#song: merry christmas please don’t call by bleachers

[mothmanavenue]

fellas is it gay to choose to die on the same day as your one and only?

[chosetherose]

But you should know that I died slow

Running through the halls of your haunted home

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call…but you’re the type of person who relates every song to your fucked up childhood

[gotta-winwin]

(☎️) ... merry christmas, please don't call

⭐ starring: seungcheol

☎️ preview: The toughest part about loving Seungcheol was the fact that he didn’t know himself at all. And how does one truly love a ghost? 

based on the song Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call by Bleachers

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home And the toughest part is that we both know What to happened to you Why you're out on your own Merry Christmas, please don't call”

tw/cw: heavy angst + smut, not a happy ending, tortured lovers, coups is an asshole but he doesn't mean to, idol!seungcheol x nonidol!reader, talk of leader responsibilities, abstract telling of sexual intercourse, heavy topics such as anxiety and depression

🪽fic rating/wc: 18+ / 2.4k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this heavy angst christmas fic is to combat the insane amount of fluff in the vernon christmas special (ᵕ—ᴗ—) it's also very self indulgent angst + smut with coups. thank you for spending 2024 with me and i cannot wait to spend 2025 with you too!

“Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind”

He was inevitable in the end. Like some invisible string connected the two of you together. Not the pretty, dainty kind of invisible string. Whatever held your lives together was made of barbed wire. Whatever line wrapped around your ribs, restricting your breathing, tying you to him was nothing pretty. It was what army men used in wars. 

You can’t hate your best friend, even if they end up hurting you. You just can’t.

“Come back to bed.” You whisper in the dark as you watch his dark silhouette get up. The clock on his nightstand was barely legible. 

You could hear him throwing a shirt on. “I’ve got to go.”

You open your mouth to ask him again, but the words die in your mouth. A couple days ago you would’ve begged, but the bubbling hatred in you pushed the words down your esophagus, momentarily choking you. Seungcheol noticed your silence. 

“I’ll be back before sunrise.” He leans over the bed and kisses your cheek, brushing a stray hair from it. “Don’t be mad.”

You shake your head in the dark. “I’m not mad.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

That was just how the world spun. You, lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling you used to trace constellations on together. Sheets that smelled like him - aftershave and candles. Pleading words sewn shut in your mouth, hidden in your lungs, suffocating you. As you sank back into sleep, drowning under everything you’ve ever wanted to tell him. You knew it wasn’t his fault. After all - he barely knew who he was, hidden under all his responsibilities and his job title, he was barely a semblance of a man - tugged and stitched together. 

It barely registered in your mind that tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. Part of you knew he wouldn’t be there to celebrate anyways. 

“You know this moment don’t ya And time is strangely calm now”

You could say what drew Seungcheol to you initially was your confidence. It illuminated you like a beacon, a moth to the flame, as his eyes followed your movements from across the crowded room. 

It was Christmas Eve in Korea, and everyone in the right circles knew Johnny Suh’s Holiday Bash was the place to be. 

At least, that was what your friends had told you, claiming they had a way in and convincing you to join them. 

You were pleasantly surprised to find that for untouchable K-pop idols, everyone at the party was oddly normal. Kim Sunwoo’s voice could be heard over all the chaos, forehead pressed up against Lee Haechan’s, caught in the middle of some intense drinking game. Jeon Jungkook took a love shot with a heavily drunk Kim Mingyu, the sounds of their glass cups clinking against one another catching your attention.

Drifting away from the noise, you moved upstairs, your hand tracing the natural engravings against the wooden banister. The dim lights made it difficult to see, as you searched for a respite away from the noise downstairs. You’d certainly never question a K-opo idol’s ability to party again.

It was Seungcheol’s quiet stare that made you approach him, noticing how he sat with his back against the smooth white wall, his hair falling into his eyes. It was odd to see him alone, unaccompanied by his usual entourage of rowdy members. When alone, he seemed oddly sad, as if he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his eyes that urged you to sit next to him. 

“I’d like to be alone, please.” He mumbled, turning his big eyes towards you. The light from downstairs caught in his irises, refracting into a million tiny lights. 

“Me too.” 

Your reply amused him as he watched you, intrigued by the way you stared off into the distance. He hadn’t known how you had noticed his glassy, tearfilled eyes from the get go, or else he would’ve walked away. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Your offhanded tone made the loaded question fall easier against his chest. He could feel himself breathing routinely once more, the tears in his eyes receding as he processed your question and figured out an answer. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He admitted, finally turning the whole of his body to face you, moving his knees up against his chest as he leaned back against the wall once more. 

There was something about him that made you want to help him. Maybe it was the fact that he was famous for being the reliable leader, responsible for too many things at such a young age. Maybe it was because, based on the things you’ve heard about him, you knew you could relate. Maybe you had already known - even then - that the two of you were different sides of the same coin. That he was inevitable in the end. 

“I’ve got time.” You send him an open smile. “Lay it on me.”

Even to this day, Seungcheol had no idea why he confided in you, a total stranger, on the floor of a Johnny Suh Christmas party. He usually held his cards close to his chest - so close in fact, that the people around him often joked that he couldn’t read the cards himself. 

So maybe he knew you were inevitable in the end too. 

But neither of you could’ve ever predicted what would become of the two of you by the time the next Christmas rolled around. 

“Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home, And at your best you were magic; we were sold” 

By the time the next Christmas rolled around, everyone around Seungcehol would credit you as the one who had “fixed” him. It was a term they all danced around lightly - fixed. None of them knew how to describe it, but Seungcheol was happier, louder, and had magically learnt the art of self-confidence. 

“That is not my hyung.” Chan yelled into your ear from the side of the bar, eyeing Seungcheol, who was on the dance floor surrounded by an ecstatic Soonyoung and Mingyu. “My Seungcheol hyung does not dance.” 

You laughed, because you knew the amount of work that had taken him to get where he was now. No one, except the two of you, would know about the late nights Seungcheol had spent near tears as you knelt by him, soothing phrases leaving your lips only to crash against his back. 

“Look at him.” Chan was pointing an accusatory finger at Seungcheol, who had a wide grin on his face as he watched Soonyoung attempt to win over a girl on the dance floor. “He used to avoid the dance floor like it’d kill him. Hell, he avoided the bar in general.”

You followed his finger, a small smile drifting over your features as you witnessed Seungcheol laugh, the sound travelling straight to your core as you watched him. As if he had felt your stare, Seungcheol turned, his bright smile shining upon you as he reached out a hand, gesturing you towards him. 

“Hi.” His forehead pressed against yours as he spoke. 

“Hi.” You whispered back as he pulled you closer, relishing the safety you felt within his strong arms. 

“I love you.” He said, but there were other words hidden deep beneath them. Don’t leave. 

“I love you too.” Don’t hurt me. 

“And the toughest part is that we both know What happened to you”

You dreaded each time he was called in for work. You knew he loved his job, and more often than not, he would have a good time - singing, dancing, creating with his friends for his fans. But you also saw the heavy weight that followed him home whenever it wasn’t a good time. Each company meeting where he was yelled at, each unsettling encounter with a crazy fan, each hate post you knew your boyfriend had read multiple times over. 

You both knew the baggage that followed him home far outweighed the good he felt. But you couldn’t ask him to leave - because that would ruin him too. 

February 19 2022. The date forever seared in the front of your mind. It was the day Seungcheol had returned home after dropping out of his world tour. 

He had landed on your shared porch like a dead bird. 

“Cheol.” You grabbed at his shoulders, trying to get a good look at his face. 

He pushed past you into your shared home, kicking off his shoes and throwing his bags onto the floor. You watched him leave up the stairs. You heard the door of your shared bedroom swing close, the lock click into place. 

You didn’t mind sleeping on the couch that night. You knew he needed his space. 

“I’m sorry.” He had told you the next morning, his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. 

Handing him his breakfast, you shook your head. “Don’t apologize. Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shook his head. “Not really.” 

First crack in the glass. You really should’ve known. After all, Seungcheol told you everything.

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home” 

Seungcheol kissed you each time like he was afraid to lose you. His kisses were full of passion, firm and messy. He kissed you like he was constantly running out of time. 

His calloused hands ran gently against your bare skin, handling you like pieces of precious glass.

“I love you.” He’d murmur against your stomach as he inched his way down, looking up at you with shining eyes - akin to the way he once looked at you during your first meeting. That was something special about him: his eyes sparkled the same way whether he was crying or in love. You had yet to learn the difference. 

Seungcheol liked holding you as he pushed in, craving the feeling of closeness and how he was connected inside of you, with you. You were his escape and his solace, his mind numbing into a void of white as pleasure coursed through him. The usual jumble in his brain ceased to attack him and he was left with the sole thought of showing you how much he truly did love you. 

Seungcheol loved making love with you. It was the aftermath where he didn’t. 

“I love you.” You’d whisper as you threaded your fingers through his hair, your other hand drawing circles against his bare skin - and your voice would feel planets away. 

The loudness of his own mind was back, the mess of barely coherent thoughts intruding once again. Seungcheol knew it made no sense. 

“You were mine, but you were awful every time”

Choi Seungcheol was not good for your soul. You knew that. He was a man full of paradox, forever contradicting himself and everything you’ve ever felt for him. Even the way his coarse hands gently traced the bones of your back felt contradictory, when he had only just told you the two of you could never be together. 

“We won’t work.” His lower lip jutted out as he spoke, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. 

“I know.” You were tired of begging, the constant back and forth. Seungcheol would run, and then he would still find his way back to you in the following few months. That was just how this relationship worked, and you were used to it by now. 

“I’m sorry.” He would whisper, cupping his hands around your face as his thumbs traced your cheekbones, a gesture filled with silent love. 

Then don’t leave, you wanted to yell at him. If he really was sorry, if he really did love you, why would he still leave each time? But you knew that wasn’t how he operated. 

You knew Choi Seungcheol wanted you. But he barely knew what he wanted himself. 

“'Cause everybody's gone it's Just you and your anger”

You knew he’d be back like clockwork. You knew Seungcheol could never stray from you for too long, some hindrance keeping him from ever truly leaving you. 

He’d leave each time he felt like he wasn’t enough, each time you failed to convince him he was. Then he’d come back the moment that insecurity vanished, leaving him with his anger. At himself, at the world, at you. 

Seungcheol’s anger burned in white and blue. His anger was silent, suffocating, almost petty and petulant by nature. He would never yell or raise a hand at you but he’d push you away. Further and further until it felt like you never really knew him at all. 

“I love you.” You’d say, and he’d just hum in response. 

“Cheol.” You’d beg, because even when you said you were done begging, you knew you’d do it again. “Look at me, please.” 

He turned, although his eyes locked on some spot right above your head. 

“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” You’d ask him. “Let me help.” 

You knew your attempts at understanding were futile. Choi Seungcheol’s fatal flaw was his independence. He relied on no one but himself. 

“Merry Christmas, please don't call

Merry Christmas, I'm not yours at all”

You supposed Christmas Eve was as good a time as it could get. There would be no best time, you knew that now. You had been looking for the perfect time to leave and look where you were now. Six years deep, in love with a man who barely knew love himself. 

Merry Christmas. You wrote, leaving the letter tucked neatly beside his Christmas gift on the living room table. You knew you couldn’t say goodbye in person. One look at his shining eyes and you’d be begging for his love once more. 

I know none of this is anyone’s fault. You had begun the letter with. I know there are just some things nobody can fix. 

Your hand on the doorknob, your other hand clutched around the handle of your bags, you turned to take in the place one last time. Memories of you and Seungcheol circulated through the air as you lingered by the door, unable to step forward. 

Because that was the couch where he had said I love you for the first time, his face inches from yours. That was the kitchen lights that had flickered when broken, the same lights in which you had danced under, wrapped warmly in his arms. 

I really do wish you the best, Cheolie. And because at Christmas, you tell the truth - I hope you find everything you need to be happy in this life. Merry Christmas. Please don’t call. 

a/n: ending off the 2024 season with a bang! if you made it this far, thank you so much for following along through the beginning of this blog - and i'm excited to spend the next year with you!

[stevie-petey]

growing pains

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?”  “I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.”  He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it. “Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw. “And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Summary: steve buys you shitty coffee five years after your breakup.

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: fem! reader, use of y/n, exes!au, slight unhealthy relationship if u squint, ambiguous ending (kinda)

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hi my dears ! heres a very sad/bittersweet coffee shop conversation with far too many flashbacks and miscommunication. yummy ! unintentionally made this a christmas fic, so the bleachers song merry christmas please dont call is very fitting lmao. enjoy !

-

A flurry of snow coats Hawkins. Christmas lights reflect off the pristine white as the quiet stills everything in the town. There are no cars that drive past you. Hardly anyone littering the sidewalk as your footsteps trace a path in the freshly fallen snow. In the small, rundown cafe there is only one other patron brave enough to face the winter cold. 

The bell above the door signals your arrival.

Steve looks up at you. 

The flush of cold air stains your cheeks a ruddy red, though his gaze tinges the hue pink. The blush gives away the fondness you hoped you had buried below your sternum; but the fondness is still there. It will always be there. 

Steve gestures silently, offering you the seat in front of him. He’s chosen a small table in the back of the room. Secluded. Private. But he doesn’t stand to greet you. 

You sit. The cold makes your body slow. Steve’s presence makes your posture stiff. Your hands remain folded in your lap. You don’t place them on the table, too reminiscent of the times he would reach across and interlace your fingers together. 

The deliberate act is small, your only defiance, but still, after all these years, Steve sees it for what it really is. You’re still exactly as he remembers. The corner of his lip twitches, hiding a smile that you still know the weight of. How it felt against your own lips. 

“The whole town is buzzing about a white Christmas. We haven’t gotten snow like this in years.” 

Inconsequential. Steve’s first words to you in five years are inconsequential. 

There are still flecks of snow on your clothes. A snowflake melts slowly on your scarf. You watch its demise. There is nothing you want to say to him. 

Steve shifts slightly. Clears his throat. You still make him nervous. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come.”

“I walked.” Your first words to Steve are inconsequential, too. 

“In all this snow?” His surprise is soft, bordering on amusement. He takes his coat off, and underneath is a cheesy holiday sweater that makes your throat clench. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You shake your head. “I like the cold.”

And then Steve smiles. Genuine, it stretches across his entire face. “Yeah,” a breathy laugh that echoes in your ears. “I remember.”

– 

“I can’t feel my legs.” Steve whines, lagging behind you as the two of you trek through the snow. You’re at the bottom of the hill, still a long way from the top. “How are you still alive?”

You’re flushed in excitement and youth. The apples of your cheeks match the pink hat that keeps sliding into your eyes. Planting your feet firmly into the snow, you continue to climb. “It’s not that cold.”

“It’s freezing–shit!” Steve slips on a patch of ice. His voice cracks as he yelps, and you giggle at his embarrassment. He glares at you. “Please don’t laugh at me. I’m miserable here, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come. I was perfectly happy going sledding alone.” You’re halfway up the hill now. The flimsy plastic tube you’re using to sled hangs loosely from your hand. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Steve scoffs. “God forbid I try to be romantic and go sledding with my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink. It still feels weird, hearing him call you his girlfriend. The word is new, foreign, but the warmth that accompanies it is one that you hope you never get used to.

“Besides, who even goes sledding alone?” Steve continues, still pathetically behind you. “What if you got hurt? No good boyfriend should allow that to happen.”

You snort. “What, are you my knight in shining armor now?” Shifting low, you start scooping up some snow. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“All I’m saying is that I’m totally a saint.” 

You laugh, now packing the snow into your hands as you form a snowball. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Steve hasn’t noticed what you’re doing yet. He doesn’t know that in a matter of seconds you’ll cover his face in snow. Sneaking a glance at him, your breath catches.

There are snowflakes in Steve’s hair. A few kiss his cheeks, dancing along his freckles. The brown of his eyes glow warm ember in the white snow. His skin is pink, alive and pure. He’s beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that makes you ache.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Steve asks you, face wrinkling in confusion. 

You cough, embarrassed to have been caught. The snow in your hands starts to sting. The pain grounds you, clears your mind, and you try to pretend that the molasses in your bloodstream isn’t love. 

Throwing the snowball, it explodes in Steve’s face. He shrieks, sputtering at the cold shock. “Y/N!”

You laugh, loud and happily. Your ribs ache and your breaths escape your lungs in a burn that soothes you. Steve lunges toward you, hands finding your waist as he pulls you close. He grips you tightly, he can feel your laughter in his chest. 

“You’ll pay for that!” he buries his nose in your neck and you squeal, laughing even harder. Steve pulls you impossibly closer. He relishes in your warmth. He relishes in the way you squeal when he starts to tickle you. 

Warm. Everything about you is warm. 

You are sunshine against Steve’s skin. 

–

Someone else walks into the cafe, the sound of the bell echoes in the chasm between you and Steve. There are no more snowflakes on your scarf. The warmth of the cafe is stifling, although there is a comforting familiarity to it. 

“How are you?” 

Another inconsequential question, although you can’t fault Steve for it. He’s trying. More than you are, anyways. But what are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do, seeing your first love after five years of silence and absence? 

“Fine.” The response falls flat, mundane. Disinterested. Wincing, you really do try to sound as if you want to be here. “Good. I-I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Steve raises his eyebrow, leaning in. “I mean, I’m not surprised.”

Your shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”

Seeing your unease, Steve quickly explains himself. “Shit. That sounded ominous. I’m sorry,” he runs his fingers through his hair. The same way he used to do when he was seventeen. “What I meant is that Robin told me. About what you’ve been up to these last few years.”

Your shoulders drop. Of course Robin still talks to him about you. You suppose it’s only fair, seeing as how she tells you about him, too. She remained friends with you both after the breakup. She hadn’t wanted to take anyone’s side, and she’s kept true to that. 

“What has she told you?” 

It’s a real question. You know Robin would never tell Steve anything embarrassing or incriminating. But curiously gnaws at you. 

“Nothing bad, unfortunately.” Steve gently teases, but his prodding is only met with your uninterested gaze. He sighs, clears his throat. “She told me you moved to New York. Nearly screamed my ear off when your publishing deal got accepted. It’s pretty incredible.” 

Your fingers pick at the skin underneath your nails. “It’s only for one book.”

“Five years, and you still can’t accept a compliment.” 

“You’d be surprised by what can change in five years,” your eyes avoid his. “Is the coffee any good here?”

“It’s terrible,” Steve slides his mug over to you. Steam rises from the black liquid inside. “Milk and sugar. Hope it’s still how you like it.”

You take a sip, cringing at the taste. You’ve come to prefer your coffee black, bitter but rich. The coffee Steve has bought you is too sweet, but you drink more anyways. It gives you something to do. 

“I’ve been good, too. Thanks for asking.” Steve leans against his seat, placing his hands behind his head. He’s as coy as ever. The years haven’t made him humble. “I’m sure you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering.” You set the mug down. “I heard you made history being the youngest English teacher at Hawkins High.”

Steve’s mouth parts in shock. In another life, you pinch his lips together and kiss the tip of his nose. In another life, five years ago, you did.

But not this life. “Robin talks about you, too.”

“Of course she does,” Steve echoes your earlier thoughts. He leans back again, eyes never leaving your face. “Were you surprised? Steve Harrington. English teacher.”

The answer comes easily. “No.” 

“No?”

“No,” you twist the mug around. Steve stares at you and you wish he would stop. He’ll see through you, he’ll see the fondness and he’ll know everything you’ve tried to erase. “You were always interested in what I was reading. You didn’t hide it very well.”

Steve smiles to himself, his own fondness leaking over. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

He could never hide anything from you. 

– 

You’re in the classics section of Hawkins’ library. You wanted to check out a few books they recently collected. The librarian has your personal landline. You’ve spent more and more time in the building, reading all of the greatest authors. 

Steve always comes with you.

“Look, Y/N. I adore you, but if there aren’t any ass-kicking spies or alien babes, then I’m not reading it.” He shoves the book you hold in front of him away. “What the hell is a Brontie, anyways?”

“It’s Bronte,” you poke Steve’s cheek. “And I really need you to stop pretending that you don’t know these authors. It’s gotta be exhausting.”

He grabs the hand poking his face and twists it, forcing you to spin and land against his chest. “I’m not pretending, sweetheart. I don’t know any of these names.”

Steve claims he comes to the library with you because he gets lonely without you, but you’ve caught him rifting through Albert Camus and Erich Fromm. He could spend hours paging through their works. 

But you’ll allow him to keep this one secret from you. 

“C’mon,” you laugh, tugging Steve’s arm towards a new section. “Help me find Fyodor Dostoevsky. I want to study the way he writes his characters’ inner monologues.”

“No way that’s a real name.”

You laugh again. “Just shut up and help me, please.”

Eventually you find Dostoevsky and you become engrossed in his words. They’re intricate and complex, yet there’s a simplicity and plainness that strikes you. You write down a flurry of notes, not wanting to forget a thing; one day you want to command words the way all the authors you’ve studied seemed to do. 

You’re so lost in the world Dostoevsky has built, that you don’t notice Steve’s absence until he returns again. 

“Hey, check this out.” He’s holding a book, his finger saving the line he wants to show you. “This Pablo Neruda dude was like, a total romantic. Wanna hear?”

You lean against the bookshelf, curious. “Are you going to read to me?”

The only response is Steve’s charming smile. He steps closer to you, your breath mixes with his. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.’”

He closes the book, but he doesn’t move away. Your foreheads touch. 

“Love”. A word neither one of you has said until now. Until Steve read you a poem and uttered the word three separate times. 

He loves you, and you love him. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him. Steve kisses you back. 

– 

“Do you enjoy it?”

Steve drums his fingers on the table. “Enjoy what?”

“Being someone that kids look up to.”

He breathes out slowly. “I forgot how much you love asking heavy questions.”

You finally look at him. “You’re the one that asked to meet for coffee.”

“Fair point,” Steve scratches the back of his head. “Thank you, by the way. For agreeing.”

“I was in town.” You look away again. “The holidays. And the wedding, I guess. Nancy asked me to come.”

“I still can’t believe she got Byers to agree to a winter wedding.” Steve shakes his head, smiles to himself. “Anyways, to answer your shockingly emotional question: I do enjoy it. I love teaching. I love being someone that kids can come to. Is it terrifying? Absolutely. But selfishly, I like to think I’m good at it.”

Even though you don’t want to, you smile at him. “You’ve always been good with kids.”

Steve doesn’t expect your sincerity. The praise is small, a throwaway comment more than anything else, but it’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him in years. He’s suddenly shy, ducking his head. “I don’t know. Those little bastards were really difficult to handle.”

The little bastards being Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, and El. The kids you grew up with, a consequence of being neighbors with the Wheelers. One day there was a kid on your doorstep demanding you let him use your old scooter.

Mike had been only nine then, but he had been fierce and persuasive. After giving the scooter over, Mike forced you into his life. Then the rest of the party’s lives. 

Nancy came later, then Jonathan, and then, eventually, Steve. 

“They admired you.” You tell Steve, honest. “They still do.”

He blushes again. “You really think so?”

“I remember more than you think,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I remember everything, too.”

– 

The morning of the kids’ graduation, it’s a blur of packed cars and nervous excitement. Steve offered to drive everyone, giving the parents time to get situated and find seats at the high school. 

“Your car reeks.” Mike kicks Steve’s seat.

He glares at the kid. “Why didn’t you ride in Nancy’s car, then?”

“Her and Jonathan are gross.”

Lucas fixes his graduation cap. “They whisper to themselves a lot. It’s creepy.”

Max elbows him. “It’s because they’re in love, doofus.”

“Steve and Y/N are in love, and you don’t see them whispering to themselves.” Dustin points out, which you laugh at.

“I’ll be sure to never whisper to Steve with you guys around.”

Will pokes the back of your head. “Can you tell your boyfriend to drive faster? If we’re late, I think Hopper might actually kill him.”

“My dad would not kill Steve.” El corrects. “He would only hurt him. A lot.”

Steve pales slightly, stepping on the gas. “Alright. Guess we’re getting a speeding ticket, then.”

You end up arriving at the high school with a few minutes to spare. All the kids run out the car, throwing a quick thanks as they scatter. They’re gone in a heartbeat, a mass of green caps and gowns. 

“We’ll see you guys on stage!” You shout through the window, waving as they leave. 

“Remember how nervous we were when we graduated?” Steve asks you.

You shake your head fondly at the memory. “You wouldn’t stop sneezing. I had no idea you were a nervous sneezer until then. Robin thought it was the most embarrassing thing ever. I contemplated breaking up with you.”

“It’s a debilitating condition, Y/N.”

The graduation is long, but with six separate kids to listen for and cheer on, it passes quickly. When their names get called, you and Steve are the loudest ones who cheer. Robin calls you guys dramatic, but she screams her heart out when Dustin walks the stage. 

Nancy cries when Mike walks, and Jonathan, who had only just stopped crying after seeing Will walk, has to hold back his tears yet again as he consoles her. 

The five of you are a mess, and when the kids find you after graduation, you aren’t sure who starts running first. They swarm you, arms encase you and you hold onto them tightly. Will is crying, El can’t stop jumping, the kids are all a mix of emotions, yet they all remain fixated on Steve.

“Did you see the way I walked?”

“I waved at you! Did you see me?”

“You’re really loud when you scream, ya know that?”

“A poster would’ve nice. Just saying.”

All their eyes are on him. Their questions directed at him, eager to be answered. They seek Steve’s praise, like sunflowers following the sun’s rays. 

As you stand back, watching the way Steve is so loved by the kids, you fall in love with him all over again. 

– 

Steve picks at the frayed edges of his old jacket. It’s the same one he bought with you, back when winter in Hawkins was warm and yellow and light. Now everything is dull. Grey and bleak. 

“I never thought that you’d forget.” He acknowledges your hurtful words. He doesn’t like their implications. “I’d never think that.”

Steve’s clipped words make you defensive. Heat rises to your face. It makes your heartbeat spike. “There are a lot of things I thought you’d never do.”

He sucks in a breath. 

The cafe is quiet again. Your coffee remains untouched, cold. 

Steve finally tears his eyes from you, and the loss of his gaze feels colder than you expected it to. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To see his disdain for you on his pretty face, for him to hurt how you had. Isn’t that why you agreed to this?

The way Steve’s entire demeanor changes, how quickly his smile slips from his face, makes you question why you’re even here. Suddenly you want to take it all back. To mold his face into a happier one, get him to look at you again and trick yourself into believing that the tenderness in his eyes is real. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes out fast, the words mesh together, but it’s the best you can manage. “That… that was mean.”

“I think mean is fair.” Steve looks at you, his lighthearted smile is back, but it doesn’t shine like before. “Honestly, I’m relieved you’re being mean.”

You’re confused. Everything he does confuses you. “Is that why you asked me to coffee? Because you wanted me to be mean to you?”

“Partially.” He sips your discarded coffee and quickly spits it out. He wipes his mouth, gagging. “Jesus, that’s fucking rancid. I don’t even know why I did that. I hate coffee, and it’s even worse when it’s cold.”

He’s making a whole show of this. The way Steve talks to you, the questions he’s asking and the way he responds to whatever you tell him. He’s trying to recreate something that isn’t there anymore. Treating your time in the coffee shop together as if you’re two friends catching up.

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?” 

“I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.” 

He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it.

“Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw.

“And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Fed up, you slam your chair back and stand. If Steve wants to evade every question and act as if this is all some giant joke, then he can go fuck himself. 

The sudden motion makes Steve jump, but he quickly stands up with you when he realizes that you’re leaving. “Shit, wait–”

Steve’s hand grazes yours and you flinch away, reeling back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Y/N…” He stands still, the venom in your voice cementing him to the ground. In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never rejected his touch. Bitterly, he thinks that you were right about what you said when you first arrived at the cafe.

A lot can change in five years. 

You press the back of your hand to your forehead, trying to calm yourself down. Even though there’s no one else in the shop, you still don’t want to cause a scene. Not here. Not like this. 

“This was a mistake.” You swallow down bile. Steve still manages to get such a vulgar rise out of you, and you hate it. “At Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding, we won’t speak to one another. We won’t ruin their day, and you can sit with Robin. I don’t care. We can just pretend that we don’t–”

Your words die in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish them. 

“That we don’t what, Y/N?” Steve knows exactly what you mean to say. He narrows his eyes at you, pushes you to lay the final blow. 

Your breath stutters. Your body is cold. You may still make Steve nervous, but he still makes you nervous as well. He can still cut through you viciously in a way only someone who has truly loved you can. 

He stands before you, begging. “Say it.”

You’ve always been weak for him. “That we don’t hate each other.”

But your words are meaningless. As if you could ever hate each other. 

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “The one thing I can’t do when it comes to you is hate you.”

“Steve–” You want to take it all back. You shouldn’t have said it. You don’t know why you even said it, but you did.

“I can go five years without hearing your voice. I can wake up without you next to me. I can spend the rest of my life regretting that I lost you.” Steve doesn’t move, he doesn’t come near you. He’s hurt and he’s in pain and you don’t know how to be the one to help him anymore. “But what I can’t do, the only thing I can’t do, is hate you.”

–

The bay window caught your eye first. Then it was the rich brown wood floors, and then the garden that overlooks Lover’s Lake. Inside the apartment there are vintage tiles that you adore and the baby-blue walls make you feel faint.

The home Steve finds for the two of you is, unsurprisingly, perfect. 

“Do we really get to live here?” You ask, breathless as you wander through the empty hallways and bedroom. Never before have you had such endless space to yourself. It feels very adult, very final, and you wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to experience this first with than Steve.

“We better get to live here.” Steve huffs, setting down another box. You tried offering to help, but he scoffed at the idea and told you to admire the apartment instead. “The deposit was fucking expensive.”

Your fingers brush over the cream white curtains. They’re soft beneath your touch. “At least your dad was kind enough to pay it.”

“And if by ‘kind enough’, you mean ‘wanted his son to move out already’, you’d be right.”

“Same difference.”

Steve laughs and the sound echoes through the empty room that you know you’ll have years together to fill. You already have a million things you want to purchase for the apartment. Steve’s only request had been that you make the apartment feel like a home.

As if anywhere with Steve doesn’t already feel like a home. 

Later in the night you order pizza, starving and exhausted from moving. There’s no table for you and Steve to sit at. No chairs to rest on. You eat your first meal in your new home on the floor, surrounded by boxes and laughter. 

It’s perfect. 

“While I’m grateful for Mrs. Wheeler for giving us her spare bedding and all,” Steve wraps the blanket tighter around the two of you. The bed beneath you is lumpy and old, the only furniture that came with the apartment, but a bed is a bed. “I feel weird sleeping in her sheets.”

You press your nose against Steve’s neck, feeling your bones sag with relief. “She’s hot. I’d sleep in her sheets any day.”

Steve chokes on his spit, falling into a coughing fit while you giggle hysterically. He hits his chest, tries to suck air back in, and you’re laughing so hard there’s tears in your eyes. 

“You can’t just say that!” He sputters, still coughing.

“I know you were thinking it!” You giggle again, your smile presses against Steve’s cheek. His body is warm and soft and he smells like home; it's addicting. He’s still coughing when you kiss his cheek and brush his hair back. “Can you stop dying already? I’m trying to kiss you here.”

Steve wraps his arms around you and throws his body on top, smushing you beneath him. You squeal, giggling even harder now as he litters your skin with feathery kisses. “You’re trying to kiss me, huh?”

His nose runs down your cheek. Down across your forehead, to the tips of your ears. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach. “I don’t think you’re doing much kissing here, Y/N.” Steve kisses your eyebrow. His lips skim your chin, they linger in your laugh lines as endless laughter pours from you. 

“It-it tickles!” More laughter, you try to shove Steve away, but he places all his weight against you and kisses the apples of your cheeks. His fingers curl around your waist, nails digging in softly. He has you right where he wants you. 

“Kiss me,” he breathes into you. Over and over he repeats himself, kissing you with every enunciation. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

Steve begs you and you ache. He never has to ask you. You would do anything for him. 

You tilt your head, find his lips, and you get lost in each other. He kisses you slowly, intentionally. With a softness that makes you shiver. He whispers how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, and the syrup in your lungs simmers.

“I love you,” you murmur, lips kissing his chest. “I think you’re my favorite person in the world.” 

A childish praise, but it’s everything to Steve.

– 

Steve orders you another coffee. Black this time, no sugar. The barista brings the cup over when it’s ready, the steam the only source of warmth between you and him. 

Snow falls outside and Steve hasn’t been able to look at you since you sat back down. 

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here. Neither one of you talk. There is no more disingenuous small talk between you. No more forced smiles. Polite questions about how the other has been.

All there that remains between you and Steve is the absence of what was. 

“Robin said we’d only last five minutes.” 

You remember the surprise on her face when you told her you’d accept Steve’s offer for coffee. She didn’t think you’d say yes, and the surprise quickly morphed into skepticism. She placed her book down, patted your hand, and told you good luck.

Steve laughs, short and staccato. “She has such shit faith in us. We’re nearing twelve minutes now.”

“We’re stubborn.” The coffee is disgusting even without the excess sweetness. Steve is right. The coffee here is truly horrible. 

“If I remember correctly, you’ve always been the more stubborn one.” He isn’t mean when he says this. More observant, stating a fact.

You set the coffee down. “And if I remember correctly, you hit your head a lot when we were kids.”

A small smile. “Which would mean?”

“That it’s possible you don’t remember anything correctly.” You tug at your scarf. “Maybe I wasn’t as stubborn as you’re remembering.”

Steve laughs this time, a real laugh that melts the ice that froze over moments ago. “Whenever we argued, you never let me get a word in. I’ll never forget that. I would’ve found it impressive, if it weren’t directed at me.”

Snippets of memories flash through your mind. You and Steve hardly argued throughout your entire relationship, but when you did, the fallout was always scattered pieces. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m stubborn.” You say weakly, still not quite ready to admit otherwise.

“I’d argue with you, but I was hoping we’d make it to fifteen minutes.” Steve takes your coffee, sips it again and cringes like he did before. Only he doesn’t say anything this time. 

“Is there a prize if we make it to fifteen?”

He smiles into the coffee. “Possibly.”

Silence again.

Steve keeps the mug in his hands, using its warmth to soothe his cold fingers. Years ago, he would use the heat of your hands to warm him. But your hands remain folded in your lap and you no longer want his touch. 

The silence eats at you. You bite your lip, twist your fingers together. You don’t know why you stayed, but you don’t know why Steve stayed, either.

“I was pretty stubborn, wasn’t I?” 

Steve looks at you. His eyes shine for a brief moment. “Maybe a little.”

– 

Shortly after moving into your apartment, you started writing. After years of reading other people’s stories, you felt that it was time to write your own. But finding the story was difficult. Every night you stared at your blank pages, willing them to fill with the words you were unable to write. 

As for Steve, he started picking up spare shifts at the local diner. He hated being a waiter. He thought it was degrading, but as a twenty-two year old with no college degree or work experience, it was all he could do. 

Money was tight, you were both starting to feel the weight of truly being on your own. You weren’t just two kids anymore. There were real responsibilities now. Grappling with your futures rather than imagining them.

And then one day you got a phone call that changed everything. 

“I can’t miss this interview!”

“And I can’t just leave work in the middle of the day to drive you, Y/N.” Steve sighs deeply over the phone. You can practically envision the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and tugs at his hair. It’s grown long. Longer than it’s ever been before. You like it this way. 

You glance at your watch and curse, frustrated tears burning your eyes. “Steve, please. This could make or break my entire future.”

“Sweetheart, I understand that, but if I leave work early, I’m getting fired.”

“You don’t know that!” You need him to say yes. You need him to drop everything for you and drive you to Bedford so that you can meet with a literary agent and discuss your work. 

It all happened so fast. One moment you were sending yet another draft of short story ideas to random agents. The next, you’re getting a phone call offering an interview in a town an hour away from Hawkins.

None of it felt real. That is, until the catch fell against you: the agent can only meet today and you don’t have a car. 

“David explicitly told me that if I leave work early one more time, my ass is grass.” Steve rubs his face, exhausted. He wants to help you, he wants you to finally get your big break. You’re far too talented for Hawkins, you deserve to be somewhere better; but the reality is that you can’t afford it right now. “Can’t someone else drive you?”

“I already called everyone else.” Your face is hot from anxiety. “Robin. Nancy. Jonathan. Hell, even Mike and the kids! But no one can take me and I have to be there in two hours.”

“Y/N…” 

Your head falls against the wall. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Steve’s heart clenches. He sucks in a breath. “I know that, okay? I-I do. But I can’t afford to lose this job. We’re already behind on rent, we still owe my dad for the deposit–”

“But you can always get another job!” You exclaim, losing whatever grasp you have left of your sanity. “I mean, Jesus, Steve. You’re just a waiter.”

The line is silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

His tone is quiet, it laces guilt into your veins. 

“I-I just meant that there’s a shitload of restaurants in Hawkins,” you’re rambling now, regretting everything. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have said what you did. But now it’s too late and you’re in too deep. Letting out a breath, your lips tremble. “But there’s only one literary agent who wants to meet with me.”

There’s yelling in the background. Steve mumbles something to someone, you think you hear David yelling at him to get back to work. Muffled rustling, followed by a string of curses.

“I gotta get back to work.” Steve says curtly, not even giving you a chance to respond before he’s already hanging up the phone.

The dial tone rings in your ear. 

You never make it to your interview.

Steve gets home late that night. He walks past you, he doesn’t acknowledge you besides the slam of the bedroom door. 

– 

“I never apologized to you.”

Steve sets the mug down. He doesn’t ask you what you mean. “No, you didn’t.”

You swallow. “I… I’m really sorry, Steve.”

He shrugs. It was a long time ago. He’s forgotten the sting of your words. The marks they left have long since faded. “It was your dream.”

“But you were more than just a waiter. Hell, you were the only reason we didn’t lose the apartment.” You rub the back of your neck, relieving the tension that knots it. “God, I was so fucking naive. I’m sorry for not realizing sooner, for not appreciating everything you did for us.”

Steve shrugs again. “We were just kids.”

The coffee you drank suddenly sinks in your stomach. 

We were just kids.

Sometimes you forget that your relationship with Steve had been your childhood. The two of you met when you were fifteen, fell in love when you were seventeen, and fell apart when you were twenty-three. 

You’d been so young together. The mistakes you made, the hurt you caused, were childish gashes with bullet-sized exit wounds. 

“We were just kids, weren’t we?” The nostalgia in your voice surprises even you. 

A fond smile ghosts Steve’s face. It’s barely there, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “Young and in love. Now we’re just old.”

“At least we aged well.”

Steve raises his eyebrow at you. “Was that a compliment, Y/N?”

You smile, coy. “Who said anything about you? I was referring to myself.”

Steve scoffs, light hearted. You expect him to retaliate, to tease you how you’re teasing him. Instead, his gaze softens. He leans forward, drawn into you as he always is, and lowers his voice. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Years separate you and Steve. It’s been nearly a decade since love first tied you to each other. There used to be a knot, tied into something intricate, small, yet lovely, that connected you to Steve. 

And yet, with one sentence, the strings come together again.

“I still haven’t forgotten,” you fall back in your seat, away from Steve. “How you hurt me.”

He mirrors your body language, moving away as well. “And what about how you hurt me?”

You cross your arms. Steve crosses his. Staring at one another, a stalemate is reached. The memories that tie you together are both your vice and your virtue. The love is still remembered, it’s still warm to the touch, but so is the hurt. 

Robin would call you both childish if she were here right now. You can practically hear her now, annoyance in her voice as she rolls her eyes at the staring contest unfolding. She’s always resented how stubborn you both are.

“Why did you call me?”

Steve inhales sharply. He knows he has to answer the question. It’s only fair that he gives you an explanation for why he decided to call you at three in the morning the Friday before your plane was due to arrive in Hawkins’ small airport for Christmas and a wedding you both were invited to. 

But he can’t. Not yet, at least.

“If it makes me look any better, I called Robin first.” Steve forces a laugh out. “Granted, she told that if I called you that I’d probably die. But still. Blame her.”

Everything unravels after that.

“You never showed up.”

“Y/N.”

A crack to the surface, followed by a fist of anger that shatters everything. “You promised me you’d be there.”

“I was dick, I know–”

“Do you know how humiliated I was?” Steve winces, and his shame only enrages you more. “How utterly shitty it was when all our friends, our families, asked me where you were, and I couldn’t answer them?”

“Y/N, please just let me explain–”

“No.” The mug spills over as you hit the table, standing up furiously. You’re crying. You don’t remember the tears building. “You don’t get to call me in the middle of the night, buy me dogshit coffee, and then spoon feed me shitty excuses! You were my boyfriend, I wanted to marry you, and you abandoned me.”

“Is the coffee really that bad?”

Your jaw clenches. Steve rubs his neck, looking everywhere but at you. He’s trying to be funny. His first words to you in five years were inconsequential, and now he’s trying to use humor to ease the sting of guilt that he feels seeing you.

The decision is an easy one. 

“Goodbye, Steve.”

His hand grips yours before you can even turn away. Startled by his sudden touch, you don’t pull back. Not this time, at least. You’re frozen, staring at Steve as he stares at you. He’s pale. His chest heaves and there’s terror in his eyes.

“Don’t.” It’s all he can say to you.

“Let me go.” But still you don’t pull away.

Let us go. Please. 

“I���” He blinks, almost winces to himself. Steve doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. Not anymore. Not like how he used to. But you’re pulling away again and he’s just gotten you back and he can’t lose you. Not again. “I resented you.”

Your back straightens. “Excuse me?”

“I-I know how bad it sounds, but if you just–” Steve gestures behind him, tries to sit you back down. But you don’t move. His eyes plead with you. “Y/N, please.”

He looks so akin to the boy you once knew. The resemblance twists the tendons in your chest, forces the air out of your lungs. You don’t move, but you don’t leave, either.

Steve accepts all that you’ll give him. 

– 

The home you built with Steve loses its warmth. Lazy Sunday mornings cease to exist. He doesn’t hold you at night. Dates go unplanned, dinners eaten alone. Laughter dies and you stop waiting for Steve to come home. Everything stills. Lost in a time capsule that was once your dream. 

Winter comes and the snow that blankets Hawkins softens the dull ache of the distance that’s built between you and Steve. He starts taking night classes at a local community college and you spend your nights writing. 

The first story you write is about a lonely barn owl who hops through dwindling branches trying to find its mate. The creature calls out for someone, its wails echoing through the deserted forest that once was alive with creation. 

A snowflake that gets lost in a storm that it created becomes your second story. Its frail, lithe body too transparent to be anything other than alone. 

Then you write about a dandelion that mourns for its seeds that have been cruelly torn from its body. 

Over and over you write about loss. How cold it leaves a person, the emptiness that can never quite be filled. 

In the end, it’s this sense of loss that gives you everything you’ve ever wanted, yet leaves you with nothing to show for it. 

“I sent my writing to a short story show. I got in.”

Steve unbuttons his work shirt. He worked a double shift at the restaurant, but spares you a tired smile. “That’s great.”

The praise is small, but the rarity of it makes it feel like gold upon your skin. Cheeks flushed, you smile back at him shyly. “Thank you.”

Steve goes back to changing out of his clothes and you’re left to deal with the silence that always seems to follow you these days. Your feet carry you to the bed, sitting down gently as you watch him. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, either.

“The show is in two weeks. Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Steve pauses in the closet’s doorway. His hand rests on an old sweater you got him when you first started dating. He pulls out a different one instead. “Well. I already took the day off, so I’ll come.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he makes attending sound like an obligation. A dull chore he has to complete. 

“Robin already promised she’d be front row. Jonathan and Nancy, too.” You get up, stand behind Steve, rest your head on the back of his neck and encircle your arms around him. He stiffens at the touch, so do you. But you can’t let him go. “I think even some of the kids will come. And my parents, obviously.”

“Sounds like you’ll have an entire crowd devoted to you.”

“Yeah, but I only really want you there.” You whisper, vulnerable.

Steve sucks in a breath, releases it. He doesn’t say anything else. 

The next two weeks you read your collection of short stories aloud for hours on end. You rehearse how to present them, the right cadence and intonations. How to make the loneliness heavier, the serenity sweeter. You don’t let Steve listen, claiming you want to surprise him alongside everyone else the day of the show.

Later, you’ll come to understand that you had been afraid of how he’d react. If he’d even react at all. 

The show is a haze of people and praise. Robin brings you flowers, Jonathan takes pictures of you with all the kids. Dustin surprises you with an old leather journal he found for you to write all your ideas in and El hands you a ribbon to bind it. 

Your mother cries and your father hugs you warmly. Mrs. Wheeler and Nancy bring Christmas cookies and organize the large audience you’ve built for yourself in the seats provided by the show. It takes two entire rows to seat everyone you love. 

Robin saves a seat for Steve. He’s late.

The night is spent listening to brilliant writers reading their stories to a small, but kind, audience. There are a total of eight featured writers. You’re scheduled to read your writing last.

After the second writer finishes, you look anxiously over at the audience and bite your lip when you still don’t see Steve. The fifth writer goes on and your nails are bloody from picking at them. Mike murmurs something to Robin, who shakes her head and nervously shifts in her seat, eyes never leaving the empty seat next to her. 

The seventh writer shares a story about newfound love and its warmth. 

Nancy finds your gaze and the pitying look in her eyes makes your nausea even worse. 

You stand in front of a mass of people who lean into every word you read aloud. The seat next to Robin remains empty.

Steve never comes.

And it’s the last time you ever wait for him.

–

“I really was proud of you, you know.” Steve says softly, regretfully. “Robin told me you won an award later that night.”

“I did.” The award had been your ticket out of Hawkins. It got you money, connections with publishing agents. You moved to New York not even a week later.

Steve looks down. “I should’ve been there.”

You don’t bother to agree with him. You don’t want to coddle him, lessen the guilt he feels for how cruelly he hurt you. You’ll never forget the pit that formed in your stomach when you realized he wasn’t coming.

“I regret what I did. Every single day I wish I had gone.”

“You resented me instead, apparently.” Your laugh is cruel, cold.

Steve sits back down numbly, his body falls and the seat beneath him catches it. He places his hands on the table, slowly, defeated. He looks up at you, allows himself to finally confess everything. “I resented how easy everything seemed for you. I mean, you were making a name for yourself while I waited shitty tables and slept through grueling night courses.”

You clench your fists, still refusing to sit down. “And that gave you a right to diminish my own accomplishments?”

“Nothing makes sense when you’re twenty-three.”

Not an omission of truth, but rather acknowledgement of how differently you see the world when you’re young. Though you want more from Steve, you accept this. In a way, you suppose he’s right. 

“I didn’t go to the show because I was scared of how much I was falling behind.” Steve doesn’t look away from you. He’s laying all his cards on the table, open and waiting for you to read them. “We were in over our heads, but somehow only I was the one drowning.”

Rent, bills owed, grappling with adulthood while still shedding your adolescence. Loneliness while being together. Careers that hurt and dreams that struggled for breath. You and Steve had been drowning together. Until one day you weren’t. 

Steve drinks the coffee, he doesn’t pressure you to sit down again. Instead, he sighs. “I let your words get into my head. In your mind I was just a waiter, and I felt that nothing I was doing with my life was worthwhile. The only thing I had done right by the time I was twenty was having you love me.”

The anger that was quick to rise is also quick to dim. There isn’t any left for you to fight. 

Finally, you sit. You take the coffee from Steve and the now cold liquid is a reminder of how much time has passed. “The age old question: do actions speak louder than words?”

Did what I say justify what you did? Or did they cause each other, creating a cycle that we can never escape? 

You won’t forgive him, but you understand him. Steve was hurting just as much as you were, only his hurt came from your own insecure and unsure words. You told him he was just a waiter because you were scared all you’d ever be was an unknown writer. The weight of your future made you scared, the uncertainty of it all overwhelmed you and made you cruel. 

Steve had fallen victim to the same fate.

“Robin told me it was growing pains.” Steve says. “What happened between us. It was all just growing pains.”

Begrudgingly you smile. Your cards are on the table as well. “You called me to discuss growing pains?”

The crinkle of Steve’s smile warms the cold cafe. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Tell me, then. Are we done growing?” You lean forward, allow your body to be near Steve’s again and the buzz of the proximity sets your skin on fire. He breathes in sharply. He hasn’t been this close to you in what’s felt like a lifetime. 

Steve leans forward too. You can smell his cologne, his eyes still shine how you remember them. His face is the same, though weathered with age and experiences you no longer know about. You count the moles that scatter his face, heart thumping wildly when you realize you still remember how many there are.

He’s still so beautiful. 

You’re weak for Steve. Your bones still remember the weight of his love.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be done.” Steve sinks even closer, nose almost bumping your cheek. You hold your breath, body humming. 

Breathless, you ask him, “then where does that leave us?”

Steve pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. He studies your face, the familiar angles and peaks of your nose. Your eyes, how they’re still his favorite color. Your hair is the same, maybe a little shorter now, and your perfume still the warm vanilla that reminds him of home. 

You’re still the girl Steve fell in love with when he was a kid. He’s still the boy you fell in love with when you were a child. There is still hurt, memories you both want to forget, but there is love within it. Young love can be formed anew, if someone lets it. 

“Together.” Steve finally says. “It leaves us together.” 

-

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[yunniverse]

You’re My Dream

౨ৎ PAIRING— rockstar!jeong yunho x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— fluff, ended relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, fluff

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 1.4k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— you broke up because he was too focused on his music dream, but maybe you and love were the real dream all along.

౨ৎ A/N— i saw a lot of people saying they wanted a oneshot with the concept photos from the 2025 seasons greetings, so i made one! i hope you like it, even though it isn’t quite as angsty as you probably wanted :( still, feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3 (i’ll tag a few people who said they were interested if someone wrote one: @beabatiny, @goldendynastys, @kibs-and-bits)

Staring at the fire crackling, you try to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. When had it all gone so wrong?

Just last year, you had been enjoying your boyfriend’s Christmas show with his rock band, and now you’re sitting alone, the night before Christmas.

The crackling of the fire adds to your melancholy, the harsh cold winds blowing outside creating a gloomy atmosphere. You know you should forget like he has, but you can’t throw away two years of your life that easily.

The memories of last Christmas come flooding back to you, even as you try to suppress them. Memories of sitting beside the fire with Yunho, cuddling as you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. Or baking Christmas cookies together at his apartment, laughing as you threw flour at each other.

Turning to the remote controller, you press the power button, not expecting to see him on the screen. His band is playing, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest at the sight of him, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.

Even though he’s the keyboard player and not the lead singer, he has an air about him that draws you in, making it unable to look away, even as you know you should. Why is he still having this effect on you?

The song is one you recognize. “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” by Bleachers.

It’s a song he’d introduced to you last Christmas, and, even though it’s sad, it had been a source of joy for you in a way last year, because you remember dancing to the song with him, smiling and laughing.

Now, it really is sad.

When he gets up at the end of the song, leaning into the microphone, you furrow your eyebrows, listening.

“That song goes out to someone I lost a year ago today.” He looks right at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish it had been different, but know that I never really stopped loving you.”

You gasp, only momentarily questioning if he’s really talking to you, before you jump up, now determined to make things right for some reason. You know it’ll probably end in more heartache, but you have to try.

Grabbing your keys and coat, you hurry out the door into the winter storm, unlocking your car before hopping in.

Even though the roads are horrible tonight, you know the way to his apartment like the back of your hand, only slowing because of the snow.

About twenty minutes later, you arrive at his apartment complex, hurrying out of the car, through the blinding snow, and into the lobby of the building.

You try to calm yourself down, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the fourth floor.

When you get to the floor, you walk down the hall, slowing to a stop in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.

It takes about two minutes, but the door opens, revealing a messy-haired Yunho, a few locks of his dark blue hair having fallen in front of his brown eyes, which widen at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his hand clutching the doorknob so tight you think he might break it. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the program.”

“Oh.”

With a sigh, you rub your arm, biting your lip, really starting to wonder what you’re really doing here yourself. “H-How have you been?”

“Is that really what you’re going to ask?” Yunho asks, giving you a half-smile.

“What else would I say?” you question softly, suddenly feeling stupid for coming to see him. “I can’t just say Merry Christmas or something stupid like I’ve missed you—”

“Can’t you?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Sighing, you frown slightly, “This can’t be happening. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me just—“

He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, making your gaze snap back to his. “Every day without you has been torture. You came to see me for a reason. Do you feel the same?”

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter how we feel. It can’t work now anymore than it did then. We have different goals.”

“We don’t have to!” he exclaims, almost desperately. “I can give up the band if that’s what you want. You were upset it took up so much of my time? I’ll quit.”

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “Yunho, the reason you couldn’t give it up for me before is because it’s what you love to do. I can’t take that away from you. I can’t make you live without it.”

“Well, I can’t live without you.”

His words hang heavy in the air, making you suck in a sharp breath, “Yunho…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yunho tells you, taking a single step closer. “Just tell me…”

“Tell you what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you feel?” he asks, just before he leans in, his face inches from yours. Your heartbeat quickens as his warm breath fans across your lips. “If you feel nothing, I’ll leave you alone.”

You’re torn between wanting to close the distance and knowing you shouldn’t.

You don’t have to wait for long.

It feels like the world stops when his soft lips brush against yours for the first time in months. It isn’t like an electric shock, with fireworks exploding, rather it’s like coming home after a long time away. Like warmth and softness and… love.

It only takes a few seconds for you to melt into him, the kiss deepening as he lifts his hands to cup your face, your hands finding his chest, his heartbeat quickens beneath yours fingertips.

After a few moments, he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly, waiting for you to respond.

“I wish I could say I felt nothing,” you whisper, feeling a little helpless against your emotions. “But I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then give us another chance,” Yunho pleads, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. “I meant what I said during the program. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“But what about the band? What about all the reasons we broke up months ago?”

“You and I both know we were being petty then. And I can quit the band, like I said,” Yunho replies, his tone serious.

“I don’t want you to,” you respond quietly, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks slowly, confusion etched into his features.

“I don’t want you to quit what you love,” you clarify. “That’s what ended things between us before. We quit on our love, and I won’t let you quit on the band now. I was stupid to think you loved me any less because of your passion for music. Please don’t stop playing, Yun.”

“Are you sure?” he asks slowly. “It’ll still take up as much time as it did before, maybe more, since we’ve grown a little more popular now.”

“I don’t care,” you smile softly. “All I care about is being with you again. And I won’t let my jealousy over your time get in the way again… as long as you let me come to your shows.”

“Every single one.”

With a small laugh, you lean forward, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before burying your face in his neck, inhaling his calming scent you’ve missed so much.

“Maybe we should get out of the hallway?” Yunho chuckles, tugging your hand, guiding you into his apartment. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You smile shyly, nodding, as you let him close the door behind you both.

Three months later, you’re cheering for Yunho and his band as he performs, smiling widely when he finally comes backstage, his arms open as you laugh, throwing yourself into his arms for a hug. “You did so well, Yunnie,” you whisper in his ear.

He grins, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “Thank you, baby. You’re always the best cheerleader.”

“Can’t say I don’t like the fake tattoos on your hands either,” you tell him wryly, tracing the markings with your finger.

“Oh?” he asks, chuckling softly, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I’ll leave them on for a little while. And I’ll be sure to tell the stylist you like them.”

“Good,” you grin. “I’m good with anything now as long as you never tell me ‘please don’t call’ like you did last winter ever again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[starsjulia]

merry christmas, please don’t call // alexia putellas

a/n : this song has been on repeat

warnings : an angsty one i fear

You hadn’t expected the call

It was late, too late for anyone to call without good reason. The rain outside beat against the windows of your apartment in a steady rhythm, and the city was cloaked in that quiet, heavy stillness that only came on winter nights.

When your phone started vibrating on the coffee table, you stared at it for a moment, half-convinced it wasn’t real. But then you saw the name glowing on the screen.

Alexia.

The shock of it hit you like a punch to the chest. Your hand trembled as you reached for the phone, hesitating as it continued to ring. It had been almost a year, an entire year of silence, of careful distance, of you piecing yourself back together alone.

She wasn’t supposed to call. Not now. Not ever.

You answered. “Hello?”

For a second, there was nothing but silence. And then—

“Hi,” she said softly.

Her voice wrapped around you like something both familiar and unwelcome. You closed your eyes, leaning back into the couch.

“What do you want, Alexia?” you asked. Your voice was flat, almost detached, but the ache was already starting to spread through your chest.

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

You sat up. “What do you mean, ‘here?’”

There was a pause. “I’m outside.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You stood up slowly, like your body wasn’t entirely your own, and moved to the window. Pulling the curtain back, you peered down into the street below.

And there she was.

Alexia stood on the sidewalk, coat pulled tight around her, her face faintly illuminated by the streetlamp above her. She looked up then, as if she could feel your eyes on her, and it made something heavy settle in your stomach.

You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have gone to the door.

But you did.

When you opened the door, Alexia was standing there in the hallway, rain still dripping from the ends of her hair. Her eyes met yours, and for a long, heavy moment, neither of you said anything.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you finally whispered.

“I know,” she replied, her voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

You stood there in the doorway, the weight of her presence pressing against you like a vice. Part of you wanted to slam the door in her face, to tell her she had no right to show up now after all this time. But another part of you—the part that still remembered what it felt like to love her—just stepped aside.

“Come in,” you said softly.

The air inside the apartment felt heavy, almost suffocating. You hadn’t offered her tea, hadn’t given her a towel for her rain-soaked hair. She just sat on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped in front of her, her shoulders curled forward like she was bracing for a storm.

You leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed tightly over your chest, doing your best to keep the distance intact.

“Why are you here?” you asked finally.

Alexia looked up at you, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”

You laughed softly—bitterly—shaking your head. “you never know Alexia.”

She winced at the tone of your voice but didn’t argue. She just sat there, silent and small, like a shadow of the person she used to be.

“You always do this,” you said, your voice trembling now. “You leave. disappear. And then when it gets too hard to be alone, you come back. And you expect me to what? Open the door and act like it’s fine? We’ve done this so many times”

“I don’t expect that,” she murmured.

“Then what do you expect, Alexia?” you snapped. “You don’t get to be here. Not now. Not after everything.”

“I just…” She trailed off, her voice catching, and for a second, you almost believed she was going to cry. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” you said, your voice cracking. “You ruined it. You ruined me.”

The words hung there like a weight, heavy and sharp. Alexia didn’t argue, didn’t defend herself. She just looked at you—looked at you like she knew exactly what she’d done.

“Then why did you let me in?” she whispered.

You didn’t have an answer to that.

————

She left a little while later.

You stood in the doorway, watching her walk down the hallway, her steps slow and heavy. She turned back to look at you once, her eyes full of something you didn’t want to name, but you didn’t say anything. You just closed the door.

When she was gone, you stood there with your back against the wood, sliding down to sit on the cold floor. Your head tipped back against the door as you stared at the ceiling, trying to steady the way your heart was racing.

You shouldn’t have let her in.

You knew you shouldn’t have let her in.

But it was done now, and the emptiness of the apartment felt even louder than it had before.

————

One year later, it was Christmas again.

The rain had returned, falling in steady sheets against your window as the city settled into its own quiet. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled tightly around you, a cup of tea growing cold on the table.

Your phone sat beside you, face-down. You hadn’t looked at it all evening.

But then, just as the clock hit midnight, you picked it up and opened the message thread.

The last text was still there from a year ago:

”don’t call me.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as the rain rattled against the glass. You thought about her standing outside your door, soaked and silent. You thought about the way she’d looked at you like she didn’t know how to fix what she’d broken.

You thought about how much it still hurt.

And then, you typed:

“Merry Christmas, please don’t call”

You stared at the words for a long time before you hit send, your chest aching as the message disappeared into the void.

The phone was silent.

You set it back down on the table, curling deeper into the blanket as the rain continued to fall outside.

You’d made your choice this time. You wouldn’t let her in again.

Not this Christmas. Not ever.

And somehow, as you sat alone in the quiet, it almost felt like peace.

Almost.

[soombee]

merry christmas , please don’t call — sim jake ⋆⁺₊❅⋆

pairing ; sim jake (en-) x reader (s.her pronouns)

warnings / genre ; hurt no comfort , alcohol consumption (don’t do this!!!) , jake being a real man and yearning , idol smau , mentions of harm (metaphorical) , lmk if more!

word count ; ~8600 (8.6k words)

publish date ; dec 4, 2024

sypnosis, jake sim still aches for the love he let go, haunted by memories of you in every snowfall—well more like every day he breathes. though your breakup was for the best, he can’t stop yearning in silence, whispering love letters you’ll never hear.

perm tag list (open) ! @voikiraz (tysmily)

— inspired by “merry christmas, please don’t call” by bleachers ^^

an ; hai guys Sorry for this LOLLL i still love u i promise… but no this actually hurt me to write.. sorry for thr weak angst tho I HATE angst so much plz #ILoveComfort ily so much jake i would never leave u…. (But actually plz leave if your s/o acts likw this or never follows their words w actions!! a liar will always tell and never act!!) AND PLS DO NOT GET BACK W UR EX (if they hurt you) (if they didn’t do anything and they hit u up RUN BACK HOME!!!! IJBOL) (only if u want to ofc) (do not cheat) (never ever be like jake in this fic #istillloveyou #imsorry.) anyqays. Hope this fic isn’t too boring, enjoyyy!!! ☺️☺️

the snow fell in soft, silent sheets, muffling the world and its noise. the streets glittered under the warm glow of streetlights but jake felt none of the holiday cheer radiating around him. his feet moved on autopilot, crunching through the fresh layer of snow as he headed toward the cafe—the café

he hated himself for coming here. he’d avoided this place for months, knowing full well it was a minefield of memories—every corner of the space filled with you. but tonight, something had drawn him back. maybe it was the first snow, or maybe it was the loneliness creeping in, heightened by the christmas spirit

he pushed the door open, the warm air inside hitting him like a bittersweet embrace. the smell of fresh coffee and gingerbread filled his senses, and for a moment, he could almost pretend nothing had changed

Almost.

jake’s eyes automatically scanned the room, even though he knew you wouldn’t be there. you were probably across town, maybe even across the country, living your new life—the one you’d both agreed you needed. but that didn’t stop his heart from aching as he slid into the corner booth, the one you’d always claimed as yours, the one where you two had met.

the waitress came by, and he ordered black coffee. no frills, no sweetness. just black and bitter, like the ache in his chest that refused to fade

he sat back, letting his gaze drift to the window. outside, the snow swirled under the streetlights, mesmerizing in its quiet beauty. but jake wasn’t thinking about the snow. he was thinking about you.

he thought about how your hands used to curl around your own mug, fingers perpetually cold until he’d wrap his own around them, how he’d dance you in the dim light of the night and how you looked as beautiful as ever. he thought about the way your nose would scrunch when he teased you, or how your laughter used to fill this space, louder and brighter than any christmas song playing in the background

God, he missed that laugh

he missed everything about you. the way you’d insist on splitting a cinnamon roll even though you’d end up eating most of it. the way you’d lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you people-watched through the frosted glass. he even missed the arguments—the stupid, petty fights about nothing that always ended with you curled into his side, whispering soft apologies against his neck

jake ran a hand through his hair, biting down hard on his bottom lip. he hated how vivid the memories were, how they clawed at him even now, months after you’d walked away

no, that wasn’t fair. you hadn’t just walked away—you’d made the decision together. it had been mutual, logical. you’d both realized you were heading in different directions, that clinging to each other was only holding you back. you’d promised to let each other go, to grow, to heal

but jake wasn’t sure he’d healed at all

if anything, he felt stuck. he went through the motions—practice, performances, interviews, photoshoots. smiling for the cameras, playing the part. but behind closed doors, it was you he thought about when the silence crept in. It was your voice he longed to hear when he woke up in the middle of the night, reaching for someone who wasn’t there

the coffee arrived, and he wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his frozen fingers. he stared at the black liquid, the bitter aroma filling his lungs. he didn’t even like black coffee, not at all. you used to tease him about it, saying it didn’t suit his personality

“sim jaeyun, a golden retriever in human form, drinking something so bitter? you’d have to kill me to make me believe it,” you’d said with a laugh, stealing a sip from his cup before grimacing dramatically, “yuck, this is nasty!!!”

jake clenched his jaw, the ghost of your laughter ringing in his ears. he couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught himself replaying your voice in his head, as if the sound of it could bring you closer. it never worked, of course. the space between you had only grown more distant, the threads of your shared life unraveling into nothing but silly little memories

he stared out the window, the snow piling higher on the sidewalks. couples walked by, their faces illuminated by the golden glow of christmas lights. one of them reminded him of you—a girl tugging at her boyfriend’s scarf, laughing as he rolled his eyes and let her adjust it for him. it was the kind of small, meaningless moment he used to share with you

but now, jake didn’t have anyone adjusting his scarf. he barely wore one at all, the cold biting at his skin a welcome distraction from the pounding aches in his chest

his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him back to the present. he pulled it out hesitantly, the screen lighting up with a notification. it wasn’t you—of course it wasn’t. it was just a message from jay, asking if he wanted to join the group for dinner later. jake didn’t reply. he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone tonight, not when the weight of you was still pressing down on him so heavily

his thumb hovered over your contact instead, the familiar name glaring back at him like a taunt. he shouldn’t. he couldn’t. you’d made it clear when you parted ways: no calls, no texts, no nothings. not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much. staying in each other’s lives would have been too painful, a constant reminder of what you had both lost

but God, did he want to hear your voice.

“merry christmas, please don’t call,” he muttered under his breath, echoing the line from the song that had been haunting him all night. he set the phone face down on the table, resisting the urge to do something he’d later regret

the truth was, he didn’t even know what he’d say if you picked up. would he tell you he missed you? that he still kept the scarf you left at his apartment, buried in the back of his closet because he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out? that every time he heard your favorite song, he had to leave the room because it made his chest tighten with longing?

jake laughed bitterly, shaking his head. none of it would matter. you were gone, and no amount of yearning could bring you back

the café was quieter now, the other customers leaving as the evening wore on. jake drained the last of his coffee, the bitterness lingering on his tongue. he left a few bills on the table and stood, his legs feeling heavier than they should

outside, the snow was laying thicker, coating the world in white. it was beautiful, he supposed, but it only made the city feel emptier

as he walked down the street, the cold seeped through his coat, but he didn’t care. his thoughts were stuck on you, on what could have been if things had been different. if he’d fought harder. if you’d stayed.

but life wasn’t “the notebook,” there were no miracles waiting to reunite you. the was only the cold, and the loneliness, and the silence

jake reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone again. his thumb hovered over your name one last time before he let out a shaky breath and put it back in his pocket

“merry christmas,” he whispered to the empty street. “i hope you’re happy.”

with that, he kept walking, his figure disappearing into the snowfall, the quiet yearning in his heart a burden he’d carry alone—do you still think of me?

flashback — beginning of the end

his absence wasn’t sudden—it never was. it began to stretch further and further. at first, you’d see him four or five days a week, then three. then there were weeks when you could count the hours he was home on one hand

you adjusted, at least outwardly. you stopped waiting up for him, stopped asking if he’d be home for dinner. every time you thought to reach out, his familiar excuses echoed in your mind:

jakey jakey: sorry baby, new album soon. promise i’ll make it up to you, i love you!

but his words felt emptier with every passing week.

sometimes, you’d sit on the couch with your phone in your hand, staring at his contact name and wondering if it was worth calling. would he even pick up? if he did, what would you say?

i miss you.

i can’t keep doing this.

come home.

instead, you swallowed your words and let the silence stretch on.

to cope, you tried to fill the spaces he left behind

you threw yourself into work, taking on extra projects to keep your mind busy. you reconnected with old friends, meeting up for coffee or weekend brunches that helped ease the ache, even if only for a little while. you even had time to travel to australia to visit your in-laws.

but no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, the loneliness always crept back in. it lingered in the empty apartment, in the untouched leftovers in the fridge, in the cold side of the bed where jake used to sleep.

your friends noticed, too.

“you okay?” one of them asked over lunch one day

you forced a smile, “mhm, just busy, yk?”

“have you seen Jake lately?”

the question hit harder than you expected. You hesitated before answering,

“not as much as I’d like.”

they exchanged a look, one you couldn’t quite decipher, but they didn’t press further

when you got home that evening, you sat in the quiet and wondered if this was your life now: always waiting, always wondering, always pretending everything was fine

you told yourself it was temporary.

jake had always been ambitious—relentlessly so—and you admired that about him. he’d fought days and nights of exhaustion to get to where he was, pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into a career that demanded everything and more from him

you had to understand that.

when he missed date night for a sudden meeting, you reminded yourself of how hard he worked to provide for a future you both dreamed about. you pictured the life he talked about during quiet nights: a cozy home, maybe with the children you two had planned on having, vacations to places you’d only seen in magazines. this was just a temporary sacrifice, you told yourself. he was doing it for you. for both of you.

on your anniversary, when he texted to say he was stuck at the building again, you tried not to let the hurt show. you prepared the dinner anyway—all of his favorite meals—lighting the candles and sitting at the table long after the food had gone cold

when he finally called, voice strained and full of apologies, you smiled through the disappointment,

“haha it’s okay, my love. i know you’re busy.”

“next time,” he promised, “i’ll make it up to you.”

you wanted to believe him.

and when the missed dinners and canceled plans piled up, you clung to the hope that all of it—the sacrifices, the empty nights, the growing distance—was worth it, he’s a rising star!

he’s doing this for us, you repeated like a mantra, even as the cracks in your heart grew deeper. stop being so selfish, yn. he loves you, he’s doing this for us.

but as the months passed, those words began to feel like a lie and you wondered how much more of yourself you could give before there was nothing left.

your birthday came — jake promised to surprise you. everything should have been perfect.

he had planned everything down to the smallest detail. he’d listened when you talked about how much you missed those intimate dinners, the quiet moments when time seemed to slow. he remembered every little thing you liked and disliked, and he had worked tirelessly to make this birthday different—to make up for the forgotten anniversaries, the unspoken words, the promises made in the heat of passion and quickly broken in the cold rush of reality.

a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. a small, decadent cake with the kind of frosting you loved, not too sweet but perfectly balanced. a handwritten letter, each word carefully chosen to remind you of all the reasons why he loves you, of all the reasons why you had been the light in his life for so long, of all the words he could not say to you.

but none of it happened the way Jake had envisioned..

you sat on your couch, hands gripping the edges of your phone, staring at the screen as the minutes ticked by. 5:30 pm—the time you had agreed upon. that was when you expected him to arrive. that promised. promised it would be different this time but as the hands of the clock seemed to mock you, you knew deep down that this night was going to be just like every other—every single one of the nights you had spent waiting for him.

the dinner you’d prepared, with love and care, now sat on the table, cold and untouched. the candles you had lit to set the mood flickered softly in the silence of the room, their light casting long shadows on the walls.

you sent another message,

“baby, where are you?”

the response came minutes later.

“running behind, something came up at the studio. be there soon, i promise lovely.”

you stared at the screen, your heart sinking. ‘be there soon..’ you had heard that so many times, but it had never meant anything. he had always said the same thing, always claimed he was on his way, and yet it felt like you were always the one who waited. always the one left behind

you placed your phone on the table, willing yourself not to cry. but it wasn’t about the tears anymore. it was the disappointment. the frustration. the pain that had built up over weeks, months even, as his promises piled up like empty words

an hour passed. another message.

“so sorry, baby. still at the studio. it’s running late.”

at the studio. Again.

it had been weeks since you had gone out to dinner together without something getting in the way. his job, his career, his ambitions—they always took precedence. you understood that, you told yourself. you’d been patient, supportive, waiting quietly for him to balance things out, to see you the way you needed to be seen.

but now? now, you were beginning to wonder if he even saw you anymore, if he even thought about you

when the door finally opened, it felt like the moment you’d been waiting for all night was anticlimactic

jake stepped in, his coat dripping water onto the floor, his face twisted with guilt and exhaustion. his eyes were wide with that apologetic look, but it wasn’t enough. not anymore. the bouquet of flowers he held in his hands was a sad excuse—wilting, pale, as if the gesture itself had already been rotten

“i’m so sorry i’m late baby,” he began, the words rushed as if they were rehearsed,“there was this thing at the studio, and—”

you couldn’t take it anymore

“do you even care?” the words came out harsher than you expected, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion

jake froze

you could see the way his breath hitched, the way his hands tightened around the flowers as if they were the only thing grounding him to the present moment—even though the thorns from its stems found its way into his skin. he looked so lost. so helpless.

his mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. you could see the panic in his eyes—the kind of panic that came from knowing he had already failed. but still, he reached for you, as if that would solve everything. as if the gesture alone could erase the months of distance between you two

but you weren’t willing to forgive him, not this time. not when your heart ached too much for you to pretend that things were okay anymore

“are you serious?” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. it was bitter,

“every time i think it’s getting better, you pull this shit. i’m always waiting. always. and you’re never here. NEVER present. You’re just like my fucking dad, jake.”

his face paled, his eyes flickering to the table where the cold meal sat untouched, the cake you had baked slowly sinking into itself, the flickering candles an eerie reminder of how much time had passed,

“i swear i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, but the words felt hollow, like they were coming from a place where regret was no longer enough to fix anything, “i swear i was going to—”

“it’s always your words and never your actions. what? you thought i would be okay with this?” your voice broke then, the weight of your frustration cracking through the veneer of control you had been holding onto all evening,

“that I would just understand? you’ve been promising me for weeks, jake. weeks! and all you do is disappoint me. i don’t even know who i’m waiting for anymore”

his face twisted with guilt. he wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, to apologize until it made everything better, to reassure you that he was still the jake that you fell for, but he knew he couldn’t. he knew the distance between you wasn’t something he could close with a hug or a few empty words.

“i love you,” he said quietly, his voice full of desperation, as though that would be enough

you flinched at the words, like a punch to the gut. you love him too, but love didn’t fix this. love didn’t heal the broken parts of you that had cracked under the weight of his absence.

you shook your head. “i used to believe you. i really did.”

jake’s eyes watered at your words, his throat tightening as if he was on the verge of breaking down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to comfort him anymore. not when you were drowning in your own hurt, drowning in a flood caused by him

“you don’t even know how much this hurts,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “i’ve been waiting for so long, and all you ever do is show up when it’s too late.”

the silence between you was suffocating, the air thick with things unsaid, feelings that had been buried too deep for too long. jake opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to stop him

“jake please,” you said softly, each word feeling like a finality you had been avoiding for months. “i can’t do this anymore.”

he staggered back, as if you had slapped him, the weight of your words landing like a punch to his chest. he opened his mouth to say something, but it was clear that nothing could undo what had been done

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he murmured

but you couldn’t hear him. not anymore. the door was closing, slowly but surely, and he was too late to stop it

you turned your back to him, taking deep breaths, fighting to keep your composure. you couldn’t stay in this room with him any longer. not when everything had become a reminder of his neglect. not when the warmth you had once shared had been replaced by this suffocating cold

“please…just go,” you said, voice breaking as you finally let the tears fall

he hesitated, as if waiting for you to change your mind. but when you didn’t, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in your heart

and in the stillness of your apartment, you realized you were alone.

hours later, after he had left, you sat in the quiet of the dark apartment, the remnants of your birthday still scattered around you—half-eaten food, the stale cake, the wilted flowers. you had always been told that love was supposed to feel like home, but all you felt now was the emptiness of it

the day it finally ended.. oh it was heartbreaking.

it was late, nearing three am, when jake arrived at the apartment. you were laying down on the couch, hands curled beneath your head, waiting patiently in the cold. the sound of his keys jingling in the door used to fill you with relief, but tonight it only brought dread of whats to come next

jake stepped inside, his shoulders slumped, dark circles beneath his eyes. he paused when he saw you drifting to sleep, your face lit only by the dim glow of a nearby lamp

“hi baby, why are you still up?” he asked, his voice tentative, he kisses your head

“i needed to talk to you,” you said, sitting upc keeping your voice steady—though your chest felt like it was already caving in.

he kicked off his shoes, setting down his bag. “can it wait? it’s been a long day—”

“no.”

that one word was enough to stop him in his tracks. he looked at you properly then, his brows furrowing as he took in the tense set of your shoulders, the tight grip you had on your thigh.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, though you both already knew the answer

you took a deep breath, your throat tight, “jake, we can’t keep doing this.”

he froze, his hands hovering over the back of his head, “..doing what?”

“this,” you said, motioning to the space between you. “pretending that everything’s okay. pretending that we’re okay.”

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to argue against the idea. but then his shoulders sagged, and he sat down across beside you, his movements slow and deliberate

“i know i’ve been distant,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, “but i swear i’m trying to get everything done as fast as possible, love.”

you shook your head, tears already pooling in your eyes, “you’ve been saying that for months, yun. and i’ve been so. patient. i’ve been waiting for you to come home, to show up, to prove that we still mean something to you. but you never do.”

“that’s not fair,” he said, his voice breaking, “you know how hard they’ve been making me work. you know how much this career means to me.”

“and what about me?” you shot back, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “what about us? don’t we mean anything to you anymore?”

his silence was deafening.

“jake,” you continued, your voice trembling, “i’ve been here since the beginning, holding on, hoping things would get better. but they’re not. and i don’t think they ever will.”

his head dropped into his hands, and for the first time, you saw him break

“please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “please don’t do this.” he held your face with grace, not wanting to hurt you even more

your heart shattered at the sound of his desperation and the look of defeat on his face, oh your poor baby had tears in his eyes. but you forced yourself to stay strong, “i don’t want this either. but i can’t keep holding on to someone who’s never here. i can’t keep chasing for someone who won’t wait for me.”

he looked away then, his eyes red and glossy. “you’re everything to me. don’t you see that? everything i’m doing—it’s for our future. i want to give you everything you want in life.”

“but what’s the point of a future,” you said, your voice heavy with sorrow, “if we can’t even make it through the present, jake?”

you stood up after wiping his tears, “i love you jake but i’m hurting, i can’t stay with someone who’s never there to comfort me.”

and with that, you disappeared into the depths of your shared room.

the next morning, jake was gone before you woke up—7:39 am, he had only slept for 4 hours..? he left a note on the kitchen counter, scrawled in his messy handwriting:

“I’m sorry.”

that was it. no explanation, no promises to try harder. just two words that felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

you couldn’t take it anymore.. you couldn’t take his empty words and promises anymore.

by the time he came back that evening, the apartment was empty. your clothes were gone, your toothbrush missing from its place by his. you didn’t leave a note—what was there left to say?

jake sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the now-bare dresser where your framed photo once stood. his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t bother to check it. he already knew it wasn’t you, why would it be you?

he couldn’t bare the emptiness of the space.

that night, he called his mother. the moment her face appeared on the screen, her warm smile faltered at the sight of him.

“jake? what’s wrong, mom’s sweetie?”

and that was all it took. his facade crumbled, and the tears came before he could even speak

“she’s gone, mom,” he choked out, his voice barely audible

his mother’s face softened with concern, “oh, baby…”

“i tried,” he continued, his words tumbling over one another. “i tried to balance everything—to make her happy, to make this work, to keep my career. but i couldn’t. i couldn’t give her what she needed.

“did you talk to her?” his mother asked gently

jake shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “what could I say? that i’m sorry? that i’ll do better? i’ve said those things a hundred times, and it was never enough.”

his mother’s face flickered with sadness, her heart aching for her son. she wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms, to hold him the way she had when he was little and scraped his knees on the playground but she couldn’t reach him through the screen.

“jaeyun,” she said gently, “you’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. you’ve always worked so hard—for your career, for the people you love. but sometimes, love isn’t about how hard you try. it’s about being there and it sounds like that’s what dear yn needed most.”

“i know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i know, but i couldn’t.. i thought i was doing the right thing but now she’s gone and i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know if I can fix it—“

his mother let out a soft sigh, her expression pained. “sweetie, listen to me. it’s okay to grieve, to feel like you’ve failed. but you can’t carry this alone. you need to let yourself feel it, even if it hurts. you need to take time for yourself, for your heart”

jake nodded weakly but his chest ached with the knowledge that time wouldn’t bring you back,

“i miss her,” he admitted, his voice breaking again, just like his prepubescent days, “i miss her so much, mom. i don’t know how to do this without her”

“you’re stronger than you think,” she replied, her voice steady but filled with love, “but that doesn’t mean you have to do it all on your own. lwan on the people who care about you—your members, your friends. and if you ever need mom, i’m here.”

those words should have comforted him, but they only made him feel the distance more acutely. she wasn’t in korea, she was thousands of kilometers away, he couldn’t just drive over to see her, to collapse into her arms and let her stroke his hair the way she used to when he got scared of thunder striking,

“i wish i could be there,” he said, his voice trembling, “i wish i could just… come home and stay there forever.”

his mother’s expression softened, tears shining in her eyes. “i wish you could, too. but always remember why you moved back to korea, to achieve your dreams.. but still, i’m always with you, jaeyun. always.”

it wasn’t enough—not really. he needed her here, needed to feel her arms around him, needed her to tell him everything would be okay even if it felt like his entire world was crumbling but he nodded anyway. he agreed, knowing there was nothing else to say, nothing else could be said

“thank you, mom,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from all the recordings, melt downs, dehydration.

“take care of yourself, sweetheart,” she replied, “don’t forget that i love you always.”

“i love you, too,” Jake said, his voice breaking again as he ended the call, the screen going dark

jake stared at his reflection in the blank screen for a long moment, his face blotchy and tear-streaked, eyes red and swollen. he dropped the phone onto the couch beside him, burying his face in his hands as another wave of grief hit him—you were gone.

the comfort he sought was so close yet unreachable. his mother’s words lingered in his mind, warm and full of love, but they couldn’t bridge the thousands of miles between them. he felt like a child again, crying out for someone to make the pain stop, but no one could.

he sank further into the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing down on him. it was unbearable. everywhere he looked, there were memories of you—the book you’d left on the coffee table, your favorite mug still sitting in the cupboard, the blanket on the couch you always used when you curled up to watch movies together..

he thought of how you used to hum absentmindedly in the kitchen, how you’d lean against the counter and laugh at his attempts to help, how he’d always hug you from behind while you were cooking. he thought of the way you’d smile at him, soft and full of love, as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world,

but now, you were gone.

he clutched the throw pillow to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow bring you back. he wanted to scream, to break something, to do anything that might ease the ache in his chest but all he could do was sit there and drown in his own regret

jake had always prided himself on being strong, on enduring whatever life threw at him, but this? this was different. this was the kind of pain that seeped into every corner of his being, leaving him hollow and exhausted.

he wanted to call you, to beg for another chance, to promise he’d do better. But he knew it wouldn’t change anything. you’d tried—both of you had—and it still hadn’t been enough.

so he sat there, alone, in the dark, heart aching for a love he could no longer hold onto.

—

jake spent the next few weeks wandering through his days in a haze. the apartment felt impossibly quiet without you there, your absence a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

he drowned himself with work, staying late at the studio until exhaustion forced him to stop. although no matter how busy he kept himself, the emptiness remained

some nights, he found himself sitting by the window, clutching the small, crumpled note you’d once written to him: “i’ll never stop loving you, i will love you until we both become food for soil!!”

but now, he wasn’t yours to love anymore.

and that realization hurt more than anything else.

days without you blurred into weeks, and the weeks into months. but for your ex lover, time didn’t heal—it only deepened the wound, pressing onto it with a sharper blade. you were everywhere, not just in the apartment you’d once shared but in the life you continued living without him.

each of your milestones became a ghost that haunted him, milestones he had once imagined celebrating by your side. now, they were moments he had to watch from afar, each one a bittersweet mix of pride and pain, leaving him both in awe of your resilience and hollowed by his absence from your joy.

your birthday. don’t even get jake started on your birthday.

he had always loved your birthdays—well, before the idol like exhausted him. he used to make them extravagant, treating the day like a sacred holiday meant for only the two of you. he remembered how your eyes lit up at the smallest details—a handwritten note tucked under your pillow, a trail of flower petals from your once-shared bedroom all the way to the kitchen table, breakfast already made for you, the way he’d stay up until midnight just to be the first to wish you everything you’ve been working towards

but this year was different.

jake found out about your celebration through a tagged photo on social media. you were at a cozy rooftop party surrounded by your beloved friends, the city skyline twinkling in the background. yog were smiling, radiant as ever, holding a cupcake with a single swirly candle

he couldn’t stop staring at the screen, fingers frozen over his phone as he scrolled through the pictures. he noticed how your smile was the same one he used to know—bright, genuine—but there was something missing. or maybe it was just him, searching for a version of you that didn’t exist anymore, searching for a hint of sadness in you.

he typed a message, the words “happy birthday, I hope you’re doing well” sitting in the text box. but before he could press send, his own voice echoed in his mind, bitter and sharp:

happy birthday. please don’t call.

his chest tightened as he deleted the message. you didn’t need him ruining your special day. he put the phone down, but the images of you celebrating stayed in his mind, vivid and unrelenting. for the rest of the night, he sat at the piano, fingers moving across the keys as he tried to compose something—anything—to capture the ache in his chest but all that his fingers memorized were the chords of your favorite song.

by morning, the only words he had written were:

i love you. i’m sorry.

a few months later — one year after your break up.

jake knew today was special. he didn’t need to see pictures to know you’d graduated. he remembered the date from when you used to talk about it, lying next to him in bed, your voice filled with hope and determination,

“i can’t wait for you to see me walk across that stage with aaaalll my chords, sashes, and medals,” you’d said, your head resting on his chest. “i’ll probably trip, though..”

he’d laugh, kissing the top of your head,

“i’ll catch you if you do”

the thought twisted in his chest now, bitter and hollow. he wasn’t there to catch you—not at your ceremony, not in your life. he wondered if someone else had stepped into that role.. no. nevermind. that thought hurt to imagine.. it hurt a little too much.

he found himself scrolling through old photos on his phone, landing on one of you in his hoodie, hair messy, glasses perched on your nose as you furiously typed away at your laptop. you were studying for finals, the faintest scowl on your lips

“i don’t know why i’m doing this,” you’d muttered, frustrated

“because you’re amazing,” jake had replied without hesitation, “and you’re gonna be the best (profession of choice) out there”

now, he stared at the picture until his vision blurred. you had achieved your dream after years of education, just like you always said you would. he wanted to tell you how proud he was, how he’d always believed in you, how he’d always be your biggest fan.

but all he could whisper into the silence was:

“congratulations. please don’t call.”

“i’m proud of you. please don’t call.”

—

it was easy for you to find a starting job in your career dud to your impressive statistics.

when jake saw the announcement, it was like a punch to the gut. someone had shared your linkedin update—a smiling picture of you holding a nameplate for your new job. the caption was simple, professional, but it felt like a dagger:

“i’m officially licensed hehe”

the brunette stared at the photo for what felt like hours, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. he was proud of you—of course he was. he’d always known how capable and brilliant you were, but the pride was laced with a sharp, unbearable ache.

he couldn’t stop the flood of memories—thinking about the nights you spent on his couch, head buried in job applications, chewing on the end of your pen as you stressed over every word. he remembered your hopeful smile when you got that first interview call and how you’d hugged him so tight he could barely breathe when you told him the good news.

jake used to imagine this moment—your first big girl job, your first step into the career you’d worked so hard for. but in every version of that memory, he was there to celebrate with you. he’d pictured himself popping champagne in your apartment, pulling you into a kiss as he told you how proud he was.

instead, he sat in his empty apartment, staring at a screen. the message he wanted to send formed in his mind: i always knew you’d get there, my love. you deserve this.

but then, like a reflex, the bitter echo followed:

please don’t call.

his phone buzzed with a notification—another congratulations for you from a mutual friend. He muted the conversation. it wasn’t jealousy; it was the sinking realization that the version of your future he’d envisioned, where he stood beside you every step of the way, was gone.

later that night, jake sat down, pen and paper in hand, writing absentmindedly. mind soft, full of you and how proud he was:

“congratulations on your first job.

i knew you’d get there.

i knew you’d shine.

but please don’t call.

i’m proud of you.

please don’t call.”

his fingers cracked on the last line, and he put the pen down, pressing his palms into his eyes to stop the tears.

as he stopped writing, he decided to pick up his guitar, the melody so melancholic and raw.

the lyrics he’d written—unfinished and full of longing—stayed with him. you slipped into his music, weaving through the melodies he created, even when he didn’t mean for them to. the studio became both a sanctuary and a battlefield.

his bandmates noticed the shift. he was quieter during rehearsals, distracted during dance practices, often lost in thought. when he sang, his voice carried a weight it hadn’t before—a deep sadness that even they couldn’t ignore.

one night, alone in the studio, jake finally recorded a song. the verses described every aspect of yours he’d missed: your kindness, thoughtfulness, your gentle face, your everything. each line was a love letter wrapped in pain, a confession he could never send.

by the end of the recording, his voice broke completely. the final line lingered in the empty room, his whisper barely audible:

“one ticket out of your heavy gaze

I want one ticket off of your carousel

I want one ticket out of your heavy gaze

I want one ticket off of your carousel”

jake didn’t know if the song would ever see the light of day. it wasn’t meant for anyone else but himself. it was his way of holding onto whatever he had left of you, even as the world forced him to let go.

and yet, as he sat in the silent studio, he couldn’t help but wish—just once—that you would listen to his song anyway.

years later — he hasn’t heard from you in a while, maybe he was finally healing after years of hurt..?

** ding..!!

oh! oh? ….oh.

“yes to forever!!” your instagram post captioned

it was simple—just a picture of your hand intertwined with someone else’s, a gleaming ring on your finger

the world seemed to tilt as he stared at the photo. his vision blurred, the edges of the screen fading into a dull haze. for a moment, he thought it was a joke, a misunderstanding, or maybe just a bad dream!! he rubs his eyes, no. no no no—there it was, still clear and undeniable, he could feel every pinch his fingers inflicted

jake didn’t breathe. he couldn’t.

he clutched his phone tighter, as though crushing the image into oblivion would erase this event. but the picture stayed, unwavering, a testament to the reality he’d spent years dreading. you were moving on..?

he had flashbacks of the future he’d once imagined.

there had been a time when jake couldn’t picture his life without you. you’d once lain together under a canopy of stars and fireflies, his hand in yours, as you talked about the future—two kids, one pet, and a happy life with each other.

“what kind of wedding do you want?” he had asked, his voice soft and full of promise

you had laughed, rolling onto your side to face him. “something small and intimate. just our close friends and family. i don’t need anything big as long as i’m with you”

he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “i’ll make it perfect.”

he had imagined that day so vividly. you in white, walking toward him, the room filled with music he had handwritten just for you. he’d imagined the vows he’d whisper, promises he’d spend a lifetime keeping. and he’d imagined forever with you—a future where he could hold your hand until the very end

now, that future belonged to someone else. someone deserving of your love.

he didn’t want to know when your wedding day was set. no, he didn’t want to know anything about you at all. but fate had a cruel sense of humor. he overheard it in passing from a mutual friend, who mentioned it like it was just another piece of small talk.

the day arrived like a storm, unrelenting and heavy. jake woke up early, his chest tight and his mind racing. every hour felt like a countdown, each second pulling him closer to the inevitable

by noon, he was in the studio, in meetings, in talkshows trying to drown his thoughts in work. but even his industry betrayed him. everything reminded him of you, of the songs you used to hum while he played, of the melodies you inspired, of talkshows you’d talk about

he couldn’t escape you.

as the evening rolled around, jake found himself sitting on the floor of his apartment, a glass of liquor in hand. his phone lay beside him, the screen dark, but he couldn’t stop staring at it. he wondered what you were doing at that exact moment.

were you walking down the aisle? were you kissing his lips? were you happy?

jake’s throat tightened as he imagined it—the soft rustle of fabric as you stepped forward, the way your smile must have lit up the room. he pictured your hands trembling slightly as they always did when you were nervous, and then he imagined someone else holding those hands steady

someone who wasn’t him.

the thought sent a sharp ache through his chest. he tried to take another sip of whiskey but his hand shook so badly that the liquid sloshed over the edge of the glass. setting it down, he pressed his palms into his eyes, as if that could stop the flood of images rushing through his mind.

he could almost hear your laugh, soft and bright, as you said I do. as you committed the rest of your life with a random guy.

jake leaned back against the wall, head tilted toward the ceiling. he’d let his mind drift to the promises he once rehearsed in secret, words he thought he’d say to you on your wedding day.

“i promise to never let you doubt how much i love you. i promise to be your biggest supporter, your greatest comfort, your forever.”

he’d practiced them countless times, sometimes whispering them into your ears as you drowned in the quiet night, other times writing them out in notebooks he still couldn’t bear to throw away

but those promises never left his lips. instead, someone else had taken the vows that should have been his. someone else got to stand where he always thought he’d be,

his memories collided.

the hours dragged on, and jake was helpless to stop himself from scrolling through every post, every picture that filtered onto his feed. he saw the smiling faces of your friends, the decorations you’d once described as your dream aesthetic, and then, finally, he saw you

you were breathtaking, just as he’d always imagined. the way your dress flowed around you, the soft light catching on your features—it was like a snapshot from his dreams. only now, the man beside you wasn’t him.

jake didn’t realize he was crying until a tear splashed onto his phone screen. he swiped it away angrily, but the flood wouldn’t stop. his breaths came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving under the weight of his grief,

he tried to rationalize it. he told himself this was for the best, that you deserved happiness—even if it wasn’t with him but the logic couldn’t touch the deep, raw ache in his heart.

he seeked so much comfort.

jake reached for his phone and dialed his mother. it rang twice before her familiar voice answered,

“Hello my sweetie”

hearing her almost broke him completely. he clutched the phone tightly, his voice trembling as he spoke. “mom… i—i don’t know what to do.”

“what’s wrong, jaeyunie?” her tone was soft, laced with concern

he hesitated. he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. couldn’t tell her that the person he loved more than forever was now promising forever to someone else

instead, his words came out broken and vague. “i just.. i feel like i’m losing everything.”

“oh, jake.” her voice cracked slightly, and he could picture her, thousands of miles away in brisbane, wishing she could reach out and hold him. “i’m so sorry you’re feeling this way.”

“i want to come home,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i just want to see you. i need to see you.”

“i wish you could, too,” she said gently. “but you’re strong, jake. i know you are. stay in korea for yourself”

he nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. the words were comforting in their own way, but they didn’t ease the pain gnawing at him. nothing ever could.

“i’ll be okay,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “i just.. i just don’t know how to let go.”

there was a long pause on the other end of the line. when his mother spoke again, her voice was thick with the weight of unspoken words,

“i know, son, i know”

jake closed his eyes, letting the silence hang between them for a moment before he whispered, “i wish i was there with her. i was supposed to be the one beside her today.”

his mother sighed, a sound full of both sympathy and sorrow, “you know it’s not always about being there physically, jake, but I understand.. it’s hard to let go when you’re still holding onto the dream you built in your heart.”

he swallowed hard, the tightness in his throat making it difficult to speak. “i thought she was the one. I thought we had a future. and now, i don’t know what i’m supposed to do with all of this… all these feelings, and she’s… she’s not even thinking of me anymore”

his mother’s voice softened. “I know. but maybe.. maybe you’ve been holding onto a version of her that’s no longer yours. people change, sweetheart. and so do relationships.”

jake stared blankly at the wall, letting the words settle in, but they didn’t make him feel any better. in fact, they only made him feel more lost, more alone. he knew it was true, of course—he’d seen it happening slowly over the past months. But to hear it spoken out loud made the truth more final, more undeniable,

“i just don’t know how to say goodbye..” his voice cracked, a sob he couldn’t hold back rising in his chest,

“i know, darling,” she replied softly. “but sometimes, saying goodbye is the only way to set both of you free”

oh….. i hate everything about goodbyes.

the night wore on and jake found himself unable to move, still sitting in the same spot. the wedding pictures had all but burned themselves into his memory, and he couldn’t look away from them. he wanted to scream, to shout, to curse the world for taking you away from him—but he couldn’t. instead, he just let the tears flow freely, as if every drop of sadness, of regret, was somehow washing away the person he used to be.

as the clock ticked past midnight, his phone buzzed again. it was a message from a group chat with his bandmates, and he briefly considered ignoring it. but then he saw it: a single notification from.. you..?

“Hi Jake!! God, I’m sorry. I wanted to reach out sooner because we’ve just been soo apart for a while, and I’m not sure if this is the right time to say this but, I just wanted to say… thank you for everything. You helped me become who I am today.”

he stared at the message with his heart in the pits of his stomach for several long moments, feeling the weight of each word press against his chest. the ache deepened. you had moved on—fully, completely—and here he was, stuck in the past, unable to let go.

it was almost cruel the way your message made him feel both grateful and shattered at the same time. you were happy. you had your life, your future. you had someone who would be there for you in ways he never could be anymore.

his thumb hovered over the screen, but no words came. what could he possibly say? what could he say to someone who no longer needed him?

I still love you.

He deleted it.

the words stayed with him. the line, the thin thread of hope that still clung to his heart, even though he knew better.

jake sat in the dark of his apartment, the echoes of your wedding day still fresh in his mind, and then, finally, he reached for his phone again. his fingers shook as he typed out a message to you—one he knew he should never send but couldn’t stop himself from writing

he pressed send before he could second-guess himself, but almost immediately, regret filled him. his eyes were glued at the message for a long time, his heart pounding in his chest. it was too much. he couldn’t expect you to do so, to follow his message. not when you had worked so hard and moved on to a future that didn’t include him

the notification buzzed back with the “delivered” mark

and yet, he held onto that one shred of hope—just for a second, just for a moment—wondering if, somehow, you would come back. maybe not now, but someday.

he closed his eyes, the weight of the words still heavy in his chest. and with a single, painful exhale, he let go.

“Congratulations on your wedding. Please call me.”

purely © soombee ‘s work ― all rights reserved !! please refrain from copying , stealing , or translating my work ( w/o permission ) thanku!

[sav-less]

disclaimer: this is the inside of my brain so if you think different then that’s great! this is just to be silly / i’m procrastinating life, so we’re chill 😎

hogwarts legacy modern au: music headcanons

characters included: shadow trio, poppy, imelda, garreth, natsai, anne, also blurb about leander (ily lee but i was tired of editing)

sebastian sallow

Sebastian is that one insufferable guy (love him). He’s moody as hell and he uses music as a form of processing (im self inserting rn). A lot of his top music is reflective of what he’s going through. For the most part he’s into indie rock and alt rock, but if there’s a song that he can even sort of relate to then he’s all over it. He thinks he’s brooding, he’s edgy, he’s angsty. We all know he made 2014 tumblr his BITCH. And he has NOOO IDEA how ABBA ended up in his top 5. He’ll say it was Ominis. He’ll say he was hacked. (his fav ABBA song is Lay All Your Love On Me)

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ominis gaunt

Ominis wears his headphones everywhere, listening to some of the most beautiful music but also the most devastating music. He likes a genre to his music that gives off a certain “guys i SWEAR im fine haha..” vibe to the function. he’s nostalgic, he’s yearnful, he’s emotionally very connected to music and is one of those people that will cry when a song is really good (me too) (he’ll swallow the lump down, just know he’s feelin it). aside from his top artists he also listens to a bunch of instrumentals when he’s studying. we all know he plays the piano. yes Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call by Bleachers is secretly about Sebastian (tea). yes She’s Always a Woman by Billy Joel is secretly ab my MC (TEAA!). yes ABBA is there on purpose! this man knows every lyric to Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

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ella collins (OC/MC)

Ella really just wants to live in a cottage and be a fairy but she’s also just a girl. she has a song associated to every person she’s ever had a crush on and any person that’s ever done her wrong. she has a playlist for that one guy. she’s posting a screenshot of the song she’s listening to on her story for one person to watch. when she’s feeling petty she sends Sebastian songs DIRECTLY cause she’s mad at him. 4/5 of these songs are about him i fear. she loves music because she never has to get over anything. grudges are timeless. she’s crazy and this is a self insert.

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garreth weasley

#GiveGarreththeAux (Garreth wrote this). Garreth is a vibes guy and will defend those vibes with his whole chest. “How can you not like this song? Just say you hate me! High School Musical soundtrack is top tier. Kate Bush is a legend. Hozier is a wizard, have you seen his hair? I want his hair.” He’s fun as hell. Car rides with him are never boring, and as much as he loves his music he wants to hear your music cause he just wants to listen to everything. doesn’t care where the music came from. if he likes it he likes it. gotta party with this guy.

(Noah Kahan is his top artist bc even tho he’s a vibes guy, he has such a heart. peep My False Confidence. ily Garreth.)

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natsai onai

Natsai’s minutes listened is the lowest because she’s too busy dismantling the patriarchy and abolishing the system to listen most of the time. She grew up in the Katniss Everdeen generation. There’s not one man vocalist on her playlist because doesn’t really care what they have to say. She’s not super picky about the genre but listening to guitar riffs makes her feel like she’s ascending and so she loves that shit. She begged her mom to let her go to a Paramore concert when she was twelve and she has band posters covering her walls from corner to corner. She knows musical theory because duh. I love her.

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anne sallow

personally i HC as the coolest girl alive. she’s friends with literally everyone. if she smiles at you you think the world is spinning solely for her. she’s just effortlessly that girl. and even tho she seems sweet and a little quiet let it be known she is absolutely BLASTING hypercore or glitchpop or some stuff like that in her headphones. she just likes the way music sounds, she doesn’t GAF what they’re saying. she just wants her brain to go bzzzzzzz. my girl!!! (her and garreth are actually LETHAL at parties. like banger for banger, they’re besties. if they’re throwing a party you WANT to be there) (her and Natsai are fangirling about imogen heap bc she’s a musical genius)

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poppy sweeting

Poppy my love. I see you. I hear you. I love you and all your big emotions. she’s dissecting lyrics like it’s no one’s business. In another life somewhere she’s an English and Psychology double major. she’s telling me what a metaphor is and im listening because I’ll listen to anything she says. she’s telling me her attachment style is anxious and yk what hell yeah me too please don’t leave me. every song she listens to serves a purpose. her and garreth have gone to five different shows to see Noah Kahan and Lizzy McAlpine together. The Louvre is about Imelda. GODDD The Louvre is about Imelda. my heart.

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imelda reyes

Imelda is the manifesting queen. she is a confident queen. she’s cool as hell. she seems mean at first glance but that’s only because she is locked TF in. between her million high level classes, every sport she’s plays, and her social life— she has to be focused. she needs music that will put her in the headspace. her top 5 songs are naturally on her ‘pregame’ playlist that she plays before every game (with the exception of #4. she’s pregaming therapy with that one). shes gonna graduate top of her class and go pro at some sport and no one is gonna be surprised. you go girlfriend. my girlfriend.

honorable mention: Leander is THE rock man, specifically acid/psychedelic rock. He’s shaking his head and playing air guitar. he’s asking his parents to get him a drum set for Christmas still. He thinks he would’ve been asked to join The Beatles if they were still a band. big big fan.

to everyone that talked through this with me either messaging or on the og post, thank you 💚 @mrsgoofygracie your wonderful ABBA sebinis theory is now cemented in my silly post

[soscarlett1twas]

Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

↳ Over half a decade removed from that dreadful night, Simon Marston reflects on the holiday season.  ↳ 863 words ↳ Well. I couldn’t not write something about them for Christmas. This fic has song lyrics woven into it, from the eponymous song Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call by the Bleachers. Song lyrics are italicized, as they’re meant to be Simon’s thoughts.

Outside, snow began to fall.

Flakes of white drifted in sparse flurries, starch against the midnight black. Beyond them, thousands of lights illuminated the cityscape – yellows, reds, greens, blues. They draped themselves along rooftops, strung into trees, decorating the air between street lamps. 

Simon couldn't see anyone about. Not that he expected too – the wee hours of Christmas crept up on him differently than everyone else. Most people were asleep, surrounded by those they loved, awaiting the dawn to continue celebrating. Perhaps a few kids were restless in their excitement, but he could remember those days well enough; it was more pathetic for a 27-year-old man to be doing the same.

Everybody's gone. It's just you and your anger, he mused humorlessly. 

Of course, that wasn’t true. His boyfriend was in the other room, already asleep: not an hour ago, the floor he sunk to was danced upon by a swarm of his friends. Glitter from dresses and festive wrappers darkened against the wood floor. New memories of a Christmas Eve party, already fading. 

He stood up and gathered the trash, making his way through the living room. The lowlight of his own tree made it difficult. Or maybe that was the booze. He ought not to be doing this slightly drunk, he figured, but he also didn’t want to leave it. He was still so restless. 

Adrenaline from the party still pumping through him, he tried to push out the other stressor. 

Simon picked up a half-finished bottle of champagne, left on the coffee table, surrounded by similarly unfinished drinks. The yellow liquid inside glimmered in the light, the waterline-rings left by it rimmed with gold. The sight was an old friend. 

Enough years had passed for Simon to not feel the crippling loneliness anymore, not handicapped by the depression winter brought. The one-two punch of November birthdays and December celebrations was, once, too much to handle. But years built like trauma, and what was once fresh became distant scars. 

Simon glanced at the bottle in his hand and had enough sense to put it down. That could be left for himself to clean in a better mind. A small reminder that those days were behind him. 

‘Cause even if he was stronger now it wasn’t any easier. And God, it was still so hard. 

And leave it to Andrew to slit him back open. 

Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind. 

His phone lay heavy in his pocket. Whatever olive branch of a message he swung was pointless. His twin flame was still trying to cauterize the wound.

I would rather burn forever. 

Simon collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. They were suddenly very sore. It wasn’t uncommon nowadays, often along with headaches. It had annoyed him since he stopped wearing his glasses.

The bleariness wasn’t usual, though. When he drew his hands away from his face, they couldn’t seem to refocus – only the light from the tree permeated his vision clearly. Simon looked at it. 

The iridescent lights burst along the tree, stretching in blurred dollops. Each ornament faded to the background, but somehow the star managed to keep its shape, atop the tree in all its shining glory. In spite of everything, in spite of Simon, it remains unblemished. 

Reminded him of someone else he knew.

Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home. And at your best, you were magic we were sold. 

He sat up, his vision returning to him in slow blinks. His hands made it to the edge of the couch as he box-breathed – four seconds drawing breath, four seconds holding, four seconds releasing…

It was a trick one of his buddies taught him, who used it to maintain calm when shooting. Simon used it to steady himself in other ways.  

But you should know that I died slow, he found himself thinking. Still angry, still alone. And the toughest part is that we both know: what happened to you, why you're out on your own.

Because surely he was not that stupid. Surely the Christmas star, shining in all his visage, was that witless to not reason why his brother had left. No, he knew. But whether he was petty or vindictive or simply cruel, all the possibilities in Simon’s alcohol-addled head mixed to stir anger, that rage he always thought was gone until resparked. 

He sat box-breathing for a few more minutes. Still angry, still alone. But one of these he could fix.

When he felt secure enough, Simon moved from the couch down the hall, trailing into the bedroom. His partner, simply a lump under the duvet, groaned at the sliver of light which bled through the cracked door. He smiled at that, and a certain hurt drained away. 

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he climbed into his side of the bed. It was cold to the touch, and he shivered. 

Leaning over, he plugged his phone into a charger, the screen illuminated. Temporarily blinded by the blue light, he made out a single notification. 

The text, sent an hour ago. Merry Christmas. 

He let the screen turn black, only thinking ‘please don't call.��

[nhaomhi]

₊ ⊹ ❆₊ merry christmas, please don’t call ᨒ 𖠰

pairing: exbf!heeseung x exgf!yn

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 0.6k

naomi’s note: based on the song “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” by The Bleachers, it’s really good 🥹 tbh when i heard it for the first time, i cried-/!;&/); honestly most of my writing is based off of songs ahsgja

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Snow fell in hushed whispers across the city, blanketing the streets in a soft glow. The kind of night where you could hear your own thoughts too loud, even amidst the hum of Christmas carolers and distant church bells. You sat alone on the worn leather couch of your apartment, the only light coming from a crooked string of Christmas lights half-heartedly draped across the window.

The phone sat on the coffee table, you were waiting for a call. A call that came every Christmas for the past three years since you broke up. You always told him to stop calling you, but he always reached out around this time. You told yourself you hated it, that you couldn’t do anything about him calling you. But in reality, you didn’t want to go no-contact with him.

You ran your fingers through your unkempt hair and stared out at the city. Somewhere out there, he was. Probably laughing at some party or singing a tune, the way he always did on Christmas Eve.

It had been his idea to break things off. “We’re better apart,” he’d said, his voice cracking just enough to betray his resolve. And yet, here you were, a wine glass in hand and a thousand unsaid words hanging in the air.

You picked up your old camera, going back to the date of Christmas from years ago. You found yourself staring at a memory you had recorded. You cursed yourself for beginning to watch it.

It had been three years since you had recorded it in your tiny bedroom, your laughter mingling with the sound of his chuckles in the distance. It was always a happy memory for you. But now, it was a bitter reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Flashback.

You and Heeseung were in your room, he was practicing the song he recently wrote, he always loved writing songs for you. You secretly started recording on your camera, giggling behind the screen. He caught you. “Baby, what do you think you’re doing, hm?”

You huff, “I want to record you.” he chuckled softly. “You know I don’t like when you do that, don’t you?” he teased. You sigh softly. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I guueesss.” he rolled his eyes jokingly. “Give me a kiss, baby. To make up for it.” Your eyes lit up and you immediately wrap your arms around him and peck him on the lips. He grinned and you suddenly felt his grip tighten on you, he began to tickle you as revenge. Both of your laughter faded into the back of your mind as the video ended.

End of flashback.

You clenched your jaw and leaned forward, picking up the phone. You were debating on calling him instead. Your thumb hovered over his name in your contacts. You wondered if he’d even answer. Would he smile when he saw your name light up his screen? Or would it sting, like it did for you?

You set the phone down.

“I.. cant. Not tonight.” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the crackle of the fireplace.

Across town, he was sitting on his own couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his own phone glowing beside him. He’d thought about calling you. God, he’d thought about it a thousand times tonight. He missed your stupid jokes, the way you always complained about Christmas music, and the warmth of your laugh when you finally caved and sang along to his adorable, silly songs.

But he didn’t call. Not tonight. It was better like this anyway, right? It was never healthy to keep in touch with an ex you still loved so much. Too much.

The city hummed with life as the snow continued to fall, muffling everything except the unspoken words they both wished they could say.

[eeboor]

league jayvik really is

like dang We both know what happened to you why you’re out on your own. merry christmas. please don’t call. is so giopara

and Golden boy don’t act like you were kind ??? is so viktor. perfect song fr

[jadeshifting]

— SLYTHERIN CHRISTMAS RADIO.

AKA SHIFTMAS

day 18. WHAT CHRISTMAS SONG IS THE SOUNDTRACK TO YOUR DR HOLIDAY? is it classic and nostalgic, like silent night or have yourself a merry little christmas? or something upbeat and fun, like last christmas or jingle bell rock?

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MERRY CHRISTMAS, PLEASE DON’T CALL . bleachers

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO . hozier

WASH . bon iver

I SEE THE LIGHT . royal philharmonic orchestra

DANCE OF THE KNIGHTS . sergei prokofiev

MERRY GO ROUND OF LIFE . grissini project

BLUE CHRISTMAS . elvis presley

MYSTERY OF LOVE [INSTRUMENTAL] . hannah stater

ROSLYN . bon iver, st. vincent

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[megaaceofspades]

merry christmas please dont call by bleachers is so batfam its crazy.

picking my fav quotes:

“Cause everybody’s gone it’s Just you and your anger” SO Bruce Wayne after his parents died.

“Oh golden boy, don’t act like you were kind. You were mine but you were awful every time. So don’t tell them what you told me, Don’t hold me like you know me” dick grayson after he moved out at 16

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home And the toughest part is that we both know What happened to you Why you’re out on your own Merry Christmas, please don’t call” JASON TODD!!!

“You really left me on the line kid Holding all your baggage You know I'm not your father” TIM DRAKE

“Oh golden boy you shined a light on our home And at your best, you were magic, we were sold” all the other Robins about dick grayson

to be honest all of the song could be all of them but these are my first thoughts.

[gotta-winwin]

(☎️) ... merry christmas, please don't call - teaser

⭐ starring: seungcheol

☎️ preview: The toughest part about loving Seungcheol was the fact that he didn’t know himself at all. And how does one truly love a ghost? 

based on the song Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call by Bleachers

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home And the toughest part is that we both know What to happened to you Why you're out on your own Merry Christmas, please don't call”

tw/cw: heavy angst + smut, not a happy ending, tortured lovers, coups is an asshole but he doesn't mean to, idol!seungcheol x nonidol!reader, talk of leader responsibilities more in depth warnings will be posted with the full fic

🐻‍❄️ release date: new years eve

🪽fic rating: 18+ | teaser rating: no smut

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this heavy angst christmas fic is to combat the insane amount of fluff in the vernon christmas special (ᵕ—ᴗ—) it's also very self indulgent angst + smut with coups.

"Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind"

He was inevitable in the end. Like some invisible string connected the two of you together. Not the pretty, dainty kind of invisible string. Whatever held your lives together was made of barbed wire. Whatever line wrapped around your ribs, restricting your breathing, tying you to him was nothing pretty. It was what army men used in wars. 

You can’t hate your best friend, even if they end up hurting you. You just can’t.

“Come back to bed.” You whisper in the dark as you watch his dark silhouette get up. The clock on his nightstand was barely legible. 

You could hear him throwing a shirt on. “I’ve got to go.”

You open your mouth to ask him again, but the words die in your mouth. A couple days ago you would’ve begged, but the bubbling hatred in you pushed the words down your esophagus, momentarily choking you. Seungcheol noticed your silence. 

“I’ll be back before sunrise.” He leans over the bed and kisses your cheek, brushing a stray hair from it. “Don’t be mad.”

You shake your head in the dark. “I’m not mad.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

That was just how the world spun. You, lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling you used to trace constellations on together. Sheets that smelled like him - aftershave and candles. Pleading words sewn shut in your mouth, hidden in your lungs, suffocating you. As you sank back into sleep, drowning under everything you’ve ever wanted to tell him. You knew it wasn’t his fault. After all - he barely knew who he was, hidden under all his responsibilities and his job title, he was barely a semblance of a man - tugged and stitched together. 

It barely registered in your mind that tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. Part of you knew he wouldn’t be there to celebrate anyways.

[rakkikuroba]

Merry Christmas please don’t call by Bleachers but it’s Chell and GLaDOS but the song is from both point of view.