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blog-name-idk · 1 year

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The Plot Twist | 02

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 2: "Ahjussi, go back to MapleStory."

Life is truly unremarkable as a soulmate-less bachelorette.

Thankfully, none of the symptoms Junior Liaison Officer Choi Mijin mentioned to you have occurred – no bodily anomalies, no universal conspirations – and, on the way home from your parents’ place, you chide your anxious self for letting a thirty-minute phone call upturn the joyous revelries of turning twenty-five.

Though of course, even someone like you can see the grandeur behind it. The potential.

Soulmate. Not half of one’s heart, not ‘mi media naranja,’ but soulmate. Someone utmost, born from the same fabric of life – possibly indelicate, and not without flaws – but beautiful, blameless, and immaterially yours.

It’s great. Really great. But it’s daunting, too. There’s unprecedented pressure in that kind of ordeal, and… you like unremarkable. It’s safe. If you were ever going to be remarkable, it would be in ways you can directly control – like getting to the last floor of skull caverns or politely tearing incompetent coworkers to shreds when they challenge you.

But real life? Real personal relationships, with people that matter? That becomes a polynomial. There are too many variables outside of your ability to dictate, too much that could go wrong for you to spend too long mourning the absence of any soulmate symptoms. And anyway, your singularity isn’t your sob story – it’s your defense. Your most effective one.

You get back to your apartment at half past nine the following morning, heavy tupperwares of side dishes prepared by your mother hoisted in tow. At ease, you whistle a cheery tune as you get settled around your kitchenette, arranging each fully packed box amongst refrigerator shelves with care. You help yourself to an enticing pinch of putbaechu and decide to place its tupperware farther down the back.

Yes, that batch probably needed more time to ferment. After all, it’s impossible for napa cabbage kimchi to taste as sweet as cake.

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In his black-and-white checkered pajamas, Jeon Jungkook happily devours the two-tier caramel-frosted cake for breakfast. Furthermore, because he is a considerate maknae, he leaves the vegan, calorie-measured miniature cake for the rest of his hyungs to share when they wake.

They really don't appreciate him enough.

An early riser, also still in pajamas, Kim Seokjin spots him and tuts. “Jungkook, that isn’t healthy.” When Jungkook suddenly spits out the forkful he’d just shoved into his mouth, the eldest grimaces and admonishes, “Yah! I taught you better than that! That is disgusting behavior.”

“You know what’s disgusting?” Jungkook retorts with a revolted scowl, pushing the offensive dessert box far away from his person, lest it insult him yet again. “Surprise vegan cake. I’m going to sleep, hyung. Good night.”

“You mean ‘good morning.’” Seokjin corrects, reaching for the coffee pot with a sigh. “Brat.”

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During your afternoon gaming hours, your phone screen lights up with a notification. Your extended arm worms through sofa pillows to swipe and unlock it, and you instantly growl at the e-mail that greets you.

From: [email protected] Recipients: [email protected], [email protected] Subject: Executive Meeting on Tuesday

Dear Associates,

We hope this e-mail finds you well.

In preparation for the upcoming work week, we would like to advise your stations re: the exploratory meeting with CEO Son Hyunsuk scheduled for this Thursday at 15:00 (KST) on external company collaborations.

We appreciate your confirmation upon receipt of this notice and bid you a happy weekend.

Regards, Samsong Executive Scheduling

“Jesus Kim Christ, it is a Sunday. This should be illegal,” you swear, placing down the handheld gaming console on the couch next to you and getting up to refill your glass of water instead. Unfortunately, on your return from your hydration quest, you bang your ankle on the leg of the coffee table.

"MotherFUCKER!" you curse, collapsing onto your sofa and cradling your leg for a full minute. After recovering, you pick your console back up.

Idly hovering on the gaming screen, Tom Nook stares up at you with a deadpan glare. You’d think his heavy-lidded, judgmental look was a reaction to your use of offensive language, but you roll your eyes at the prospect.

Tom Nook, the island racoon? A landlord. He can judge all he wants. He’s as evil as company capitalists come.

With somehow even less of a conscience.

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“Ah one, ah two, ah five, six, seven, eight!”

Jung Hoseok snaps his fingers as he moves to the beat, flawlessly demonstrating the first few steps of the dance routine. Kim Taehyung watches him, crouched in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors like a religious student, except he’s also thinking, That is not how arithmetics works. This is why we are performers and not math teachers.

Hoseok seems to catch the faraway look in Taehyung’s expression, because his limbs freeze, dropping to a sudden stop, brown gaze slanting sharp and deadly. The other boys, sensing blood in the water, subtly shift away and try to look as focused as possible.

“What? Would you rather practice cartwheels with Jimin again?” Hoseok rumbles, hand on hip.

Yes…Taehyung laughs nervously. “No.”

Jimin shoots him a knowing look.

“You know,” Hoseok says, pointedly, brandishing his left leg, “I woke up with more bruises from you again. I couldn’t pair my tie-dye top with my denim shorts so now I’m stuck here practicing in my joggers with you instead of walking around Yongsan.”

You’re welcome, Yongsan, Taehyung thinks. Personally, he believes Hoseok’s fashion sense is something of a moving target.

Hit or miss. Miss a lot.

Oh well. Time to bring out the puppy eyes. “Hobi-hyung, can we start from the chorus instead?” He pouts, for cuteness excess.

“Fine!” the dance leader snaps, trying to mask the way the irritation ebbs out of his voice.

Taehyung suppresses a satisfied grin.

Yup. Works every time.

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By the middle of the work week, Min Yoongi has barely scraped by to meet a hard production deadline. Gears still turning in his mind, day lapses into night, unnoticed in the dark haven of his studio. He leisurely strums his guitar for an hour, puts it down, and reaches to compose an accompanying melody with the use of the nearest piano.

Eventually, Yoongi turns off all his music equipment. In his mind, there’s an echo of a tune he can’t shake away. He can barely hear it himself – soft, feminine, slumberous – and he lays back with his eyes closed to savor the ghost of it instead.

He wants to commit it to memory. It’s something he’s never heard before.

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Miles away, you feel pleasantly adrift. It's been months since you moved in, and you hadn’t been aware that your neighbors played music. In fact, the walls between apartment units are assuredly thick enough for all kinds of noises to filter through – a blessing when you get sniped by yet another rune bear.

You're also not really one to enjoy ambient noise outside of your control, but to your surprise, you don't mind this music at all.

It’s nice.

You tuck your knees to your chest and rest your body against the headboard of your bed, closing your eyes to listen. But it seems that the mysterious musician has gone to sleep for the night. Instead, the old made-up lullaby your mother used to sing to you when you were a child filters into your brain unbidden, and you smile at the memory. Within minutes, lightly humming to yourself, you let the notes overtake your thoughts and fall sound asleep.

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Tonight, your dream plays like an old movie. Most of your dreams are like this, but here you feel like you exist in snippets – that you’re a passenger in someone else's skin. Like you’re standing at a different height, taller than reality. The colors seem to cling to the edges of your vision like haloed light through fogged glass when you move, leaving you half-sentient, fighting to see through the haze of your subconscious mind. Like you’re not you.

You wonder where you are. Who.

I want to do more, you hear yourself think in your dream. I want to be more.

You see your feet take you away from backrooms with white walls. Your heart’s near bursting and telling you how much of this it missed, telling you you're finally back where you belong.

This: before your very eyes, an ocean of twinkling violet.

There’s an overwhelming rush of love in your chest as a chant fills the air, expanding throughout your body until it's spilling from your eyes. You can feel the skin of your lips stretch into a smile.

Everything feels like a dream come true.

“I’m your hope!” you tell the roaring crowd.

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Jung Hoseok bolts upright at exactly 6:15 AM.

Letting out a groan, he drops his face into his hands and croaks out, “What the fuck.”

“You okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, getting ready to turn in for bed himself. It’s his fourth nocturnal day in a row.

Hoseok usually admonishes Jungkook for this kind of misbehavior, but right now he can’t muster enough indignation. It’s just–

“I had a dream. I was a MapleStory livestreamer and – I was really into it. But really? In this economy?” Hoseok continues to complain in his rough morning voice, “I don’t even game.”

Jungkook sniggers, hogging the blankets to himself. “That’s true. Maybe you traded dreams with Jin-hyung?”

Hoseok rubs the spot between his brows. Frowns. It's possible, Jin does love MapleStory. Though lately he's been on a weird arcade game kick despite Namjoon scolding him for being careless in public.

Appeased, he finds the spark to be a proper hyung to their precious maknae. “Don’t sleep at this time tomorrow, JK. If I catch you again, you’re dead at practice. Capisce?”

Jungkook nods a hundred times and buries himself under the sheets. Hobi might lack the broadness and mustache of the stereotypical Italian mobster, but he manages to exude a menacing aura all the same.

“Capeesh, hyung.”

Because he is not a MapleStory livestreamer, Jung Hoseok climbs out of bed at 6:30 in the morning. Because he has a bunch of back-breaking schedules to get to. It’s another Thursday.

No matter what, he’s going to survive. In this economy.

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Thursday meetings are like Monday meetings but from the nine circles of hell combined.

You shuffle into the arcade with a slump in your shoulders but a fire in your heart. The last time you had a day this bad at work was the last time you had come here, to let out your inner rage on tiny dots and cute little ghosts.

You hadn't even realized it was an arcade at first – you had just found your feet moving automatically towards the storefront, as if inexplicably drawn. And as soon as you set foot inside, even before the odd smell of metal tokens that lingers even in arcades with balance cards, an immediate sense of peace washed over you. That this place was safe. That you could enter and put your everyday life and problems on pause for a short, sweet amount of time.

That feeling has remained with each visit, only growing stronger with your increasing familiarity with both the arcade and the elderly owner Lee-ssi, a friendly man who reminds you of your own grandfather.

You're sure that the worn down sight of you in your white blouse and black pencil skirt amidst the backdrop of the rowdy neon arcade is strange, but you figure if your colleagues can release their frustrations by throwing down in public establishments, so can you. In your own way.

The first and last time you went out with your coworkers, the guy from marketing tried to get you to come home with him. So you made up a liver disease to avoid being expected to drink with them again, and are now letting out your frustrations in a much healthier way: against some cocky kid who calls themselves "the Pacman God."

They are pretty good, you will admit.

Just not as good as you.

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There are a few things that never fail to brighten Lee Seungwon's day. Getting to see the half-toothed smile on his baby grandson's face, making his son-in-law uncomfortable when his daughter isn't around, and –

"WHO. DID. THIS?!" Kim Seokjin demands, furiously pointing at the arcade machine standing innocently in the corner, taunting him.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Seungwon only sighs and crosses his arms, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Which is truly a front, because despite all the annoyances that come with running an arcade, he truly loves his job. He loves providing a space where kids can be kids, and the rare adult can relive the worry-free days of their youth.

"We respect the privacy of our clients, sir," he says politely, lips twitching at Seokjin's dramatic shriek of outrage. Seungwon has especially been looking forward to this particular adult's reaction upon finding his high score beaten by one of the newer regulars.

"Don't you remember who I am?!" the handsome man questions, and the storekeeper looks him up and down, once again unimpressed. Seokjin remembers he's ensconced in a bright pink hoodie and pink sweatpants, then gives a mental shrug.

Whatever. He looks good in everything.

"Yes. ‘Jin the Pacman God.’ Currently… number two in that game," the shopkeeper sneers as he insults the most handsome man in Korea – possibly the world. "Second to GoDsLaYeR_69." he adds, for good measure.

Seokjin gapes at the audacity of this mortal, his gamer rage only further activated by the offensive words that come out of Seungwon’s mouth next.

"Maybe you should go back," the shopkeeper suggests, inspecting his cuticles, "to MapleStory." After a pause, he puts the final nail in the coffin currently housing Seokjin's pride: "Ahjussi."

The Kim Seokjin, being called ahjussi by a man who looks older than Yoongi's soul?

That's it. That's fucking it.

With gurgling, unintelligible squawks of indignation, Seokjin pulls out his wallet and slaps his arcade card on the counter, followed by his black credit card.

"Load this up with 2,000,000W. Right now."

Lee Seungwon hides a smirk as he obeys.

It's just too easy.

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It had been a rare occasion in which all of the boys’ evenings (and following mornings) had been free simultaneously, and Hoseok decided to celebrate this in a way so rarely possible for them to do together anymore: to find a noraebang and get absolutely wasted.

"How did I let you guys persuade me into doing this again?" Namjoon asks, blinking in a mixture of joy and consternation at the freshly inked, slightly inflamed 7 on his skin. He flexes the side of his leg and watches the clear bandage wrinkle and smooth at the motion.

"Friendship!" Taehyung announces happily, eyes alight as he sways ever so slightly in his chair. Jungkook and Jimin are fully knocked out on each of Taehyung’s shoulders, their demonic sides hidden by the angelic expressions on their sleeping faces.

"No," Yoongi corrects, revealing a bottle of Suntory whisky from god-knows-where. "This."

"Ah, yes!” Eyes bright with satisfaction, Namjoon’s dimples deepen, and Seokjin laughs at how childish Namjoon looks in his glee as he receives his prize and cradles it to his chest with utmost and deliberate regard. With his vision blurred from all of the alcohol, it almost looks like it's disappearing into the leader's ample bosom. “Sunny, my frieeeend!"

Yoongi nods at him, ten times too much, then glances at Taehyung as he narrowly avoids falling off his chair for the umpteenth time. “The infants are fading,” he mutters, “Let’s get them home.”

Twenty minutes later, Hoseok emerges behind a curtain with a brand new tattoo, ready to show it off and receive compliments for being brave and only screaming once.

Except he’s all alone in the waiting room.

He waits a single beat before looking around in confusion.

“Guys?”

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You stumble through your doorway, confused by your body's decision to stop functioning properly. It had begun at the arcade, your normal precision and flawless execution apparently deciding to take its own mental health day and leaving you with slowing reflexes and sloppy reactions.

Finally, you decided to leave after realizing you'd been growling at the machine for the better part of an hour.

Well actually, Lee-ssi had kindly given you a bottle of water and suggested you take a break because you were scaring the kids. You decided to go home lest your happy place become tainted by the miasma of your god-slaying alter ego.

On the train, you nodded off and almost missed your stop – something that never happens. You tripped on your way off the train, and you had initially blamed it on being drowsy, but the trek from the station to your apartment did nothing to dispel your clumsiness.

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought you had gone drinking with your coworkers and were now stumbling home in a drunken haze. But you've been at the arcade since you left work, so that's impossible.

Maybe you're getting sick. That would explain the fogginess in your head, the sluggishness of your limbs.

Feeling under the weather, you spend the night in the dark of your bedroom. But then intense, prickling feelings bug you all over. Instead of the rest you hoped for, the hours are filled with tossing and turning, needle-points on your skin that fall just shy of being painful.

When you wake up, you find your skin tattooed seven different times with the number seven in seven different places.

Um.

What the fuck?

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Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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agentstarkid · 6 months

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FOREVER IS THE SWEETEST CON ✦ DR3

✦ DEBRIEF: While isolating in a hotel room, some things can't be ignored any more and, as stars fade in the dawn's light, some bonds were meant to be broken, like whispers carried away by the desert wind.

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 4.3K words

✦ TRACK LIMITS: female!reader, latina!reader, established relationship, lots of angst, covid-19 & quarantine mentions, there's a nine-year age gap, forced proximity (if you squint), language.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: holis babes! before you all come for me with your pitchforks, I'd like to remind you that english is not my first language so I wanna give a big biiig thank you to Tally (@onceuponaoneshotfanfic) for englishing this baby and for encouraging me to write it when I told her I was thinking about it ❤️ I actually wrote this back in october and I can finally post it!! It is tied to Saudade, if you want more context to their story. This is not the end, okay?... or is it? hehe byeee

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

Wednesday, just a day before his scheduled morning session, the symptoms began to show. They knew from the moment he started to complain about his body aching all over. The uncertainty and concern were present from the first moment, intensifying when, as a precaution, he underwent several medical tests to verify whether he suffered from Covid or not. However, the first test came back negative. It was a breath of relief, at least for a moment. But on Friday afternoon the alarms went off, and the Aussie driver's negative became a terrifying positive that further disrupted the false peace that they had tried so hard to preserve in recent weeks.

Practice for the opening race was scheduled for the following Friday, and having to isolate in accordance with local regulations meant that Daniel would go into the new season without having driven the car since last month.

Locked away from the outside world, tension brewed within the confines of a hotel room. This forced proximity only served to accentuate the strains that had long been present. The fraying edges of your relationship were now illuminated under the harsh fluorescent lights, magnified by the claustrophobic confinement of quarantine.

You entered the bedroom and found him lying on the bed, wearing a navy shirt and a pair of sweats, his feet locked at the ankles and his attention focused on his phone.

“How are you feeling?”

“’m fine,” he sighed.

“Do you need anything?” you tried again.

“Nope.”

You went to lay down on your side of the bed. “Heard Lando had problems with the car today.”

“Seems the car is even shittier than last year.” He let out a dry laugh. “But I wouldn’t know because I’m stuck in this fucking hotel room for the rest of the week.”

“Look on the bright side, you’ve got a couple of extra days to relax before the craziness of the season begins.” You gave a half shrug.

“Wouldn’t exactly call this relaxing. But you wouldn’t understand.”

“What does that mean? I know how you’re feeling-”

He shook his head and huffed, dropping his phone on the bed. “No, that’s the thing. You don’t know, sweetheart. How would you know? You didn’t get a fucking positive result and was forced to stay inside these walls, watching how everyone else gets the chance to freely try out their cars before they really have to focus on the season. You’re only stuck here as a precaution. It’s funny, you know…” He snorted. “You’ve been traveling a lot lately. And it’s been fine in the meantime. But as soon as you get here—”

“Are you saying that all of this is my fault?” The tension in the room was palpable as the argument raged on.

He rubbed his forehead as he looked up at the ceiling. He wouldn't even look at you — and somehow that annoyed you even more.

“Oh, I’m sorry for not being considerate enough to also get sick, it’s not like I can actually control that. But that might be my fucking fault, too. I’m too fucking busy being worried about your health. My bad.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm your beating heart. You turned back over to face away from him.

You felt so tired and hurt. In the last few days, these walls have felt like a battleground, waiting for you to engage in combat. And all you keep doing is try to stand tall pretending to be the bravest soldier.

It all began with the relentless hate that had been heaped upon you recently. At first, it was fine, it was expected, and you would laugh about the things they were saying. You must have been blinded by the honeymoon phase, as some people call it, but all things must come to an end. Lately, Daniel's devoted fans had turned into a fierce mob, outraged and blaming you for his performance last year, saying it was all the time he's been spending with you instead of focusing on his career. The hateful comments and messages had started to poison the relationship.

You guessed that it was easier when you were the only target. It was bearable to an extent; you could take it. Wasn't the first time it happened, and you supposed it was all part of the “big show”. But once they started targeting him too – things took a 180-degree turn.

Daniel and you had been inseparable for two years, celebrating your anniversary not too long ago. Now, you both lay silently in your hotel room; the once fiery love now reduced to smoldering embers.

He sighed and turned his head in your direction. “Babe, I—”

“It’s okay.” You mumbled squeezing your eyes shut, trying to keep in the tears that threatened to fall. “Goodnight.”

He covered his eyes with his hands; he didn’t mean to snap at you like that. He could hear you taking deep breaths, and something in his chest felt heavy. This need to bicker, to fight with you had been present for a few weeks, but lately had reached an all-time high.

The 2021 Formula 1 season had brought with it a surge of emotions that Daniel hadn't anticipated. As he settled into his new role with McLaren, the pressure to prove he was the more experienced driver in his first year with the team weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Every race was a chance to show the world that he still had what it took to compete at the highest level of motorsport. The expectations were high, and the scrutiny was relentless. Fans, the media, and fellow drivers all wondered if the Honey Badger could return to his former glory.

The season brought a mix of highs and lows. The highlight, undoubtedly, was the victory in Monza. It was a moment that should have been celebrated longer as a triumph for both Daniel and McLaren. However, amidst the jubilation, there was a bitter undercurrent of frustration. It seemed that the team's focus was already shifting to the next race, their first win in 12 years overshadowed by the relentless march of time.

Daniel's frustration grew as he watched the spotlight turn away from Monza's victory. He yearned for the recognition, the culmination of a year of hard work and perseverance. But as the season continued, the pressure only increased. The wins were non-existent, and the losses weighed heavily on him, each one gnawing at his confidence.

The expectations for the coming season were higher than ever. He knew that he had to perform at his best to silence the critics and prove that he still had that competitive edge. The weight of those expectations seemed to hang over him, a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.

Each race weekend would become a test, a chance to prove himself once again. The roar of the engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the pressure of the competition were all part of the Formula 1 world that he loved, but they also added to the mounting stress.

You couldn’t sleep at all.

Sleep evaded you that night. Your mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to fix the fractured parts of the relationship. Where did it go wrong? The question replayed over and over again like a broken record.

You stretched your arm to grab your phone from the nightstand and check the time.

2:30 A.M. Just a little bit less than 4 hours until the sun would come out. And 5 more days until you both would be free to leave this room.

You stood up from the bed and went to Daniel’s bedside table to look for the fingertip pulse oximeter. Once you found it, you knelt down and took his hand, careful not to wake him, and placed the oximeter on the tip of his index finger. After a few seconds of waiting for the values to remain constant, you sighed with relief when a big 98 appeared under the oxygen saturation. Thankfully, his symptoms were not of great concern, and he showed constant improvements. But you didn’t want to risk it, so every few hours you made sure to check his vitals just so you could have a little peace of mind. Especially when he was sleeping.

You couldn’t help but look at him for a moment. He looked to be in a profound state of sleep, so calm and so beautiful. His features, usually animated and lively, rested in a serene calm. You observed the rise and fall of his chest, the tranquil expressions that danced across his face, and the gentle harmony of his breathing. In these hushed moments, it was like nothing had changed, where you were still you and he was still the same Daniel that promised you that you were a team.

As you gazed upon him, your heart was a mix of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was the undeniable warmth and affection that comes from witnessing his vulnerability in slumber. Yet, a touch of sadness lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the unresolved tension from the previous fight. The serenity of his sleep served as a poignant backdrop to your disagreements, and you desperately longed for the chance to mend the rift and return to the peace you once shared.

It didn’t take long for the tears to appear again and you couldn’t help but curse being so sensitive. You stood up; you knew that going back to bed was useless, so you headed out of the room. You ended up curled up on the couch in the dark living room of your hotel room, the soft glow of your phone screen casting a bright light on your tear-streaked face. You debated whether calling one of the girls or just text them in need of letting all this helplessness out. But you didn't want to bother them with your problems, you knew they already had enough with their owns. So, you gave up on the idea.

Your relationship with Daniel had been a whirlwind of love and excitement, a passionate journey that had weathered ups and downs, but always coming out stronger on the other side. Now, you weren’t so sure you would come out of this unscathed.

Was it time to let it go? You couldn’t help but wonder. You weren’t new to this predicament. It happened before with your last relationship. But with Harry, the revelation that it was over came naturally and gently. You both were on the same page and knew it was inevitable. But with Daniel, your heart told you to continue, begged you to keep fighting while your mind was sending out warning signals that you chose to completely ignore.

The bright Bahraini sun shone through the big windows when Daniel, out of habit, rolled over to pull your body closer and instead felt the coldness of the sheets on your side of the bed. He opened his eyes and searched around the room. The bathroom door was open, and the lights were off, so you couldn’t be there. He stood up and left the room, yawning. He found you in the same place you ended up last night, curled up and holding a pillow to your chest.

The dark bags under your eyes were more prominent this morning. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest at the sight of you. He got closer and leaned down to place a tender kiss on your forehead and felt you stir for a moment before slowly opening your eyes. You rubbed your eyes before looking up at him silently.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said in a sleepy voice.

“What are you doing here?” he yawned, taking a seat on the couch as you moved back to give him space.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied in a muted voice, eyes downcast, fiddling with your fingernails.

And that was the routine after an argument: fight. One of you would try to walk away to calm down (most of the time it was you). Pretend nothing happened and go back to normal – well, whatever normal meant these days. Repeat.

A heavy silence settled between you. He leaned back on the couch, just staring at your face. He knew he should say something. Apologize even. But the words refused to come out. Meanwhile, thoughts swirled in your mind, doubts that had been lingering for a while now. Was it all in your head? Had you been the problem all along?

No.

As the seconds ticked by, the fog began to lift, and with it came a newfound clarity. It wasn't all in your head, and you weren't the sole problem. You had believed for so long it was your responsibility to make things right, to hold everything together. But it had been a shared responsibility, a partnership that had eroded in different ways.

Yes. You had both contributed to this.

You had underestimated the significance of his actions, his choices, and his words. In the process of taking all the blame, you had overlooked how he had let things slip away, how he had failed to communicate, and how he had allowed the distance to grow. You realized that it was a two-way street, and while you had been quick to accept responsibility for your part, it was time for both of you to acknowledge your roles in your shared demise.

Something within you was stirring, a growing realization that you couldn't keep shouldering the blame for everything. It wasn't fair to you, nor was it the path to a healthy and equal relationship.

"I can't do this anymore, Daniel," you murmured, your eyes brimming with sadness.

"No, no no— no we're not doing this—"

“Amor, please,” you pleaded in a whisper. Tears welled up in your eyes, but your resolve held firm. “We've been arguing about everything lately. All of this is hurting us. Your fans—”

Daniel's heart ached, but he lashed out in defense. “You know it's not that simple! I can't control what my fans say—”

Your irritation boiled over. "But you can defend me, Daniel! You can stand up for us!”

Frustration welled up in Daniel, his voice growing sharper. "I'm trying to protect what's left of my career, YN! Last season was awful for me, apart from one win, which was insignificant, apparently. I've got my own fucking problems!” He stood up forcefully and started to pace around the room.

Your anger flared and big angry tears streamed down your face. “You think it's only your career that's on the line? What about us? We're supposed to be a team, supporting each other. ‘Us against everything else’, remember? But you're making it all about you!” you screamed at him, standing up from where you were previously sitting.

He suddenly stopped in front of you. “You're too young and naive to understand the pressure I'm under. It's not just about us. It's about my career, it’s about my life! And that’s very rich coming from you,” he scoffed. “What about your fans, huh? The hate I'm getting from them and other people, it's taking a fucking toll!” he hissed. You stared at him, feeling shocked by his words. He kept going. “And let’s not forget how fucking clingy you’ve been. You suffocate me sometimes. Must be nice to have a job where you can just drop everything anytime you want and take paid vacations to follow me around.”

His words left you feeling as though the ground had been yanked from beneath your feet.

You're too young and naive. How fucking clingy you’ve been — You suffocate me sometimes. His words echoed incessantly in your mind like a stuck playback.

When did the insecurities shared transform into arrows, aimed at your most profound wounds?

You snapped, “You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. And I warned you. I gave you an out so many times, but you decided to stay.” A bitter laugh left your mouth. “You said I was the greatest risk you’ve ever taken and the greatest reward—”

“And I did think that, YN,” he uttered. “We lived inside a bubble for so long, but reality is different. Maybe we rushed into this too soon.”

“Come on, bury my heart deeper, Danielito. If that's what you're trying to do— it's working,” you said with a pained smile, eyes only focused on him.

The room seemed to grow colder, and your voices decreased in volume. But the damage had been done. Daniel realized the pain his words had caused, but his own frustration clouded his judgment. “This wouldn’t even be a problem, if you wouldn’t make one out of it,” he muttered bitterly.

“Please, don’t make this worse than it already is,” you agonized; your voice was shaky. Invisible claws of grief and anguish were tearing at the muscles and tendons in your chest. You never knew that emotions could possess such tangible, physical presence.

“If only we had met on different grounds. Then maybe things would have been different, we would be different.”

You couldn't help but add more fuel to the fire. You lacked the capacity for a graceful exit, and if you were aflame, you'd ensure that he, too, would turn to ashes. “Do you mean what if I was different?” A new wave of anger swept over you.

That question caught him off guard, forcing Daniel to pause and stare at you, honest surprise and confusion coloring his face. “What?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of frustration and hurt as you confronted him. “Heidi's constant presence in the paddock these past few months, the way you've been talking to her, and how people are speculating about you two... It's causing me to doubt myself and my place in your life.”

Daniel's brows furrowed, and his voice carried irritation. “YN, this is ridiculous. Heidi is just a friend. We've been through this countless times.”

You inched forward as you tried to make him understand. “I know she's your friend, but the way you've been spending time with her lately... it's different. I can't shake off the feeling that there might be something more.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, his frustration mounting. “You're being crazy, YN. We're just friends, and it's unfair of you to accuse me, and especially her, like this.” In a further defensive move, he shot back, “You're the one who had those cheating rumors circulating, not me. You should know how destructive and unfounded these accusations can be. And now, you're doing the same thing with Heidi?”

It felt like a hard punch to your gut, you took in a sharp breath, “So, you're bringing this up again? We already cleared the air about those false accusations when they hit us. I would never dare cheat on you!” Your frustration was palpable.

“And why is it so fucking hard to believe I wouldn’t either?” Suddenly, you could clearly see how sadness clouded his features.

The room seemed to close in around you both. Then, all of a sudden, you realized that healing from this and moving forward required a level of understanding and compassion that seemed beyond reach in the heat of this argument.

In that moment, you knew for certain that it was over. The love you had once celebrated, the memories you had shared, now felt like distant echoes of a happier time.

How did you both allow things to spiral into such chaos? This living room had transformed into a battleground, where words cut like knives. Where were the Daniel and YN who were deeply in love? The ones who, for the first time, felt safe to be vulnerable and discuss a future they had envisioned together; one with a couple of tiny little feet running around the farm in a couple of years and joking about how wild a perfect mix of Australian and Latino genes would be. Now, you stood face to face, unrecognizable, refusing to show any sign of surrender.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It wasn’t supposed to end at all.

The silence in the room was suffocating. All the energy and adrenaline left your body at once. You felt emotionally drained, as though a storm had swept through your heart and left it battered and exhausted.

You took a sit back on the couch and ran your hands across your face, squeezing your eyes shut. “We can't go on like this.”

So, this is it, Daniel thought. Dread twisted in his gut; he felt like he might throw up. His shoulders slumped and he raked his fingers through his hair as he took a seat next to you. The vulnerability in your words cut him deeply, but he understood the gravity of the situation. "You're right," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion. “We tried, didn’t we? We gave it our best shot” a sad smile adorned his tired face. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” he murmured as tears shone in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, too. I wanted to make it work. I always just wanted to be the one.” Your heart seemed to shatter into even smaller fragments. As you wiped away a single tear that trickled down your cheek, the physical act of brushing it away only served to accentuate the profound pain that had settled within your chest. It felt as though each tear carried with it a piece of your shattered dreams and the love that was now slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. In that fleeting moment, your heartache intensified, and you realized that this breakup was leaving you more broken than you had ever thought possible.

As the final words echoed in the room, you, your tears spent, turned and walked out into the bedroom, leaving Daniel alone with the weight of what had just transpired.

As soon as you left the room, you locked yourself in the bathroom and texted Blake. You asked him if there was any chance, he could talk to the hotel so you could get another room for the remaining time you had to be in quarantine. The request took him by complete surprise, and you explained shortly that Daniel and you had just broken up.

He assured you he was going to do everything in his power to get you a new room. You were sure that as soon as you hung up the phone, he was already texting Daniel asking for a better explanation.

As you sat on the bathroom floor, the pain was all-encompassing, a relentless throb deep within your chest that left you gasping for air. It felt as though a gaping void had taken up residence in your heart, and you weren’t sure how to fill it.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Numbness had started to settle in. A surreal feeling that this couldn't be real, that you would wake up from this nightmare at any moment. You wished that a switch would flip and make it all go away, but the pain persisted.

Bitterness and anger boiled within you. You felt wronged by the universe, by the cruel twist of fate that had torn you both apart. You resented the public scrutiny, the relentless judgment from fans and strangers alike, and the demands of your high-profile careers.

You felt unbearably alone. You longed for Daniel’s presence, for the familiar comfort of his arms, but he was no longer yours to hold. Your heart ached for the man you thought, for a short period, you would spend the rest of your life with, even though you knew that was no longer possible. The pain of heartbreak was, for you, an agonizing and inescapable reality, and you had yet to discover how to heal and move forward.

Turns out Blake went beyond of what you initially asked for. He arranged for you to take the PCR test again to confirm that you had not contracted the virus while sharing a room with Daniel.

After two slow and torturous days, where you spent your time curled up on the couch and Daniel spent his in the bedroom — a decision you made, he was the sick one after all. After two consecutive negative results, you were given the green light to leave. You had already packed your things after your call with Blake a few days ago, hoping you could change rooms. He had asked you if you needed anything else, saying he was willing to facilitate everything for you. He saw you as a fundamental part of this little dysfunctional family and had developed a deep affection for you. You couldn’t thank him enough.

Soon you had a plane waiting to take you back to L.A., to a house, not a home, all alone. You were leaving behind what you've come to realize was your home in the last two years.

You awkwardly said goodbye to Daniel. Your voice sounded tired, while he shifted on his feet on the threshold of the bedroom door. Curls wild, beard a bit longer than the past days and the bags under his eyes looked even more prominent. Despite the visible signs of weariness on both of you, you still couldn't draw any solace from the shared pain.

You knew you had to find your own path, to heal from these wounds, and to rediscover who you were outside of the relationship. As the plane took off, you made a silent promise to yourself to emerge from this ordeal stronger, wiser, and ready to face the world, no matter how unforgiving it might be.

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