, although a bit ditzy whenever she was intoxicated (which was a little too often.) She gave Y/N a safe space to talk about being a girl and made it obvious that Clyde was her friend and nothing more. She of course became aware of Y/N’s feelings for Clyde before Y/n herself was even aware of them, and took any chance she got to push the two together. Overall she was the cute blonde girl who at first glance looked like a mean girl but would actually end up being your best friend. 

What concerned her was the fact that her name was mentioned in their conversation, meaning Clyde was talking about her despite not reaching out to her at all. She had to have done something wrong. As she walked towards the local park she did nothing but think through the countless number of possible ways she could have fucked up. She had eight minutes to think through exactly what she was going to say when she saw him. Was she going to be angry? Demand why he didn’t talk to her for days? Or maybe she’d take a softer approach. 

Eight minutes was not enough time to make any decision. By the time she got to the park, she was less than ready, staring at the figures sitting on a bench a few feet away. She could easily tell it was Clyde and Snow based on the shape of his hair, and she felt her palms get clammy as she walked towards them. Clearly, she didn’t think that through. 

“Clyde.” Was all she said as she approached the two. They both turned, though Clyde was a lot quicker, and Snow smiled widely when she saw Y/N. 

“See, what’d I say,” she whispered over to Clyde, patting his shoulder before getting up and smiling warmly at her friend. Y/N couldn’t be upset with her, she was far too cute, so she smiled back. Snow leaned in and gave Y/N a quick hug, patting her back before walking away without another word. It was silent after that. 

Clyde turned back around and stared down at the ground, Y/N walking to the front of the bench and sitting down next to him. She left little room for him to run away. Whatever it was, they were going to confront it tonight. Y/N was the first to speak after gathering her thoughts.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked, her voice breaking. She didn’t intend to get emotional so early in the conversation but she couldn’t help it. Aside from the fact that she harbored feelings for him, his friendship meant a lot to her. He was the first friend she’d made who she felt completely comfortable around. He introduced her to a whole new world that she didn’t know existed, and she knew that world meant nothing without him. He was ingrained into her. 

Clyde looked up quickly and stared at her, his eyes wide and bloodshot. When she turned to look at him she couldn’t help but feel pity. He’d obviously been lacking sleep. “Jesus Clyde, what’s happened?” She asked, leaning in and cupping his face in her hands. He twitched underneath her touch but said nothing. Y/N inspected his face for a sign, anything that would tell her what was wrong, but she found nothing. That was until she looked into his eyes. 

She couldn’t tell what it was, but the intensity of his eyes made it so that she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. She didn’t need to hear any words to understand that he was in some weird internal battle with himself. 

“You told me you liked me.” Clyde finally breaks his silence. His voice was so quiet, she could almost barely hear it. She’d never heard him so vulnerable before. 

“What?”

“When you were high you told me you liked me and tried to kiss me.” Y/N was at a loss for words. She should have known she’d say something so stupid in a moment of vulnerability. She let go of his face and opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, so Clyde continued. “I can’t be with you, Y/N. And if I can’t be with you then I don’t know what else to do with myself.”

She was confused now. What did he mean by ‘he couldn’t be with her?’ Was that because he didn’t feel the same way? Then why add that last part? She searched for the words in her brain though all that could come out was a weak “What?”

“Y/N,” he breathed in and looked away, as if he felt guilty, “I like you. But I can’t let myself ruin you.” 

She should have felt overjoyed. She just got confirmation that her crush liked her back, this should have been a happy moment, but instead, she just felt nauseous. The pit in her stomach that had been lingering there for about a week was intensifying. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” She spat out. Ruin her? How could he ever ruin her? “Clyde, I don’t know what you’re talking about and to be honest, I don’t care. You couldn’t ever ruin me-“ 

“Y/N, you’re Christian.” Y/N stared in disbelief, ready to ridicule him for bringing up such an irrelevant fact before he continued. “You’re Christian and you’re- you’re fucking amazing. You’re like a rainbow at the end of a storm, and I know that it’s fucking cliché and corny, and you can make fun of me all you want, but I don’t know how else to describe it. You don’t smoke, you don’t drink, and you hadn’t had a soda in years before I bought you one for fucks sake! You’re in your own sweet, innocent little world, and I took you away from that. I don’t wanna take you away from more.”

His confession left her speechless. She understood what he was trying to say, having had the same thoughts before. They WERE different, though she didn’t have to carry the burden of thinking she was ‘tainting’ him the way he did with her. He was the opposite of everything her parents wanted for her. Disobeyed his parents, he smoked and occasionally drank, he definitely didn’t hold any religious beliefs that they would agree with, and the list went on longer than she’d like it to. 

She looked down at her hands which rested on top of her knees. She’d hate to admit he was right. They both sat in silence for a while, seemingly contemplating what they should do. She felt weird. As if he was somehow misconstructing the truth. She didn’t doubt that he felt bad about changing her, though something was telling her that wasn’t the full story. If he really did feel so bad, why did he let her keep hanging around him? Why not cut contact earlier? He was leaving something out. 

“Tell me the truth, Clyde,” she sighed out. Clyde frowned and turned to look at her. 

“That is the truth.” 

“No, it’s not. I don’t know if you’re lying to me or something but there’s no way the only reason is cause you feel guilty.”  Clyde bit the inside of his cheek. 

“I’m not good for you,” he began and Y/N rolled her eyes, sitting back on the bench and crossing her arms. He ignored her and continued, “I’m a dumbass, Y/N. I don’t think you understand just how-“ he sighs, exasperated. “I can’t give you anything. I don’t have a lot of money to fucking buy you jewelry like some other guy can, shit I don’t even have like a real home to live in! Shit, dude, I’m like…the worst guy you could date.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. Clyde was obviously confused by her random change in mood, though Y/N couldn’t stop herself. As she threw her head back her laughter died down to just giggles. “So this is all about you not being good enough for me?” She turned towards him. 

He sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket and avoiding her gaze.”So what? You think it’s fucking stupid?” He asks, laughing a bit to mask his hurt. She wordlessly grabbed his hands and removed them from his face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. Cupping his cheeks once again, she wipes away the few stray tears that managed to fall and smiles at him. Without warning, she leans in and kisses him. 

The kiss is soft as if she were worried about breaking him, and Clyde has no idea how to respond. He keeps his hands by his side and closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of her lips against his. He knows his are cracked and probably dry but she doesn’t care. As he goes to lift his hands to grab her face, she pulls away, confusing him. He finds it adorable how her face is obviously flushed despite being the one to initiate the kiss.

“Clyde, I don’t give a damn if you don’t have any money,” she breaks the silence. He says nothing and just continues to admire her. “I don’t care if you don’t have a proper home, or proper parents, or a proper attitude. I like you because you’re fun. You’re fun and you’re sweet and you’ve shown me that life doesn’t have to be lived by the rules only. And holy shit did my life suck before I met you.” Clyde laughs quietly. 

She presses her forehead against his and he shuts his eyes, smiling. It was pure silence around the two and if they focused hard enough, it felt like they were the only two in the world. 

————————-

Two months pass by without an issue. Y/N continues to visit Clyde in secret and once in a while he stops by her house, but only when her parents are asleep. The two share a few kisses in her dark room, talk about whatever came up, kiss some more until he eventually wound up on top of her, and then say goodbye. He promised her that he’d never pressure her into doing anything she wasn’t ready for, and though she trusted him with her entire life, she knew she wasn’t ready to take a step like that. 

It was a rainy Saturday night when Y/N made her first mistake. 

The two were hanging out in Clyde’s room, Johnny, Snow, and Lola joining them. The other three were obviously intoxicated and trying to play a game of Monopoly while Clyde and Y/N sat in the corner of the room, Y/N’s legs over Johnny’s lap while he drew something in his notebook. Y/N painted her nails with a dark purple polish Lola let her borrow. 

“What are you drawing?” She asked, leaning forward a bit to try and get a glimpse. Clyde smirked and pushed back, swatting her hands away as well. 

“Mind your business,” he laughed. Y/N rolled her eyes and set the polish aside, removing her legs from his lap. Clyde looked away from his drawing to stare at her questioningly before she maneuvered herself to sit next to him. He shut his notebook and threw it to the side, wrapping an arm around her as she put her head on his shoulder. They watched the other three argue about fake money and properties. 

“Man fuck you, Lola! That was supposed to be my station??” Johnny spat out while Lola laughed and flipped him off. 

“Yes? Well, it’s mine now. Too bad,” she hummed happily, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder as Snow passed her a large bottle of alcohol. 

“Hope your ass lands in prison…” he grumbled, making Clyde snicker under his breath. Y/N smirked and reached out to grab Clyde’s hand, subconsciously playing with his fingers. He looked down at their hands and then at her. 

“Ready to go home?” He asked. She hummed in thought and glanced over at a clock nearby. 

“In like…five minutes. I’ve got church tomorrow morning so I gotta be up early,” she whined and threw her head back, Clyde raising his hand so that the back of her head didn’t hit the wall. Snow, who apparently has been watching them and listening in on their conversation, sucks her teeth. 

“Why don’t you just tell them you don’t wanna go?” She asks, laying down. Clyde rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“Yeah, bright idea, she’ll just tell her vehemently Christian parents that she doesn’t want to go church. That definitely won’t be suspicious,” he remarks. Y/N glares at him. 

“Don’t be a dick, Clyde,” she whispers. Looking over at Snow, she smiles softly. “He’s got a point though. They’ll get all weird and assume I’m doing something behind their backs which… I am but…” she shrugs. 

Snow passes over another bottle of alcohol to Clyde which he declines. “Gotta drive her home,” he mumbles as an excuse. Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being a good little boyfriend,” he teases and Clyde side-eyes him. He gets up, extending his hand out for Y/N to take, and helping her get up when she does. He then walks over to Johnny, smacking him on the back of the head while simultaneously grabbing his keys from the table nearby. 

“It’s called making sure we don’t fucking die on the road.” He scoffed. Y/N bent over to hug Snow and Lola before ruffling Johnny’s hair, waving goodbye to everyone as they walked towards the door. 

“See you guys later!” She exclaimed while following Clyde out of the room. They walked down the hallway in comfortable silence until they went down the stairs and reached the front doors. It was pouring rain outside and Y/N grimaced at the idea of getting soaked. Clyde sighed and searched around for an umbrella he could borrow, but he came to no luck. He then shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Y/N who smiles gratefully in response. She puts it on and puts the hood over her head to protect her hair, and the two interlock hands before counting down to three. 

“Ready? One, two, three-!” Clyde counted out, gripping her hand tightly as they ran out into the pouring rain, giggling as they crossed the street to where his van was parked. Clyde hurries to unlock the doors, Y/N laughing at how his hair was sticking to his face. They rushed inside and drove off. Clyde drops her off a couple of streets away from her house just in case anyone were to see her, they wouldn’t see her being dropped off by a rusty van. 

As the vehicle comes to a stop, Clyde turns to face her but she quickly smashes her lips against his. His hands immediately go to cup her face, and she runs a hand through his hair as their kiss grows rougher. He pulls away first after a couple of seconds, breathing heavily and laughing. 

“You gotta go-” he’s interrupted by her kissing him again. He makes a small “hmph” sound as their lips touch, and this time she tries to pull him closer by his collar. His hand travels down her face to her neck and he wraps his fingers around her neck loosely. She whines against his lips and he has to remind himself that they are inside his van in the middle of a Christian neighborhood. This time Y/N pulls away, giggling as she gives him one last kiss on the cheek before opening the door and rushing out, shouting out a quick goodbye and thank you.

Clyde doesn’t even have time to utter a response as she’s gone by the time he really comes to his senses. He shakes his head while laughing and drives off.

—--------------------

Y/N is asleep for longer than she should have been, seemingly sleeping through her alarms and her mothers shouts for her to get up. She barges in through the door, obviously annoyed, and huffs out another “Get up”, yanking the blankets off of Y/N. Y/N groans and turns over, shielding her face from the sun shining through her windows. 

“Get up, Y/N! What has gotten into you? Do you not remember we have service this morning? You have twenty minutes to get ready, hurry. Since you seem to be incapable of getting up on your own I’ll have to pick your dress for you as well, since you want to be a child.” Y/N can barely understand her mother, still too groggy to even respond. She sits up on her bed and rubs her eyes, yawning, and stretches her arms in the air, as her mother goes through her closet in search of something she can wear to Church. She mutters to herself, commenting about each dress she sees as she frantically goes through her closet before going awfully silent for a few seconds. Y/N takes notice of this and furrows her eyebrows, scooting towards the front of her bed. 

“Mom? What’s wrong-?” She herself goes quiet when her mother pulls out Clyde’s jacket that was stashed in the back of the closet and holds it up for her to see. Suddenly the atmosphere of the room is tense, and Y/N feels as though she can’t breathe. She watches as her mother wrinkles her nose at the smell, holding the jacket up by her fingertips. It’s already very apparent that it’s a males jacket, though Y/N’s plan on lying and telling her mother it’s a jacket one of her friends let her borrow from Church immediately goes to shit when her mother scoffs. 

“This smells like rain and cologne…Y/N where did you get this? And why is it wet? You didn’t leave the house yesterday.” Y/N can feel her throat closing in. The room feels as though it’s closing in on her as she and her mother lock eyes in a silent battle, one that Y/N is losing horribly. This tension is luckily diffused the moment her father calls out to her mother, and she turns to look towards the door. She glances back at Y/N once again and then leaves the room in a hurry, the jacket in her hands. Y/N watches her leave in silence before groaning and covering her face with her hands, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

She didn’t know if it was some sick joke or if the universe was just against her, but that day’s sermon was about disobeying one's parents and straying from the word of God. 

—--------------------

The jacket incident wasn’t brought up again. She didn’t understand if her mother just forgot about it or decided that it wasn’t worth arguing over, either way, Y/N was glad. She called Clyde the next day when her parents were out of the house and told him what happened, telling him that she’d take a break from sneaking out and visiting him. She couldn’t risk raising suspicion on her. Clyde was obviously upset though understood that she was just taking necessary precautions and told her to stay safe and let him know if she ever needed any help. For the remainder of the week, she didn’t call or text him and made sure to be on her best behavior. This, of course, did not go unnoticed by her mother. 

After a couple more days, Y’N assumed she was sort of in the clear to at least contact him again. She texted him an update and asked how he and the others were doing, leading to him sending her an onslaught of messages complaining about how he missed her and “couldn’t stand dealing with the others without her around.” She then reminded him he was friends with them way before he met her, and he just ignored her and asked when he’d see her again. 

CLYDE

Y/N: i’m scared, don’t want her 2 notice anything weird

CLYDE: It’ll be fine, it’s been days hasn’t it?

Y/N: yeah but…

CLYDE: Just come over for like a hour or two.

The others wanna see you too. 

Y/N sighs. She can’t deny his offer, no matter how many warning signs are going off in her head. She missed him, she missed being around him, she missed his lips, and she missed her friends. Just an hour or two wouldn’t hurt, right? She types back. 

Y/N: fine, but just for two hours and then i gotta be right back home. 

CLYDE: Awesome. I’ll pick you up at 11.

—--------------------

That was her second mistake. 

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t the actual act of sneaking out that got her caught. No, it was the fact that her mother got the inkling to just check her phone the next morning while she slept. She should have known something was going to go wrong considering how smoothly the night before went. She did her usual routine of kissing her parents goodnight, waiting till they slept, and sneaking out of the house at exactly 11 on the dot. The moment she stepped foot out of her house she ran towards the street he usually dropped her off at and sure enough his van was parked. 

She ran inside and almost immediately after settling herself down on her seat, Clyde smashed his lips against hers. It took her by surprise though she had no issue with it and leaned into the kiss, placing a hand on his shoulder. The kiss was rougher and noisier than any of their previous ones, with their lips making a smacking sound every time they moved. They eventually pulled away when Clyde’s hand slipped around the back of her neck, and they took a minute to catch their breath. 

“Good to see you too,” she joked, giggling as she wiped her mouth, Clyde only nodded and laughed breathlessly, turning on the engine and driving off. They didn’t do much that night, simply going to his room and making up for lost time (this of course included talking about their days while interrupting each other with kisses that led to her being on his lap and leaving one or two bruises on his neck). Eventually, Snow and Johnny stopped by. Snow was probably more ecstatic to see her than everyone else, having almost crushed her with a hug that lasted exactly two minutes, and the four played games and talked about what she’d missed. 

Clyde drove her home two hours later, as promised, and the two departed with yet another passionate kiss. They agreed to meet again the following night at the same time, feeling as if only one night a week wasn’t enough. When she got back home everything was as it should be. Everyone was in bed and her pillows were still placed in the exact positions she had arranged them to be under her blanket. She was happy and secure when she went to bed, which is exactly why she panicked the next morning when she couldn’t find her phone. 

She’d searched everywhere, her entire room turned upside down as she tried desperately to find her phone. It wasn’t underneath her pillow where she put it before she went to sleep, it wasn’t in any of her drawers or on top of her dresser or bedside table, and it wasn’t in her closet. It wasn’t under her bed or in her jewelry boxes, and as she continued to search, that unmistakable feeling of dread settled upon her. She knew she took it with her up to her room, she specifically remembers policing it underneath her pillow before falling asleep, so why couldn’t she find it? There was only one answer and the thought alone made her nauseous. 

She couldn’t bring herself to go downstairs. She knew she had to eventually, but a part of her wanted to stay locked inside her room until she died. She might as well die now in peace, seeing as the moment she walks down those stairs, she is sealing her fate. Was her room always this stuffy? Why did it feel so dark? It was only ten in the morning. Y/N took a moment to sit down on her bed and try to catch her breath. It was no use, however, and she could feel herself hyperventilating. She’d done so much over the past couple of months and she’d gotten so used to going unnoticed that the prospect of getting caught wasn’t really in her mind much at all anymore. Clearly, she had gotten too cocky. 

She knew she had to go downstairs. There was no use in prolonging the inevitable. As she made her way out of her room -extremely slowly-, she took notice of just how quiet it was. Her house was never a noisy one, seeing as it was just the three of them, though she added context of her parents waiting for her downstairs to confront her seemed to emphasize the silence. She trudged down the stairs, feeling lightheaded. She had to grip onto the railing tighter than usual to ensure she wouldn’t fall. Her footsteps were too loud. The lights were too bright. Somehow everything that she encountered every day overwhelmed her. As she approached the dining room she felt her mouth go dry. 

There both her father and mother sat in chairs right next to each other, holding hands. They looked glum. Y/N’s eyes drifted towards the objects on the table in front of them. Sure enough, it was her phone and Clyde’s jacket. She was beyond fucked and there was absolutely no way out of this. She didn’t even bother moving towards them, instead staying frozen in her place. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. She was quite literally paralyzed by fear. 

“Take a seat.” Her father never had a ‘warm’ tone to his voice, yet she’d never heard him be so cold and demanding. When she looked over at her mother she took note of how she refused to make eye contact with her. She was always the softer of the two. Y/N refused to take pity on her, however. She was the one who brought this situation to life. Despite that small little voice in her head telling her not to, Y/N walked towards the table and took a seat in front of the two, her face stoic. If she was going to go through this, she needed to seem as unbothered as possible. 

“Do you understand what you have done?” Her father didn’t wait to begin berating her. Y/N continued to stay silent, her eyes fixated on Clyde’s jacket. Oddly enough the sight alone gave her a sense of comfort, knowing that it belonged to the boy who was there to support her no matter what and always keep her safe. This of course didn’t apply to the current situation. Only God knew what was about to happen to her.

“You’ve completely broken any ounce of trust your mother and I have spent years building up. We have not raised you this way.” Somehow the lack of yelling and anger in his voice made this all the more terrifying. He was angry, his words didn’t conceal that at all, and when she looked up into his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d dug her own grave. They were washed over with this darkness that she couldn’t explain. She felt disgusted to be on the receiving end of his stare. “No daughter of mine will behave this way.” 

She didn’t know what came over her. Perhaps she was momentarily possessed by some spirit that was like her outspoken alter-ego, or maybe she just had gone insane after months of being riddled with this guilt for disobeying her parents, but she opened her mouth to speak without any second thought. “What way?”

Her father scoffed and her mother pleaded with her through her gaze to take back what she said. While she certainly wasn’t intending to say that, now that it had left her mouth she needed to own up to it. She didn’t falter under her father's strict gaze. Her mother was the one to speak up.

“What he means is-” 

“Quiet.” Her father is quick to shut her down. She shuts up. “You’re whoring yourself out to some stranger boy on the streets? Is that seriously how you intend to live your life? Do you not feel ashamed? Dirty?” 

Y/N couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She knew her father wouldn’t be happy, she wasn;t expecting him to throw rose petals and give her his blessing, but to go as far as accusing his onw daughter of being a whore? She couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in her eyes, though the rest of her face maintained neutral. 

“Well? Speak!” He raised his voice for the first time and Y/N flinched. What was she supposed to say? Admit to his demeaning allegations? 

“If you want me to call myself a whore then you might as well just leave now because you’re not getting a single confession from me.” 

She definitely pissed him off with that one. He clenched his jaw and looked off to the side, taking in a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. He grabbed her phone and held it up so she could see, making her frown. 

“You will never contact that boy again. Do you understand?” 

Y/N would be stupid to assume this was the end. She nodded along to his words however to appease him. He stayed silent and hardened his gaze, making her realize he wanted a verbal response. 

“Yes sir.”

He laughed. “I don’t think you understand. But you will soon.”

Before she could question what he meant he took her phone and threw it across the dining room, the impact making a loud noise as it hit the wall and fell to the floor. Both Y/N and her mother visibly flinched at the noise, and for the first time, she was genuinely afraid of something happening to her physically. Her father stood up and walked out of the room, not bothering to give her one last glance. She stared down at the table, her tears falling freely at this point. Her mother offered out her hand, though Y/N swatted it away and got up and stormed off as well.

—---------------

Clyde knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up at that night. He didn’t know what happened or why, but he was concerned. There wasn’t anything he could do, however, seeing as he couldn’t just walk up to her front door and knock and ask why she flaked out. He tried his best not to let his mind wander and assumed she’d just fallen asleep earlier. Or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself until the next day when he didn’t hear from her at all. 

Now things were getting concerning. If she really had fallen asleep, she’d just text or call him and apologize. Her lack of contact made him wonder if something did happen to her and if something did happen, what could he do? He left her two text messages that day, both asking if she was alright. He decided to just wait, one wrong move and he’d be getting her in a world of trouble. His messages were never returned. 

Another day went by without contact and though he didn’t show it outwardly, he was absolutely freaking the fuck out. It was unusual for her to go radio silent with absolutely zero warning, and after not showing up the other night, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. What if she’d gotten caught? What was he supposed to do? Go to her house and demand she give him an explanation? Threaten to fight her parents? Throw rocks at her window to get her attention and then convince her to leave her home and run away with him? 

Being the romantic that he was, he naturally chose the last option. He drove to her house the next day at around 12 am, stopping his van a few streets away like he normally would in case anyone was nosy enough to even look at the front of her house. He walked in the cold night with a pocket full of tiny pebbles, mentally going through what he was going to say to her. He knew that despite her feelings for him, she loved and respected her parents, so it wouldn’t be easy to convince her to leave. That and he knew how rough life was when you didn’t have the support of a parent or loved one to fall back on. He was okay living like that but he didn’t want that to be her reality as well. She deserved better than that, even if it was a couple of assholes with old fashion traditions.

Once he arrived at her window he threw the first pebble, getting no response. That’s fine, she probably didn’t hear it. He threw another one and again: no response. He threw another one, and another one, and eventually, he’d thrown every pebble in his pocket. Making a mental note to carry more the next time, he debated yelling out her name though decided against it. He couldn’t risk her parents hearing him. He walked away, dejected and ready to return the next day to try again. 

He decided to take his chances and call her again the next day, just in case she was asleep the night before and just didn’t hear him. He knew the call was going through but didn’t understand why she wasn’t picking up, and to be quite honest, it was starting to piss him off. His anger wasn’t directed towards her of course, no, he was mad at her parents. Why couldn’t they just let her be happy? When his call went to voicemail he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Leave a message after the beep,” the robotic voice spoke and Clyde had to suppress everything in him that was telling him to just throw his phone at the wall. After hearing the beep he shook his head and looked around his room. 

“Hey, Y/N. I don’t know what the fuck happened -I mean I have an idea but- I need you to call me back okay? I don’t care if it’s to tell me that you can’t see me anymore, I don’t care if it’s your stupid fucking parents telling me I’m a piece of shit who isn’t good enough for their daughter, I really don’t give a shit. I just want to know you’re okay. Call me back when you get this. Bye.” 

—-----------------

She did NOT in fact call him back. He visited her house again the next night and brough two pockets full of pebbles, taking his sweet time throwing them at her window just like the other night. Still, no answer. He could have sworn he’d seen her light flash off when he was approaching her window though he wasn’t sure if he was just going crazy. He was getting frustrated. How else was he supposed to feel? When he got back to his room that night, he completely ignored Snow and Lola who tried to cheer him up with some alcohol and instead went straight to bed, though he of course didn’t sleep at all that night. 

The next day he called her again. The call went to voicemail again, and he cursed at the stupidity of leaving a message she probably wasn’t going to hear or respond to. Yet he still left one. 

“Hey, uhm I don’t know what is going on over there but you need to call me back dude. This isn’t fucking funny okay?” His voice was sounding uncharacteristically desperate. He needed to remind himself that it wasn’t that serious. Or at least that’s what he needed to believe to keep himself calm. “Call me and tell your parents to go fuck themselves while you’re at it, okay? Stay safe, bye.” 

—-----------------

He knew she wasn’t going to be responding to any of his phone calls, yet for every day that passed by, he left a new one. 

“I don’t know what to do, Y/N. It’s not like I can just show uo to your fuckin’ house and, like, demand your parents to let you see me. I mean, I could but, what the fuck is that gonna do? Come on Y/N just…fuck.” 

—--------------

“At least I know you’re not playing some stupid fucking prank on me now. There’s no way you’d be able to keep it going this far. I don’t even know if you’re listening to these. Or your parents. Is anyone fucking there? Are they doing some weird punishment thing where they force you to listen to each of these messages and fucking laugh at me or something? That’d be fucked up. Call me back sometime in the near future. Preferably before I die.”

—-------------

“Snow is on my ass right now because of you, did you know that? She’s pissed at me. Thinks I’m not doing enough to see you. I don’t know what the fuck she wants me to but she’s been complaining about how she misses you. Everyone’s kinda on edge right now. Would be really cool if you’d, I don’t know, pop up out of nowhere. We miss you.” 

—-----------

“Y’know I look like a dumbass making all these phone calls and leaving all these fucking voicemails knowing they aren’t going to anyone. There’s a part of me that wishes you’d just pick up randomly and we’d just talk normally as if nothing happened… that’s so stupid what the fuck am I saying? Fucking corny….I gotta go. Miss you.” 

—----------

“Uhm. I know I was always awkward about it in person and shit but… I really like you, you know? I hope you do. Even if I’m not there to say it. Just…remember that for me okay? I like you. I trust you. To me, that means a lot more than love. But I do love you. I hate saying it cause it’s fucking stupid and you can’t count on anyone ever so what’s the point of saying it, yknow? And maybe it’s stupid to even think I love you because we really only knew each other for a couple of months but…whatever. Bye.”

—----------

“So what? You’re gonna give up on her? That’s your fucking GIRLFRIEND, Clyde.” Snow smacked the side of Clyde’s head making him groan and divert his eyes from her. He wasn’t giving up, or at least he refused to look at it that way. He’d decided to give up calling. He refused to be held captive by the idea, the fantasy, of her coming back and answering the phone one day. He lifted the blunt to his lips and took a deep breath in, trying his best to ignore her scolding. 

“Clyde what if something seriously bad happened at her place? Think about her point of view, for fucks sake. Stop feeling bad for yourself and maybe think about how bad this is is for HER. She has to live in a house with those people.” Clyde would never admit Snow had a point. He refused to ever give her the satisfaction of being right, though he’d be stupid to ignore her words and continue wallowing in his self pity. He let her say her peace and without a word handed her the blunt, getting up and grabbing his keys, before walking out the door. She called out to him though he wasn’t listening. 

—-------------

Y/N was beyond fucked. She’d spent the past 12 days in isolation in their guest room, only allowed to leave to use the bathroom. She was no longer allowed to eat with her parents at the dinner table, though she didn’t complain, grateful that she didn’t have to see the pathetic excuse of a man she had to call her father. It was lonely, being stuck in her room with no other way out. She knew her phone had survived being thrown by her father though her mother told her he’d confiscated it and planned on never returning it. She didn’t care anymore. Speaking of her mother, she refused to speak with her. She didn’t give a damn if she was more compassionate than her father. She’d shown him the messages and she’d presented the jacket to him, so her predicament was just as much her mothers fault as it was her fathers.

She couldn’t begin to explain how lonely she felt. This wasn’t living. She never knew what living was until she met Clyde. He’d taught her that life was more than just Sunday morning Church services, bible verses to abide by, doing chores around the house, going to school, and sleeping. There was going out at night and meeting new people, listening to music that actually spoke to your soul instead of reiterating tired biblical lessons, eating the foods that actually made you happy and crave for more, and loving so hard that you’d rather spend your entire life in isolation with that other person than breathe without them. Y/N knew that without Clyde, she wasn’t herself, not because she depended on him to live, but because he ingrained himself into her. 

She had a roof over her head, she had food and water and she had clothes, but she had no real substance to her life. And she’d rather be disowned by her family for the rest of her life than continue to live this way.

—----------------

Smoking just wasn’t cutting it out for Clyde at the moment. He’d driven off to a park pretty far from where he lived so he wouldn’t encounter anyone he knew. He needed time to himself. Standing outside his van, he rested against it and crossed his arms while smoking a cigarette, ignoring the ‘NO SMOKING’ sign just a few inches away from him. He wasn’t known for his ability to abide by rules. Snow’s words replayed in his mind constantly. She was annoying. She was annoying, and persistent, but she was right. Hitting the back of his head on his van, he threw his cigarette down on the ground and stepped on it. 

“Godamnit…” he sighed out and ran a hand through his hair. He paced. Was he really going to just let her stay in that toxic environment? Who’s to say his plan would even work though? He’ll never know unless he tries. But if he does try and fail, it’d be a waste of time. 

“Fuck!” He hissed out, smacking his van once, and then twice, before smacking it one final time and backing away. Catching his breath, he backed away and pushed his hair back before getting back in and starting the van.

—--------------

This was not thought out at all, Clyde realizes as he stands in front of her front door. He was either about to get his ass beat or take home the girl of his dreams. Either way, he was shitting his pants. He rang the doorbell and looked down at the ground, muttering under his breath “This is so fucking stupid.” 

He could hear footsteps behind the door and straightened his posture, watching the doorknob jiggle before the door swung open. Clyde studied the man in front of him and the man did the same with him, though his eyes narrowed almost immediately.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here, boy.” The man, who Clyde assumed was her father, snarled at him. Clyde’s face contorted in disgust at his words. 

“Jesus, could you sound any more like a weird Southern creep? Sorry, is saying Jesus offensive to you people? I don’t give a shit actually- anyways, ya kind of left me with no choice here but to make sure my girlfriend was still alive…” Clyde rambled, though he knew he was only making his case worse when he saw her father clench his fist in the corner of his eye. 

“What are you trying to say? Are you accusing me of murdering my daughter?” Her father scoffed and it took Clyde everything in him to not laugh in his face. 

“It was more of a… never mind.” He shook his head. “Just let me talk to her man, I’ll leave you alone after that.” 

This time it was her father's turn to laugh, though Clyde remained as stoic as he could possibly be with the anger that was slowly bubbling up inside of him. He could see someone moving around in the background and glanced over, seeing her mother. He raised his eyebrows at her and she quickly scurried away after being noticed. He directed his attention back to the man in front of him. 

—---------------

Y/N could hear two voices outside the room and though the other sounded so familiar, she refused to believe it was actually him. There was no way he’d really come for her, and as she lay on her back on the bed provided, she stared up at the ceiling and wondered what would she do if it really were him. Just as she closed her eyes to sleep, the doorknob began to rattle, startling her. There wasn’t reason for anyone to open the door for her at this hour, and she hadn’t asked to use the bathroom. 

She sat up straight and stared at the door as it slowly opened, her mother in clear view. Before Y/N could even ask what was happening, she heard the one voice she swore she’d never hear again, and her heart soared. If she was being fully honest, she didn’t care much for her mother doing this final favor for her, though she gave her a grateful smile nonetheless as she jumped up out of the bed and ran out the door. She didn’t hesitate to run straight to the front door, pausing behind her father. 

“Listen asshole, you’re really testing my patience here-” 

“Watch your language, the lord is watching.” 

“Who gives a damn! Just let me see her-” Clyde stopped completely when he saw her step out from behind her father. His eyes widened and her father turned around to see what he was looking at, growing furious at the sight of his daughter who should have been locked away in a room. 

“You let her out?” He asked her mother, his voice low and Y/N backed away out of fear. Clyde looked over at her and then back at the man, his breath quickening. Things were about to get ugly fast, and they needed to leave. He motioned over for Y/N to walk over, and as she tried to discreetly make her way toward him while her father was distracted, the older man looked over and grabbed her wrist to prevent her from moving any further. Despite her struggles and protests, he wouldn’t let go, tightening his grip on her. She looked over at Clyde for help and he did the only thing he could think of. 

His hand was going to hurt like a bitch after this.

Punching her father square in the jaw, he let go of her and she ran towards Clyde. He groaned and grabbed his jaw, watching as the two fled hand in hand. “Know that you can never come back to this house ever again! No daughter of mine will be another man's slut!” He yelled out to them. They both couldn't be bothered to listen, giggling as they ran, the cold air hitting their faces. Once they were finally out of sight Clyde pulled her in, his hand cupping the back of her neck as the two crashed their lips against one another. Giggling in between kisses they struggled to pull apart, lips stuck in a dance with each other, and that’s how they intended to stay for as long as they lived. 

--------------------------

a/n: holy shit this was long. to be honest, i lost a lot of motivation towards the end which is why it isn’t the best, but i really did try my best! i hope you all enjoyed<33

[meggie-moo]

sketches of/for my friends’ and i’s stardew valley save :)

[schizotrinkets]

coming back from the grave to share some goblin neopronouns then disappear again

list includes: general goblin pronouns, redcap pronouns, nature pronouns, rock goblin pronouns, and a few changeling pronouns.

no need to credit if you use. im just a hoarder. a collector. adjust and combine as you see fit.

goblin pronouns (general):

go / gobs / glin / gobself (goblinself)

tri / tricks / trink / trinkself

twi / twit / twitch / twitchself

ho / hor / hoard / hoarself

me (mi) / mine / mer / meself (mineself)

mis / misch / mischief / miself (mischself/mischiefself)

redcap goblin pronouns:

re / reds / red / redself

blade / bleed / blood / bloodself

bi / bit / bite / bitself

nib / nibbles / nibble / nibself

ha / hat / hats / hatself

cap / caps / capself

nature goblin pronouns:

fae / fem / fair / faeself

mo / moss / miss / mosself

mo / molds / mold / moldself

fe / ferns / fern / fernself

le / leafs / leaf / leafself

bu / bushes / bush / bushself

tree / trees / forest / treeself

rock goblin pronouns:

mu / mush / shroom / mushroomself

sto / stones / stoner / stoneself

peb / pebs / pebble / pebself

ro / rocks / rockem / rockself

di / dir / dirts / dirself

ge / gem / jeer / gemself

cry / crystal / crys / crystelf

changeling pronouns:

shi / shift / shifts / shiftself

che / change / changes / changeself

mi / many / multiple / manyself

dis / distor / distorts / distortself

[lady-grace-pens]

Follies Excerpt [12]

110k words earns a Special Treat because we are quickly approaching the final 6 or so scenes!!!

Taglist: @isabellebissonrouthier @wordwizards @flowerprose @serafyyn

•••

As the last of the senators flock to the gaping doors, I down the remainder of my coffee. Cal knits herself to my hip, her eyes beady as a bat and wavering in the ferocity of her stance. I toss her a sideways glance as she rips the thermos from my grip and clamps it down on the table jutting into her side.

The others aren’t much better. Pierre sighs into his palms and Ilya bears the weight of his head. Their disapproval sharpens in the absence of speech, a dagger all the same. I can’t move without being speared.

Ghosts of the library brush against my skin. The desire to breathe evades me. Efforts to iron a cracking face become tumultuous by the second.

It’s almost a reflex to reach into my purse for an unmarked bottle of pills. It rattles in my hand, not only revealing the depleted content but the tremors fraying my nerves. Fumbling with the cap takes all my energy and it’s not even worth it. Cal yanks the damn thing out my grasp. With a clumsy flick of the wrist, the cap pops off and the pills are sent cascading around us. Bullet casings on a battlefield.

I fall to my knees. A beat passes and the only thing I can register are pebbles of white scattered everywhere they shouldn’t be.

Chaos.

Fingers rip through my hair. My heart beats itself to the hiss of the devil’s violin. I cower in my own skin. Pressing my palms to my ears isn’t enough to drown out the silence or the ringing that scorns me. Just as effortless as their grip, they wilt to my thighs.

“Seriously, Emmy?” Cal shrieks. “What even are those things?”

“Relax Bible-clutcher, it’s only caffeine.”

“As if that makes it any better!”

I scramble to my senses, pawing to gather my pills. The first two I find, I stuff in my mouth and swallow them dry—to which Cal has no issues voicing her repulsion. If it weren’t for the pill peeking behind the base of her heels, I might’ve missed the haughty scoff she spits at my face.

“God. Look at yourself.”

As if to emphasize her point, she joins me on the floor, though her knees never touch the ground. I shove the last of my pills in the pocket of my jeans. Before I can think to stand, she chains herself to my wrist. The weight of her grip tells me all I care to know. But if I know anything about my sister, it’s that she never holds her anger for very long. It doesn’t quite fit in her hands.

Her voice is lower than a whisper. “You look…”

“Like hell,” Ilya finishes.

“Thank you.” I take out a cigarette from my back pocket. “Anyone got a light?”

Ilya tosses me his lighter. Cal’s grip rots away. In the seconds that drip down her cheeks, I light my cigarette and revel in the first puff. Tension leaves my body with the the grace of a drunken flapper, and how the straps of her dress kiss her shoulder as they fall.

Vigor restored, I slump against the podium to my back. Observing my surroundings comes easy now that I have the mind to make sense of them.

Cal’s face poses an interesting sight. Accusations have rotted in her pores. Now that she’s plagued with the husks of them, it shows how clueless she is of what to do. Her eyes are gaunt and foggy. She brings herself to her feet, though she can only stare at the floor.

Helpless is the term dominant to the track of my heart. I can muster sympathy for her, but it’s muffled by the long stretch of highway to the ceiling—where cherubs giggle in their pastel haven.

“You can’t smoke here.” She wavers in her voice—more air than anything else. “Don’t you think she’s gonna see you? Or smell it?”

“Stoners do it all the time and they never get caught.”

“Yeah.” She crosses here arms. “Because they hide. The librarian is right around the corner.”

I crack a smile. “She smokes too. Why else do you think she’s stuck up in her office all day? Sometimes she even pays the stoners for a joint.”

Curiosity brings my eyes to hers. Shaking her head, her gaze darts from the ground, bookshelves, or any other miscellaneous items lying about. The whites of her eyes are so large, I nearly drown in them. She clings to herself like that’s her only defense. Her legs carry her backward in tired, mechanical movements that don’t end until she clashes with the chair beside Ilya.

I lift my brows at such a display.

“You worry too much. They expel me and MawMaw revokes her donations. It’s simple. Besides, it’s not like it’s a habit.” I flick ashes onto the floor. “Just once a day for my stress. Unlike present and absent company, I can tame my emotions.”

Her dainty features are sent writhing.

“Still. You didn’t have to do that to him.”

[jaisaac-cosplay]

I often think about the lives I've led I've been a beloved daughter I've been the prodigal son I've been the partner who had a place in bed who woke up to sleepy good mornings and gentle touches

I've been the stoner on the rooftop gazing out into buildings holding the hand of a sweet boy, been the one to kiss girls on a beach and sort through coloured pebbles to give as gifts

I've been the annoying sister slapped and annoyed and disregarded, I've been the brother a phone call away

Idk life is. Funny

[anonymouscomrade]

having wasted the last five years of my life working at a grocery store, here's a helpful guide on what some of those labels mean

anything describing its flavor as [BLANK]y (cheesy, chocolatey, fruity, etc): contains no actual [BLANK]

organic: a scam designed to trick people into paying $13 for a jar of mayo the size of a pill bottle. see also: natural, cage-free, superfood, probiotic, keto, paleo; gluten-free on anything that obviously wouldn't have gluten in it like oatmeal or fruit juice or bacon

"contains [X]g of protein!" where X is any integer greater than 15: also contains triple your daily intake of salt and fat

"contains no tropical oils": you have fallen into a time warp to 1991

Fruity Pebbles branding on anything that isn't Fruity Pebbles: a stoner somehow became head of marketing at Post and i have no idea how they keep getting away with it

[doomanddead]

DOOM AND DEAD’S PICKS: SMALL BANDS THAT MADE GREAT DOOM IN 2024

Small bands did big things in 2024, but so many stellar releases have gone unrecognized. We sorted our picks into a few different flavors of doom for your sampling pleasure. Here are our favorites from the little guys — the stuff you won’t find on Weedian’s 100 Best Releases of 2024.

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Aussie drone sculptors, The Grey Men, hit us with a stinging slab of doom in November. These compositions are weighty and meditative, but stop shy of being impenetrable. Ringing distortion and modular synths create the perfect atmosphere to summon Sunn O)) junkies out of the woodwork.  The Shape of Noise to Come is lingering, heavy, hypnotic — a granite boulder balanced on a pebble. Drone doom aficionados should not sleep on this one.

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Berlin trio Acid Arno hit it out of the stratosphere with this release. If you like your jams scuzzy, acidic, and occasionally harrowing, then TERRA is the drug trip of your dreams. Suit up and strap in, cosmonauts. The orange skies and mystical monsters on the cover art are exactly what you’re going to be catapulted through for the next 37 minutes. 

The Wizard conjures bluesy psych trash that’s heavy on the distortion and even heavier on the jams. The Canyon Lake Sessions are chocked full of high-energy mind-bending grooves so greasy you won’t even notice when your hair sparks up and your eyeballs melt right out of their sockets. There’s a fire burning in San Antonio, and I’m pretty sure these cats have something to do with it.

If you can’t get enough of The Wizard’s hot licks, then check out another sizzling nugget the band put out this year, Live @502.

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This EP has only two tracks, but Mindbloom’s MONOLITH I serves up quality over quantity. This French stoner outfit offers instrumentals with intricate compositions and psychedelic sensibilities. Did I mention the toothsome heavy bits? It’s contemplative stuff with just enough fuzz and reverb to make it the perfect soundtrack for your next existential crisis.

If you like your stoner doom extra heavy, then Seattle’s Hexecutioner has you covered. Vocalist Erin Gravina hypnotizes as we ride wave after wave of immense riffs. This is nasty caveman riffage slathered with vintage attitude. Enough of my yappin’. Go listen to the guitar solo on the title track of Pagan Ground. 

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When Jeff Golden (ex Crowbar bassist) and Katie McCrimmon (ex The Convalescence keyboardist) join forces, you know it’s going to be epic. Their doom and sludge project, Blood of the Earth, crafts heavy soundscapes that shudder with impending doom. Pounding percussion and mesmeric melodies drive the band’s instrumental storytelling into a different realm altogether. If ominous doom packed with ill-fated drama is your thing, then I predict that you’ll love this offering.

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Alberta trio Trismegistus layer grunge vocals over stoney bass lines.  Those screamin’ psych licks are just the brown gravy on top of the poutine. Live, Laugh, Doom serves up 8 tracks of gritty, fuzzy riffage, each rocking harder than the last. If ya don’t get on this one, ya fucked up, son.

Retro 70’s/80’s camp meets modern doom for a sound that’ll rock your coffin. Occult doom rockers Voodoo Garden transmit their psychedelic sound all the way from Czechia. Witchy vocals bristle with attitude a la Susanna Hoffs (The Bangles.) Heavy riffs chase us through a B movie sets inhabited by cloaked figures and rubber masked villains. This album is Scooby-Doo spooky in the best possible way.

Grunge gurus, desert rock rippers, and stoners of all sorts should check out Barcelona band Chacal Cult. Their album is full of hypnotic jams with hard edges.  Big sky vistas and unyielding rock never sounded so good.

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Nothing beats the vitality of a live performance… but that doesn’t always translate to a good album. Fear not, because these fuckers have cracked the code and delivered our favorite live album of 2024. 

Argentine stoner doom outfit, En la Niebla, poured every drop of spit and swagger into their set at Damned Communion. The result is a collection of hard-hitting grooves that punch you in the kidneys, then kiss you goodnight. Some crazy creativity has been coming out of Argentina's music scene in recent years. If this chunky bass doesn’t make you a believer, then nothing will.

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Blackened doom beasties: if it’s treasure you seek, then look no further. Portland band Cue the Sun has a sound that’s charred black but still remarkably groovy. Their October release, Green Metal Demos, bubbles with an incredible (and sometimes noxious) sense of immediacy. They may be rough around the edges, but these filthy demos are a goblin’s delight. 

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Happy new year and a hearty rock on to all my readers. 🤘 If you like music made by humans, then support ‘em when you can. Buying music or merch from a small band makes a big difference.

Here's to art and freedom of expression in 2025.

[c0lor3dan0nz]

As you’re nothin’ but a pebble to the true stoner too!!!

I get that you’re a stoner and all, thinking that you’re woke. Best you choke and grab Jill’s scissors—Hair looks like the weed you smoke!!

no… NO THAT WAS THREE YEARS AGO FUCK OFF—

[2001honda-civic]

loving how the general reaction to the new ep is either "oh god oh fuck jon really IS the ceaseless watchers special boy" or "heehoo stoner elias"

[rhino-tears]