#the anxiety will still be there tomorrow but so will I | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aspenmissing · 23 hours ago

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ᴛᴏꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 5985 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ��: ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ 1 || ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ 2

JAYCE

It had been a long day. The city of Piltover had a rhythm to it, a constant hum of activity that never seemed to fade, even as the night began to settle over the skyline. Jayce had just returned to their shared apartment after a series of meetings, his expression tired but his eyes still alight with the spark of determination. Yet, as soon as he entered, his attention was drawn to Y/N.

She sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the ceiling, her face creased with worry and exhaustion. He could see it in her posture, the way she fidgeted with her hands, the way her shoulders were tense and hunched, as though she were carrying the weight of the world. Her mind was a whirlwind, and he knew it had been like this for hours. No amount of distraction seemed to ease her troubled thoughts.

"Hey," Jayce called softly as he approached her, kneeling in front of her, his voice low and gentle, the weariness of the day already evident in his tone. "What's going on? You’ve been restless for a while now."

Y/N sighed deeply, not even needing to look at him to know he was there. She just felt it—the steady presence of Jayce, always so solid and reliable. Her voice, when it came, was small and strained. "I can't... I just can't shut it off, Jayce. My mind is racing, and I can’t get comfortable. Everything from today, tomorrow, all of it. It feels like it's just running in circles in my head."

Jayce's brow furrowed with concern, and he reached out, placing a hand gently on her knee. His fingers were warm against her skin, a contrast to the chill of the night air, and she felt a small comfort in that. "I see. You’ve been carrying a lot lately, haven't you?" He continued, voice softer now, like a quiet reassurance in the midst of a storm. "It's okay to feel like this sometimes."

She nodded, her lips trembling slightly as she fought back the urge to cry. "I’m trying. But it’s... too much sometimes."

The vulnerability in her voice made his heart ache, and without hesitation, Jayce took her hand in his, pulling her up gently from the couch. His touch was firm but tender, as if he could feel every inch of her anxiety and was determined to help her shed it, piece by piece.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. His fingers laced through hers as he guided her toward the bedroom and onto the bed, his presence already making her feel safer, more secure. The tension in her chest began to loosen, just a little, as she followed him.

Once they were lying together under the soft blankets, Jayce wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him. She nestled into him, her head resting against his chest, where she could hear the steady, calming beat of his heart. His presence was like a weight lifting off her chest, the softness of the blankets, the warmth of his skin—everything about him felt like home. Yet, still, her mind was in turmoil. Thoughts about the future, about things she couldn't control, and doubts she couldn't silence.

Jayce sensed it immediately and spoke softly against her hair. "Focus on me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and steady. "Let everything else fade. Close your eyes, love. Let me help you forget for a little while."

Her breath hitched as she closed her eyes, her body still tense despite his calming words. His fingers trailed up and down her back in slow, rhythmic movements, his touch like a silent promise that she wouldn’t have to face her worries alone. The gentle, comforting strokes began to work their magic, easing the tension in her muscles, drawing her away from the noise of her mind. His hands were steady and firm, never rushed, never pushing her to let go faster than she was ready.

As her body relaxed further, Jayce leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple in the softest kiss. The warmth of his lips on her skin was a balm for her racing thoughts, grounding her. His kisses came in soft, gentle waves, each one pulling her closer to the peace she craved. He kissed her forehead, then the top of her nose, and finally her lips. His kisses were slow, deliberate, almost like he was memorizing the feel of her under his touch.

With each kiss, she felt herself surrendering, her body finally unwinding into him. The quiet pressure of his lips, the gentle pressure of his hands, the rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear—it all felt like an unspoken promise that she was safe with him, that nothing would hurt her while she was in his arms.

Her breath slowed, each inhale and exhale in sync with Jayce’s as he continued to kiss her, his touch as tender as ever. His lips were soft but firm, each kiss reassuring her that she wasn’t alone, that there was no need to hold onto the weight of the world anymore. Slowly, his kisses became more insistent, a quiet desperation in his touch, a plea for her to let go, to rest.

He kissed her eyelids, brushing his lips over the delicate skin there, before moving back to her lips. This time, the kiss was deeper, softer, as if he was pouring all of his care and affection into it, coaxing her to relax further, to trust that she didn’t have to keep everything inside.

As her body started to respond, her breath becoming more even, her shoulders dropping their tightness, she realized she was floating—drifting away from the worries that had consumed her earlier. The tension melted completely, leaving only the warm, comforting embrace of Jayce's arms. She felt herself sinking deeper into him, feeling as though she were floating in a safe, peaceful space where only the two of them existed.

"You’re okay, love," Jayce murmured, his voice a soft, steady whisper in the quiet room. "Sleep now."

His words were like a final lullaby, a promise that he would be there when she woke, a steady force in her life no matter what happened. She pressed herself closer to him, feeling the final remnants of tension slip away. One last kiss, tender and full of affection, was placed upon her lips, and as his lips lingered just a moment longer, she finally let herself fall into a peaceful slumber.

The noise of the world outside faded to nothing. The only sounds that remained were the soft rhythm of their breathing, the steady pulse of their hearts beating in time with one another, as they both drifted into the quiet comfort of the night.

VIKTOR

It was late in the evening, the distant hum of Piltover’s bustling streets and the clattering of the city’s many gears filled the air, but in Viktor’s apartment, all was quiet. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of lamps, casting delicate shadows against the warm wood and stone of the walls. The apartment was a blend of both the refined and the scientific, with polished furniture mixed with the occasional piece of Viktor’s machinery. His workshop was just down the hall, but here in their shared space, it felt almost like a haven, quiet and intimate. Viktor had already gone to bed, the exhaustion of a long day catching up to him, but beside him, Y/N lay wide awake.

Her mind wouldn't stop. Thoughts, worries, little fragments of the day’s events, all tangled together, keeping her from finding any peace. The bed felt too warm, too cold, too still, too restless, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't find the calm she desperately needed to sleep.

Viktor, already on the verge of slipping into slumber, stirred beside her. He noticed her tossing and turning, the soft rustling of the blankets growing louder with each movement. He groaned softly, his eyes blinking open, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Would you care to explain why you’re practically wrestling with the blanket?" he murmured in his usual dry, sarcastic tone, his voice thick with sleep. "Is this some new method of sleep therapy?"

Y/N, caught off guard, froze for a moment, then sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress. "I can't sleep, Viktor. My mind is just… too full. I’ve tried everything."

Viktor propped himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing with concern beneath his tired eyes. He watched her for a moment, noting the way her shoulders seemed tense, the slight furrow of her brow, and the way she kept shifting restlessly. She looked exhausted, but the weight of her thoughts kept her trapped in wakefulness.

Without a word, he moved closer, gently pulling her into his arms. "Come here," he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let me help."

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, but then allowed herself to be drawn into his warm embrace. The steady rhythm of Viktor's breathing, soft but grounding, calmed her. For a moment, she felt the weight of the world lift just enough to make it feel like she could breathe again. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she could feel the gentle hum of his presence soothing the restlessness that had been consuming her.

"Close your eyes," he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. "Focus on me. Not on anything else."

She nodded, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as she nestled closer to him. Viktor continued to kiss the top of her head, his lips trailing softly along her hairline as he whispered words of comfort, his voice filled with affection. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, and the calm, constant presence of him slowly helped her mind to quiet.

Viktor’s fingers gently stroked her back, the tender movements like a lullaby, easing the tension that had built up inside her. His touch was slow and deliberate, each stroke across her skin a silent promise to keep her safe. "You know," he murmured, his voice soft and slightly amused, "I didn’t think I’d be the one to teach you how to relax."

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, the sound almost drowned out by the comfort of his touch. "Well, you're a good teacher."

His lips brushed against her forehead again, the small gesture carrying more weight than any words could. He pulled her even closer, cradling her against his chest. With a steady, rhythmic motion, he began to rub her back, each movement slow and soothing, like the ebb and flow of the tide. His hand moved from the nape of her neck down to her lower back, massaging in smooth circles, working out the tightness and stress that had settled there over the day.

"Just breathe with me," he whispered, his voice calm but insistent. "In and out. Let everything else go."

Y/N, her breath shallow at first, began to focus on his words. Slowly, she inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs, then exhaled slowly, feeling the tension start to ease. With every breath, her body softened in his arms, relaxing against him as he continued to stroke her back, the steady pressure of his hand soothing the knot of anxiety that had been making her restless. Each motion was a grounding force, calming her, pulling her further away from her worries.

Viktor continued his slow, steady massage, his hands working to erase the stress that clung to her, every gentle stroke helping her to let go a little more. His touch was so steady, so reassuring, that she couldn’t help but focus on it, the world outside of their apartment fading into the background. Her breathing grew deeper, slower, until her body felt as though it was floating, weightless, wrapped in his arms.

"That's better," Viktor murmured, his voice now a soft lullaby. "Now, just sleep, láska. Let go of everything." (Love)

Y/N, too relaxed to speak, nodded into his chest, her eyes fluttering closed. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her ear, each beat a lullaby guiding her deeper into comfort. The combination of his soothing touch, his gentle words, and his unwavering presence made the world outside seem distant, unimportant.

With one final kiss to her temple, Viktor held her tightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest against his. He knew that with him by her side, she was safe. He, too, began to drift toward sleep, his mind unwinding from the constant whirl of thoughts. Despite the world outside, the machines that never stopped, and the quiet hum of Piltover’s city, he was content — knowing that he could be the anchor she needed.

The last thing Y/N heard before she fell into peaceful slumber was Viktor’s voice, low and soft, like a promise whispered just for her.

"Goodnight, moje láska." (My Love)

And with that, Y/N finally found the sleep she so desperately needed.

JAYVIK

In the soft glow of the room, Y/N lay tangled in the sheets, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The weight of her thoughts pressed down on her, keeping her awake. It was another restless night. Anxiety clawed at her, making it difficult to breathe, let alone sleep. Her mind ran wild with thoughts she couldn’t silence, each one louder than the last. The quiet of the room only amplified her distress, and every passing second felt like an eternity.

Viktor sat at the edge of the bed, his expression soft and concerned as he watched her. His hand hovered over her back, the warmth of his palm radiating just a fraction away from her skin. He could see the way her body tensed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, like she was trapped in a whirlwind of her own making. The anxiety was thick in the air, and it gnawed at her, making her feel like she couldn’t catch her breath. He’d learned her patterns well, the little things that signaled when she was struggling, and now was one of those moments where she needed him.

Jayce, who sat beside Y/N, gently reached for her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. He noticed her eyes were wide open, her lips parted in a shallow breath, and he knew she wasn’t just physically restless. Something deeper was troubling her. "You’re tense," he murmured softly, his voice gentle and soothing, cutting through the storm of thoughts in her mind. "Let us help you, love."

Y/N let out a small, frustrated sigh but didn’t pull away from their touch. She was too tired to fight it, but the weight of the anxiety held her captive. "I just… I can’t… My mind won’t stop," she whispered, her voice strained, barely above a murmur.

Viktor’s brow furrowed with concern, and he leaned closer, his warmth radiating against her neck. He spoke softly, a calm and grounding presence that seemed to settle the chaos in her mind. "You don’t need to do anything right now, Y/N. Just let us take care of you." His voice was steady, full of conviction. He would do anything to help her find peace.

Jayce’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining in a gentle hold that was both grounding and reassuring. His thumb caressed her skin, offering her the physical connection she desperately needed. "We’re right here, Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and comforting. "You’re safe with us."

The combination of their soothing words and the steady pressure of their hands began to ease her tense muscles, but the battle inside her head still raged. She was still restless, her thoughts a storm she couldn’t escape. Viktor, ever the patient one, shifted behind her. He carefully settled his larger frame against hers, pulling her back into his chest. His embrace was warm, like a protective cocoon, and it made her feel just a little less alone in the sea of anxiety. He kissed the top of her head gently, his lips brushing her hair. "Close your eyes, Y/N," he murmured softly, his voice warm and comforting. "We’re here, love."

Jayce, never far behind, moved closer as well. He cupped her face in his hands, brushing a kiss to her temple, then down to her cheek. His lips were soft and tender, brushing against her skin like a whispered promise. "You’re not alone," he whispered, his voice thick with affection. "You don’t have to do this on your own."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart ached with the overwhelming tenderness of their words and actions. Slowly, the anxiety’s hold began to loosen. Viktor’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer, his body shielding her from everything outside of the moment. Jayce, with his ever-present tenderness, began to stroke her hair gently, his fingers working through the strands with a delicate rhythm that seemed to lull her into a sense of calm.

The two of them formed a barrier of warmth and safety on either side of her. She was nestled between their bodies now, sandwiched in the middle of their embrace. Their closeness was a balm to her troubled soul, a shield from the storms in her mind. Viktor’s steady breathing matched hers, slow and rhythmic, while Jayce’s presence grounded her, his touch reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered, her body finally beginning to relax as the soft lull of their voices and the warmth of their embrace began to work their magic. The tightness in her chest loosened, her breath becoming more even, her heartbeat slowing to a calm, steady rhythm. For the first time in hours, she felt herself slipping away from the tight grip of anxiety.

"I love you both," Y/N whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable, the words escaping her lips like a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to carry the weight of her worries alone anymore.

Viktor pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering for a moment. His hand, no longer mechanical, gently stroked her back in slow, steady motions. "And we love you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness. "Always."

Jayce leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer than necessary, savouring the softness of the moment. "Rest now, love. We’re here," he whispered, the words filled with both promise and affection.

With the steady rhythm of their breaths surrounding her, Y/N finally allowed herself to drift into a peaceful sleep. She was cocooned in the warmth of their bodies, her worries forgotten for the night. Her anxiety had lost its grip, and she was no longer alone in the dark. The comfort of Viktor’s arms and the tenderness of Jayce’s touch ensured that she could finally rest, safe and secure in the embrace of those who loved her.

And as she slept, Viktor and Jayce stayed close, never once letting go, their presence a constant reminder that she was loved and protected.

VANDER

Y/N had been lying in bed for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, her thoughts spiralling out of control. Anxiety had its grip on her chest, making it impossible to breathe, let alone sleep.

She slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb Vander, who was still sound asleep. He always had a way of finding peace in the chaos of the world, but tonight, that peace felt out of reach for her. Slipping on her shoes, she quietly made her way downstairs and into the bar area.

The bar was completely closed, but she didn’t mind. It was a quiet, empty space where she could think—or try to. Y/N shuffled behind the counter and reached for a bottle of something strong, something that might dull the edge of her racing mind. She poured herself a drink and stared at it for a moment, the amber liquid shimmering in the dim light. With a sigh, she placed her head on the cool wood of the bar, hoping that the stillness of the room would soothe her frayed nerves.

But as she sat there, her thoughts felt even louder, echoing in her mind like a thousand voices. She barely heard the soft footsteps behind her until a voice, deep and comforting, broke through the fog of her anxiety.

"You’re not getting much sleep, are you?"

Y/N turned her head slightly to see Vander standing beside her, his broad frame leaning against the counter. His eyes, soft and full of concern, locked onto hers. The sight of him always made her feel safe, even when everything inside her felt like it was unraveling.

“I... I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just... I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything’s... too loud in my head."

Vander sighed softly and sat down next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand found hers, gently squeezing it.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice as soothing as the deep ocean. "I’m right here. You’re safe."

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his side, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Vander’s presence always had that effect on her, like a steady anchor in a storm. He didn’t need to say much, but his touch spoke volumes.

"You want me to help you relax?" he asked, his tone tender.

She nodded, feeling the weight in her chest lighten just a little. Vander always knew what she needed, even when she couldn’t quite put it into words.

Without saying another word, he gently pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. His fingers traced soothing patterns along her back, slow and deliberate, as if he was erasing the anxious thoughts from her mind, one touch at a time. Y/N let out a soft sigh, her muscles slowly loosening.

"Just breathe with me, alright?" Vander whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "In and out. Let everything go. You don’t have to worry about anything right now."

Y/N inhaled deeply, matching the slow rhythm of his breath. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against her cheek, grounding her in the present moment. Slowly, her thoughts began to quiet, the panic receding like the tide. She snuggled closer to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Vander smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "That’s it. Just like that."

After a few minutes, Y/N felt herself growing heavy, the anxiety that had plagued her starting to fade. She felt safe, protected, with Vander beside her. As if the world could crumble around them, but as long as she was in his arms, everything would be okay.

"How about we get you to bed?" Vander asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yeah... that sounds nice."

With one last kiss to her forehead, Vander helped her to her feet, guiding her back up the stairs. He tucked her into bed, his large frame curling around her protectively as he held her close, his steady presence a calming force.

As Y/N finally closed he r eyes, the weight of the world lifting from her chest, she knew that no matter what happened, Vander would always be there—her safe place, her anchor in the storm.

And for the first time in hours, she drifted off to sleep, the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling her into a peaceful slumber.

SILCO

The dim glow of Piltover's distant lights painted the walls of the room as Y/N tossed and turned under the thick, heavy blankets. Every small noise in the building felt like a thunderclap in her mind, every thought a whirlwind that kept her wide awake. She hadn’t meant to wake up at this hour, but something was gnawing at her—something unsettled deep in her bones.

Silco’s side of the bed lay still and untouched, as he had slipped into a deep sleep hours ago. His calm breathing echoed softly in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the turmoil that gripped her mind. Her gaze flicked over to him, his familiar features softened in sleep. The comfort of his presence wasn’t enough to quell the unease creeping through her chest.

Turning once again, she finally let out a frustrated sigh. The night was far too quiet, and her mind far too loud. She couldn’t seem to calm herself, not when everything in her world was in motion, so much at stake. The plans they were orchestrating, the alliances they were forming, the enemies lurking in the shadows—everything weighed heavily on her. The responsibility, the constant vigilance—it was too much, especially when the uncertainty of the future loomed so large.

After a few moments, Y/N quietly slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Silco’s peaceful slumber. She didn’t want to wake him; he needed his rest as much as she did, even if his sleep seemed more uninterrupted, more serene. She padded down the hall, feeling the cool stone under her bare feet. With each step, the weight on her chest seemed to lighten a little, though not enough to quiet the turmoil in her mind.

She arrived at Silco's office, the only place in the building that offered any measure of peace. The large, sturdy window overlooked the sprawling city below, where the distant lights flickered against the dark sky like tiny stars. Piltover’s towers loomed high above, their sharp silhouettes barely visible against the haze of smoke that hung over the city. The city was never truly silent, but from here, it seemed distant, almost ethereal, as though she could escape the noise of it all.

Y/N stood before the window, letting the cool night air brush against her face, hoping for some clarity, some sense of calm. Her thoughts scattered again, each one tugging her in different directions, none of them allowing her peace. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push the feeling of restlessness away, letting the city’s hum wash over her like a faint lullaby, but it didn’t help. She couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that something was wrong. The unknown dangers, the whispers in the shadows—they felt too close.

A soft creak of the door behind her broke her reverie, and Y/N turned to find Silco standing there. His sharp, observant eyes studied her face with a quiet intensity. He had woken, no doubt sensing her absence, and had come to find her. His presence filled the room immediately, imposing yet familiar. He stood still, watching her, his expression unreadable for a long moment before he spoke, his voice low but carrying a tenderness that she knew was reserved only for her.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his voice gentle despite the harsh edge that was always a part of him.

Y/N nodded, letting out a slow breath. "I just... I can't turn my mind off tonight."

Silco approached her, his steps sure, his presence commanding yet comforting in its own way. He stood next to her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder as he looked out over the city with her. He didn’t need to say anything more; his quiet understanding of her struggles was enough. “I know the feeling,” he murmured. “It’s hard to quiet a mind that’s always running.”

For a moment, they stood together in silence, the only sound the distant hum of Piltover’s streets. Y/N felt his hand shift from her shoulder to gently cup her face, turning her toward him. His eyes softened as they met hers, the sharp, calculating look that she knew so well replaced by something warmer, something gentler.

“Come back to bed,” Silco whispered, his voice a low, soothing murmur that seemed to seep into her bones. “Let me help you relax.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. She needed him. Needed his touch, his warmth, to ground her, to still the thoughts that swirled relentlessly in her mind.

Hand in hand, they walked back to their room, where Silco pulled her into his arms without hesitation, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Y/N rested her head against his chest, her body slowly relaxing as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed her racing thoughts. His other hand threaded through her hair, the soft touch soothing her frayed nerves, and he placed soft, slow kisses along her forehead, each one tender and reassuring.

“I’m here,” he murmured against her skin, his lips brushing the top of her head. “You’re safe. You don’t have to face the world alone.”

Her body melted against his, the heat of his body enveloping her like a protective shield. She let herself sink deeper into the softness of the bed, her worries drifting further away with each kiss, each caress. In his embrace, the weight of her responsibilities seemed to lighten. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of their shared space, she could let go, if only for a moment.

Silco’s hands gently traced the lines of her back, his touch slow and deliberate as he held her close, grounding her. The tension in her body finally began to loosen, the knot in her chest slowly unwinding. She could feel the love in his touch, the unspoken promise that no matter how dark the world became, he would always be there to keep the shadows at bay. Slowly, Y/N's breathing became deeper, more even, as the soothing rhythm of Silco's touch lulled her into a peaceful slumber.

Silco, too, relaxed, his own body finding comfort in the closeness, in the shared warmth. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before he let sleep take him as well. In that moment, there was no battle to fight, no plans to be made. There was only the quiet, gentle rhythm of their shared breath, and the peaceful stillness of the night.

And for once, in the arms of the man who had always fought the hardest battles, Y/N found the tranquillity she so desperately needed. As the weight of the world temporarily lifted from her shoulders, she knew that no matter what came next, she would face it with him by her side. Together, they would endure whatever storms the future held.

SEVIKA

Sevika lay in the bed next to Y/N, the faint glow of the night casting shadows on the walls. She could feel the restless shifts of Y/N’s body as she tossed and turned, her movements growing more frantic as the night wore on. The soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh broke the otherwise quiet room, and Sevika’s eyes softened with concern.

At first, Sevika stayed still, her arms crossed under her head, trying to let Y/N work through it. But after a while, the constant shifting and restless tossing made it harder for Sevika to ignore.

"Come on, stop moving around so much," Sevika’s voice was low, but there was a touch of frustration beneath it. She reached out, gently brushing the hair from Y/N’s face. “You’re making it worse.”

Y/N blinked, still groggy, her eyes meeting Sevika’s with a hint of frustration. “I don’t know… I just can’t get comfortable.”

Sevika rolled onto her side, her mechanical arm sliding around Y/N’s waist as she pulled her closer. She could feel the tension in Y/N’s body, the way she was practically vibrating with unease. Sevika sighed softly, her own heart aching as she tried to make her lover more comfortable.

“Come here,” Sevika whispered, her voice thick with affection. “Relax, I’ve got you.”

Y/N didn’t protest, instead letting herself melt into Sevika’s embrace. The warmth of her body was comforting, and Sevika’s touch—gentle yet firm—was exactly what Y/N needed. Sevika kissed her forehead softly before resting her chin on top of her head. She felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if it was the mechanical arm that was causing discomfort. She shifted slightly, ready to move it, but Y/N let out a frustrated sigh.

Sevika hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing Y/N’s back. “Do you want me to move my arm? I can—”

“No,” Y/N mumbled sleepily, her voice thick with exhaustion. “It’s not that.”

Sevika froze for a moment, then gave a gentle, understanding smile. She kept her arm where it was, a reassuring presence. Y/N had her reasons for being restless, and Sevika was content to be there to help her through it.

"Then what is it, love?" Sevika whispered, brushing her lips against Y/N’s hair.

Y/N shifted slightly, sighing again as her hand clutched at the sheets. “I don't know… I just can't seem to shut my mind off.”

Sevika's heart softened even more at the admission. She knew Y/N’s mind often raced, especially when she was feeling overwhelmed or stressed. It was one of the reasons she treasured their quiet moments together, when Y/N could let go and just be.

"Let me help you with that," Sevika said softly, her voice low and soothing. She pulled Y/N a little closer, her lips grazing the top of her head in a slow, tender kiss. “Breathe with me.”

Y/N gave a faint nod, her body still tense, but Sevika’s calming words seemed to settle the storm brewing in her mind. Sevika’s hand moved gently across Y/N's back in slow, rhythmic strokes. The touch was steady and unhurried, like a soft reassurance that everything would be okay. Sevika could feel Y/N’s breath hitch slightly, and her fingers continued their slow movements, hoping to ease the tension away.

“Breathe in for me,” Sevika murmured, her voice like a calm lullaby. “Nice and slow, in through your nose…”

Y/N inhaled, her breath shaky but deep. Sevika smiled softly, feeling the strain in Y/N’s body start to loosen as she followed the rhythm Sevika set. “That’s it. Good girl.”

Sevika continued to guide her, their breathing now synchronized, the slow, steady rise and fall of their chests mingling in the stillness of the night. With each breath, Y/N’s body relaxed a little more, her rigid muscles slowly softening beneath Sevika’s touch. The frantic, disjointed thoughts in Y/N’s mind began to fade, and the tension in her body slowly dissolved.

“Better?” Sevika asked quietly, her lips brushing against Y/N’s temple, her voice full of tenderness.

Y/N’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was soft and content now. “Mmm… much better.”

Sevika kissed her temple again, her heart swelling with affection. “I’m glad. Now, just sleep, love.”

Y/N snuggled closer, her body relaxing completely against Sevika’s chest. The steady rhythm of Sevika’s heart beneath her was grounding, calming, and the weight of Sevika’s arm around her felt like the safest place in the world. Sevika’s breathing slowed, becoming deeper as Y/N’s did, and the room filled with the peaceful sound of their shared breaths.

Sevika kissed the top of Y/N’s head once more, whispering, “I’m right here. You’re safe, love. Sleep.”

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered closed, the weight of the day finally lifting from her shoulders. As the night continued, Sevika held her close, her touch tender and constant. Soft kisses and whispered words of comfort were all it took for Y/N to finally drift into a peaceful, restorative sleep. Sevika remained vigilant, content to be her anchor through the darkness of the night. She wrapped herself even tighter around Y/N, her presence a steady promise of safety and love, knowing she would always be there to help guide Y/N through the nights when sleep didn’t come so easily.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you

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estellan0vella · 2 days ago

Text

You Better Remember This Time: B.C & L.F Bang Chan x fem!reader x Lee Felix (College AU)

WC: 25.9K

CW: Violence and Physical Altercations, Sexual Harassment & Assault Implications (abuse of power & non-consensual groping), Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, Discussions of Gender-Based Violence, Crossdressing (Men in Skirts), Background Seungbin, Seungmin being the best best friend, Minho being the best older brother figure, pining Chanlix, reader is kind of oblivious due to self esteem issues, comforting!2min, Jeongin being a menace

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The air in Seungmin’s room is warm, the scent of old books, fabric softener, and a faint trace of the cinnamon candle you bought him last semester lingering in the air. His desk is a chaotic mess of law textbooks, highlighted notes, and an empty coffee mug that’s been sitting there long enough for a faint coffee ring to stain the wood. You, Seungmin, and Jeongin are sprawled across his bed and the plush rug beneath it, a laptop perched between you as you attempt to power through another hellish week of coursework.

Your light grey sweatpants are soft against your skin, your white off-the-shoulder jumper slipping slightly as you adjust your position. Your pink fluffy socks wiggle in the air as you stretch out, your sneakers long discarded in the corner of the room. Silver-lavender strands of hair escape from the messy clip on top of your head, and your blue-light glasses are perched on your nose as you squint at the tiny text on your screen.

Seungmin, forever the grumpy civil law major, sits cross-legged on the bed, his laptop balanced on his thighs as he types with practised precision. His orange hair is slightly mussed from where he’s been running his fingers through it in frustration, and he barely looks up when Jeongin, flopped on his stomach beside you, groans dramatically.

“This is so fucking lame,” Jeongin complains, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. His black hair is still damp from his shower, and his loose hoodie is slightly wrinkled. “We should be out drinking and having fun, but no, Miss Cheerleader-With-The-Packed-Social-Schedule and Mr Grumpy-Ass-Antisocial-Law-Student are drowning in coursework instead.”

You huff a laugh, nudging him with your foot. “I told you we could go out tomorrow.”

Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh before perking up. “Oh, yeah! Tomorrow’s still an option.”

“For you, maybe,” Seungmin mutters, not looking away from his screen. “I have a fucking midterm on Monday, so my ass is staying right here.”

“Boo,” Jeongin teases, sticking his tongue out. “Anyway, I call bullshit, Y/N. You always leave me to hook up.”

“I can’t help it! It’s my hookup time,” you say with a grin, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Jeongin glares at you in faux betrayal. “Last time, you left me for Jennie Kim.”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Yeah, well, I got fucked by the president of Kappa Tau, and you dicked down that cute guy from Delta Nu. Chan-hee, wasn’t it?”

Jeongin narrows his eyes, recalling the memory. “Okay, fair point. But still, you ditch me like clockwork.”

“You should go with Hyunjin tonight,” Seungmin suggests without looking up.

“Uh, no,” Jeongin replies immediately, shaking his head.

You giggle, propping your chin on your palm. “Go with Minho and Jisung, they’re fun on a night out.”

“Only because you and Jisung are basically the same bundles of anxious sunshine energy with no survival instincts,” Seungmin remarks dryly. “And Minho feels a need to protect you both.”

You pout. “That’s not true.”

Seungmin finally looks up, his expression flat. “You know what Changbin calls you and Jisung?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“Quokkas.”

You blink, confused. “Like the happy little animals?”

“The happy little animals with no survival instincts,” Seungmin clarifies, voice tinged with amusement.

Jeongin cackles, nearly rolling off the bed. “Oh my God, that’s so accurate.”

You scoff, placing a hand over your chest in mock offence. “I have survival instincts. Sort of. Like, I can keep myself alive... I think.”

Jeongin snorts. “You’re smart, but you lack common sense.”

“Not true!”

“So true,” Seungmin and Jeongin say in unison, making you groan.

“Hey! I’m a flyer on the cheer squad, and I live every time!”

“Very different from keeping yourself alive in a scenario that requires common sense,” Jeongin counters, wiggling his brows.

Seungmin leans back, stretching his arms over his head. “I bet right now, if I asked you to go make us coffee with the coffee machine, you wouldn’t be able to.”

You scoff, pushing your glasses up your nose. “I would!”

“Okay,” Seungmin says, raising an eyebrow. “Off you go, prove us wrong.”

You start to move, but he holds up a hand. “And you can’t get Minho to do it for you.”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in fake indignation. “I would never.”

“Yes, you would,” Jeongin says, smirking. “Because he’s like your older brother, and he’d do anything you asked.”

Seungmin hums in agreement, shooting you a knowing look. “So, go on then. Prove us wrong, Miss ‘I Totally Have Survival Instincts.’”

Your lips press together in determination as you push yourself up from the bed, grabbing your phone. “Fine. I’ll show you both.”

Their laughter follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, muttering under your breath about how they always gang up on you.

The Alpha Phi kitchen is eerily spotless, the kind of clean that could probably get the entire frat house featured in a lifestyle magazine, if not for the sheer chaos that brews within its walls on a daily basis. But no one dares disrupt the pristine order because this is Minho’s domain, and Minho takes the state of his kitchen personally.

Everyone still remembers the time Changbin thought he could get away with leaving a mug of coffee behind the microwave. By the time Minho found it, it had grown a fuzzy green mould colony, and Minho had tried to shove Changbin into the oven as retribution. Lesson learned. No one fucks with Minho’s kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you pull open the cabinet that holds your most prized possession, your matching Powerpuff Girls mug set with Jeongin and Seungmin. Your mug is Bubbles, because obviously. Jeongin’s is Blossom, because he insists he’s the responsible one, which is a lie, and Seungmin’s is Buttercup, mostly because he’s a little shit with a permanent resting bitch face. You smile fondly at them as you line all three up on the counter, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction at the sight.

Then you turn to the coffee machine and immediately, all confidence drains out of your body.

You tilt your head, staring at the intimidating array of buttons and dials, completely at a loss. Why does it look like something that belongs in a spaceship? At your apartment, you just boil water like a normal person, scoop in some instant coffee, and call it a day. But, of course, there’s no fucking kettle in this kitchen. Because this is Alpha Phi, and they do everything the fancy, overly complicated way.

You exhale through your nose, placing your hands on your hips as you analyze your enemy. It can’t be that hard, right? There are buttons. Probably labelled ones. Maybe you just-

The door swings open, and you turn just in time to see Chan and Felix walk in, hand in hand, their fingers loosely intertwined like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Felix is practically glowing, his blue hair looking extra tousled, probably from Chan’s hands. Chan, on the other hand, has that effortlessly cool thing going on, dressed in one of his many hoodies with his black hair falling over his forehead.

Both of them pause when they see you standing in front of the machine, looking like you’re about to challenge it to a duel and Chan raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

You blink and glance over at him. “Yeah.”

Felix’s lips twitch as he follows your gaze to the machine. “You making coffee?”

“Hopefully at some point in the next decade,” you say, crossing your arms. “Seungmin said I’m intelligent but have no common sense and bet I couldn’t use the machine. And I want to prove him wrong.”

Chan and Felix exchange a look, both clearly amused.

You huff. “He also said I can’t ask Minho for help, which is absolute bullshit because Minho would totally help me.”

Chan chuckles. “Maybe start with plugging it in.”

You blink. Then slowly look down. The fucking machine isn’t even plugged in.

You inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a moment to suppress the overwhelming sense of defeat. Then you sigh, waving a hand. “You know what? I’m just gonna go tell Seungmin he’s right. I can take the blow to my pride.”

Felix gasps. “You can’t.”

“You’re right, my pride definitely cannot take it,” you admit solemnly. “I’ll just go to that cafe down the street and buy coffee. I’m a genius.”

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “That’s cheating.”

“And?” You arch an eyebrow. “I am perfectly willing to cheat my way through life, just not through academics.”

Felix looks at you like you’ve just declared yourself a prophet. “That might be the most relatable thing you’ve ever said.”

Chan sighs fondly before reaching for the cord and plugging in the machine himself. He flicks a few switches, presses some buttons, and within seconds, the machine is whirring to life like it wasn’t just a fucking Rubik’s cube of confusion two minutes ago.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back and gesturing. “I’ll make them, but you have to at least watch so you can fake it in case Seungmin quizzes you.”

“Understood.”

Felix leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Chan starts measuring out coffee grounds like a professional barista. His eyes flick toward you, glinting with amusement. “You really thought about just walking out and buying coffee, huh?”

You grab the Oreo tin from Jisung’s snack cupboard and pop it open. “Of course. It’s the fastest way to preserve my dignity.”

Felix snickers. “You have a very loose definition of dignity.”

You grin at him, grabbing a handful of Oreos. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

Chan shakes his head as he pours hot coffee into the mugs, steam curling into the air. “You do know this machine has been here since the first time you visited the frat house, right?”

“Listen.” You lift a single Oreo between your fingers and point at him. “I have better things to worry about than the history of your unnecessarily complicated kitchen appliances.”

Felix reaches over and plucks an Oreo from your pile, popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. “I can’t believe you’re the only person Jisung lets into his snack stash.”

You shrug, munching on one yourself. “He loves me.”

Chan snorts, setting the now-filled Powerpuff Girls mugs on the counter. “Nah, it’s ‘cause you’re the only one who doesn’t steal half his shit.”

Felix gasps, clutching his chest. “Excuse me, I always ask.”

“Yeah,” Chan drawls, “after you’ve already eaten it.”

Felix pouts, but you just grin, hugging your Bubbles mug to your chest. “Felix gets a pass because he’s adorable.”

Chan scoffs, shooting Felix a pointed look. “This is why she doesn’t believe people flirt with her.”

Felix just smirks, licking an Oreo crumb from his thumb. “I know. It’s fucking hilarious.”

You frown at them. “What?”

Chan just shakes his head, eyes warm as he nudges your mug closer to you. “Nothing, angel.”

You don’t register the pet name as anything but friendly, because why would you? You think they’re just naturally affectionate. You don’t notice the way Felix watches you with open fondness or the way Chan’s gaze lingers just a little too long.

Felix and Chan watch as you disappear up the stairs, the three Powerpuff Girls mugs carefully balanced in your hands, your fluffy pink socks muffling your footsteps against the hardwood floor. The moment you’re out of earshot, Chan lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as he leans back against the counter. His other hand stays curled around Felix’s waist, instinctively keeping him close.

“She doesn’t have a fucking clue we like her, does she?” Chan mutters, voice heavy with disbelief.

Felix snorts, nestling himself against Chan’s side as he tilts his head up to press a kiss to Chan’s jaw, his lips soft and warm against the older boy’s skin. “Not a single fucking one,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice.

Chan groans, throwing his head back slightly before running his fingers through his hair. “Is she blind?”

Felix hums, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. “Considering she didn’t realize the coffee machine wasn’t even plugged in, it’s entirely possible.”

Chan barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck, you might be right.”

“I mean,” Felix continues, stretching his arms out lazily before linking his fingers behind Chan’s neck, “her and Jisung are basically the same fucking person. Lack of survival instincts? Check. Unaware of their own goddamn appeal? Check. Oblivious as fuck to people flirting with them? Massive check.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “So, what, you’re saying we’ve got another Minho and Jisung situation on our hands?”

“Oh, one hundred percent.” Felix grins, poking Chan’s chest playfully. “Minho could suck Jisung’s dick and that dumbass would still be like, ‘Minho’s my bro. Bros suck bros’ dicks sometimes, right?’” He pauses for dramatic effect, then shakes his head. “He’s still fucking convinced Minho is fully straight.”

Chan lets out a loud, incredulous laugh, gripping Felix’s waist tighter as he tries to catch his breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix shrugs, resting his chin against Chan’s shoulder, “if Jisung can’t tell Minho is obsessed with him, then Y/N’s never gonna figure out we both want to rail her six ways to Sunday.”

Chan groans again, head falling back against the cabinet with a dull thud. “God, don’t fucking say shit like that when we just watched her skip out of here with that stupid, happy smile on her face.”

Felix giggles, wiggling his eyebrows. “What? You know I’m right.”

Chan exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right, and that makes it so much fucking worse.”

Felix pats his chest comfortingly. “It’s okay, babe. We’ll just have to make our flirting even more obvious.”

Chan side-eyes him. “We literally call her angel. We buy her food. We’re constantly touching her. What the fuck else are we supposed to do? Write her a goddamn love letter?”

Felix considers this for a moment before smirking. “Maybe.”

Chan lets out another groan and tilts Felix’s face up to kiss him, slow and lingering, the warmth of Felix’s lips grounding him. Felix sighs happily into it, fingers curling into the fabric of Chan’s hoodie, and for a moment, they just exist in their own little world.

When they pull apart, Felix rests his forehead against Chan’s. “We could just tell her,” he suggests softly.

Chan lets out a humourless chuckle. “Yeah. And risk scaring her off?”

Felix sighs, closing his eyes. “Yeah, that’d fucking suck.”

Chan presses another quick kiss to Felix’s lips before nudging him toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s get out of here before Minho finds out we’ve been standing in his kitchen this whole time without cleaning anything.”

Felix grins, lacing their fingers together as they head toward the living room. “Good call. I’d rather not end up in the oven like Changbin.”

The crisp autumn air carries a sharp bite as you and Jeongin weave through the bustling Miroh College campus, the two of you moving with a level of urgency that would make anyone think you were late for an important lecture. But, in reality, you're just trying to avoid Seungmin. “We can’t keep running forever,” Jeongin huffs, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he glances over his shoulder like a man being hunted.

You scoff, heels clicking against the pavement as you grip his sleeve and pull him behind a large oak tree near the library. “We can and we will. We lost that bet, and there is no way in hell I’m letting Seungmin cash in on whatever horrifying punishment he’s cooked up for us.”

Jeongin presses himself flat against the tree trunk, panting slightly as he peeks out into the open courtyard. “I knew we should’ve never bet against him. We’re fucking idiots.”

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, adjusting your white headband with one hand while your other rests on your hip. “I just got dragged into your dumbass decision.”

“Oh, please,” Jeongin rolls his eyes, looking you up and down. “Like you weren’t all smug and confident about it. ‘Oh, Jeongin, there’s no way Seungmin can beat us in trivia night, we’re both so smart and pretty, what could go wrong?’” His voice mimics a high-pitched version of your own, and you jab him in the ribs.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You absolutely do,” he retorts, dodging another jab. “And now we’re paying the price for our hubris.”

You sigh dramatically, shifting your weight onto one leg. The fitted black sweater layered over your white ruffled blouse hugs you comfortably, and your pleated black-and-white tweed mini skirt flutters slightly in the breeze. Your glossy Mary Janes gleam in the late afternoon sun, and you feel an odd sort of satisfaction knowing your outfit is cute as hell, even if you are currently in hiding.

“We need a plan,” you say, squinting into the distance as if the answer to your predicament is hidden among the crowd of students milling about the quad.

Jeongin waves a dismissive hand. “We don’t need a plan. We just need to avoid him for, I don’t know, another week?”

“A week?” You snort. “Seungmin’s patient as fuck. He’ll wait until we’ve let our guard down and then pounce.”

“Okay, true,” Jeongin admits, scrunching his nose. “We might need a new strategy.”

Before either of you can formulate one, Jeongin’s face suddenly lights up, his posture straightening with excitement. “Oh! We’re going out next Saturday.”

You blink at him. “Okay. Where?”

“Side Effects,” he announces proudly, rocking back on his heels. “You know, the bar where all the drinks are named after side effects of medication?”

Your lips curve into a grin. “Oh, Jisung and I are regulars there.”

Jeongin smirks knowingly. “Yeah, of course, you two anxious motherfuckers are.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Anxiety is our typical order.”

Jeongin laughs along with you. “Obviously. Anyway, me and the rest of the frat are all going as a group, and you’re coming too.”

You pause for a moment, tilting your head. “Are you sure? I mean, you said it’s a frat thing.”

Jeongin fixes you with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re around the house enough that you’re basically our honorary female member.”

You scoff playfully. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is now,” Jeongin declares, folding his arms. “So, you coming or what?”

You exhale dramatically as if you actually need to think about it, before shrugging. “Sure. I need a break from reading about immunology anyway.”

“Yes!” Jeongin pumps a fist in victory before his expression turns serious. “Now, the real challenge. We need to convince Seungmin to dress sexy.”

You let out an undignified snort. “We’d have better luck winning the lottery.”

“I know,” Jeongin groans, rubbing his face. “But he has to. He cannot-” he emphasizes the word with a dramatic hand gesture, “-come with us in a sweater vest. I will kill myself if he does.”

“Same,” you deadpan, crossing your arms.

Jeongin sticks out his fist. “Pact?”

You nod solemnly, bumping your fist against his. “Pact.”

“Found you.”

You and Jeongin freeze in tandem, like two deer caught in headlights. Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn your heads, only to find Seungmin standing a few feet away, arms crossed, lips curled into the most infuriatingly smug smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Shit,” Jeongin whispers.

“Run,” you whisper back.

You both bolt, feet pounding against the pavement as you attempt to escape the inevitable wrath of Seungmin, but it’s no use. He’s quicker than he looks, and before you can make it more than a few steps, he reaches out and snatches both of you by the collars of your shirts like a pissed-off mother cat.

"Where exactly do you think you're going, dumbasses?" Seungmin drawls, voice laced with unimpressed amusement. He doesn’t even sound winded, which is the real insult here.

You kick your feet uselessly in the air, your glossy Mary Janes barely brushing against the ground as you struggle in his grasp. “Let us go, you tyrant!” you cry dramatically, thrashing like a wild animal.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Seungmin deadpans. “Let me just release the two dipshits who thought they could evade me forever.”

Jeongin groans beside you, his arms flailing as he tries to pry Seungmin’s grip off his hoodie. “We had a good run.”

“You had a stupid run,” Seungmin corrects.

Then, just as you’re about to accept your fate, you spot your saviour. Standing across the quad, looking effortlessly unbothered, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. And just like that, an idea forms. A brilliant, foolproof, utterly genius idea. “Minho!” you yell, your voice carrying across the campus like a war cry.

Seungmin stiffens. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Minho’s head lifts at the sound of your voice, his gaze flicking toward you with mild curiosity. When his eyes land on the sight of you and Jeongin being physically restrained by Seungmin, one brow raises, amusement flickering across his face. “Do I even want to know?” Minho calls back.

Seungmin clicks his tongue, already knowing he’s lost. He curses under his breath and, begrudgingly, lets you go. Because if there’s one thing Seungmin values more than retribution, it’s self-preservation. And he knows, he fucking knows, that Minho will bite him if he even so much as thinks about bothering you. A fact that you abuse often.

With a triumphant grin, you immediately hop over to Minho, leaving Jeongin to suffer alone. “You saved me from a fate most foul,” you sigh dramatically, slipping beneath Minho’s arm as he wraps it loosely around your shoulders. “Seungmin was about to make me suffer the consequences of my actions.”

Minho hums, nodding as if this is the most serious information he’s received all day. “Can’t have that happening to you.”

You shake your head solemnly. “Only Jeongin.”

Minho smirks. “Only Jeongin.”

From behind you, Jeongin lets out a betrayed noise, his eyes wide with sheer, unfiltered horror as Seungmin tightens his grip on his hoodie. “Wait, no! You can’t just leave me!” Jeongin wails, legs kicking uselessly as Seungmin starts dragging him away. “I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER!”

You press a hand to your chest, feigning sadness. “I’ll miss you.”

“YOU’RE THE WORST,” Jeongin screeches, fingers clawing at the ground as if he can somehow anchor himself there.

Seungmin, thoroughly unamused, adjusts his hold and hauls Jeongin over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. “This is what you get for thinking you could escape me.”

Jeongin’s wails only grow louder as Seungmin marches away with him, and you make no effort to suppress your laughter. Minho chuckles beside you, shaking his head.

“You’re such a little shit,” Minho muses, poking your side.

You beam up at him. “I know.”

And as Jeongin’s suffering echoes across the campus, you loop your arm through Minho’s and happily walk the other way, completely unbothered by whatever punishment Seungmin is about to unleash on your poor, unfortunate best friend.

Jeongin strides into Chan’s room without knocking, entirely unbothered by the fact that Chan and Felix are currently engaged in an absolutely filthy makeout session on the bed. Chan is shirtless, his toned torso on full display, while Felix is clad in nothing but his boxers, straddling Chan’s lap as they move against each other, a slow, heated grind of hips that leaves very little to the imagination. The air is thick with the scent of cologne and something heavier, something unmistakably them. Moans mix with breathy chuckles, the occasional murmured praise between kisses filling the space.

Jeongin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge the borderline indecent display. Instead, he holds out his hand, palm up, expectant. “Pay up.”

Felix barely pulls back, lips kiss-bruised and breath uneven. “What?” he pants, blinking dazedly at Jeongin like he’s only just registering his presence.

Jeongin stares at them, unimpressed. “I got her to agree to come to the bar with us next Saturday. Now, pay up.”

Chan groans, not out of frustration but more in the for fuck’s sake, I should’ve expected this kind of way. He leans back against the headboard, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching over to the nightstand. Without hesitation, he slaps a wad of sixty thousand won in notes into Jeongin’s waiting palm.

Felix, finally processing the information, straightens up slightly. “You really got her to come?” His voice carries equal parts excitement and disbelief.

Jeongin pockets the cash without ceremony. “Yeah. It wasn’t that hard. She likes going out; she just doesn’t have the time for it. You know, because of the whole double major thing.”

Felix flops dramatically onto Chan’s chest, groaning. “How does she not know we like her?”

Jeongin snorts, shaking his head as he folds his arms across his chest. “Because I love the girl, but she just thinks everyone is nice. She doesn’t know she’s a fucking knockout that has half the campus trying to get into her panties.”

Chan frowns at that, jaw tightening. He shifts slightly, like the idea of people wanting you in that way doesn’t sit right with him. Like he hates that you don’t see it, that you don’t see yourself the way you deserve to. Felix sighs heavily, running a hand through his tousled blue hair. “She really doesn’t notice, does she?”

Jeongin shakes his head. “Nope. Not even a little bit. She’s got, like, the lowest fucking self-esteem I’ve ever seen. Just assumes no one sees her as anything more than a friend.”

Chan exhales through his nose, rubbing his temples. “But we flirt with her all the time.”

Jeongin shrugs. “Yeah, and she thinks you’re just being friendly.”

Felix lets out an almost pained noise, burying his face against Chan’s shoulder. “This is actually suffering.”

“You’re gonna have to ease her into it,” Jeongin advises, plopping himself down in the chair near the desk. “She’s not used to people liking her, let alone an already established couple.”

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Fucking hell.”

Felix groans. “I wanna kiss her so bad.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to work for it, because she’s not gonna get it unless you basically spell it out for her.”

Felix flops backwards onto the bed with a defeated sigh. “This is bullshit.”

Jeongin smirks. “Well, on the bright side, you have an insider source. Consider that a blessing.”

Chan levels him with a look. “You extort us.”

Jeongin shrugs, completely unrepentant. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Felix suddenly perks up, propping himself up on his elbows, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We could just tell Seungmin that you’ve been helping us try to date his and your best friend.”

Jeongin snorts so hard he almost chokes. “Pfft. You wouldn’t.”

Chan raises a brow. “Wouldn’t we?”

Jeongin grins, shaking his head. “Nah, because then Seungmin would start extorting the two of you, and you know that motherfucker would be worse than me.”

Chan exhales sharply. “I hate that you’re right.”

Felix throws his head back with a dramatic groan. “This is the worst timeline.”

Jeongin just laughs, standing up and patting his pocket where his freshly earned sixty-thousand won sits comfortably.

“Help us make some semblance of a plan,” Felix whines, poking at Jeongin’s leg with his foot as the younger boy makes himself comfortable in the chair by the desk.

Jeongin doesn’t even look up from where he’s idly scrolling on his phone. Instead, he just holds out his hand, palm open, expectant.

Chan groans, rubbing his temples. “You’re like a fucking toll bridge.”

“And yet you still pay every time,” Jeongin muses, barely hiding his smirk as Chan slaps another wad of cash into his palm. He counts it leisurely, flipping through the notes with a pleased hum before tucking it into his hoodie pocket.

Felix watches this unfold with narrowed eyes, then squints at Jeongin in suspicion. “You just made us pay you to make her come out with us, and now you’re charging us again for a plan?”

Jeongin grins, stretching his arms over his head. “The plan I will give you is, unfortunately, a premium subscription. Unless you want the basic plan.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, already annoyed. “And what the fuck is the basic plan?”

Jeongin tilts his head. “Just keep doing whatever the fuck you’re doing and hope she gets a clue in the next ten years.”

Felix gasps, appalled. “That’s fucking useless.”

Jeongin shrugs. “Exactly. Hence the premium plan.”

Chan glares, muttering something under his breath about thieves and con artists before begrudgingly slapping more cash into Jeongin’s waiting hand and Jeongin grins, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, listen up, dumb and dumber. The problem here is that she thinks you two are her friends.”

Felix groans. “We are her friends.”

Jeongin shakes his head. “No, no, I mean she sees you the same way she sees me, Seungmin, Minho, and Jisung.”

Felix gasps so dramatically that Chan actually has to slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up and Jeongin nods solemnly. “Yeah. You two are, in her mind, firmly planted in the best friend zone. You might as well be me, dude. That’s your competition right now.”

Felix slaps Chan’s hand away, scandalized. “WHAT THE FUCK?! CHAN, WE’RE IN THE JEONGIN ZONE?!”

Jeongin simply nods, like this is serious news that must be taken with the utmost gravity. “Yes. You are in the Jeongin Zone.”

Chan’s entire body sags as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So,” Jeongin continues, propping one leg up over his knee, “you need to make her see you in another light. Right now, she’s got you classified under ‘Safe and Non-Threatening Friendship.’ You need to shake that up. Gently.”

Felix narrows his eyes. “How the fuck do we do that?”

Jeongin hums, tapping his chin. “First of all, do not make her uncomfortable. She’s not used to being wanted, so don’t just come at her full force. Ease her into it. Little things. Keep flirting, but push just a bit further every time. Compliment her more, but in a way that makes it clear you see her as attractive, not just cute. Physical affection? Step it up, but keep it natural.”

Chan nods, considering this. “Okay, that makes sense. What else?”

“Oh,” Jeongin grins, “also? She has arachnophobia.”

Felix perks up immediately. “That’s perfect. We can save her from spiders.”

Jeongin smirks. “That’ll score you some points, yeah. Now, one last thing.” He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You need to convince Coach to let the cheerleaders perform for the full duration of halftime at the next game against the Levanter Lobos.”

Chan furrows his brows. “Why?”

Jeongin’s smirk fades slightly. “Because they’re staging a protest.”

Felix and Chan exchange a glance and Jeongin sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You know that TA who only got a brief suspension after harassing female students?”

Chan’s expression hardens. “Yeah.”

Jeongin nods. “The cheer team were his biggest targets, and now that he’s back, they want to protest his return.”

Felix sits up straighter. “Even Y/N?”

Jeongin shrugs, looking away. “It’s her story to tell.” His voice is quieter now, more serious. “It took her a while to tell Seungmin and me. I’m not gonna spill her business.”

Chan clenches his jaw, hands tightening into fists. “Fucking hell.”

Felix exhales slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll get Coach to approve it.”

Jeongin nods, standing up and stretching. “Good. Now, I’ve got shit to do, and I’m already a couple hundred thousand won richer, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

Felix throws a pillow at him. “Fucking scammer.”

Jeongin catches it with a grin. “Pleasure doing business with you, losers.” And with that, he waltzes out, leaving Chan and Felix sitting there, more determined than ever.

The Alpha Phi kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the overhead stove fixture and the dull glow of Jisung’s laptop screen. It’s the middle of the night, and you and Jisung have long since abandoned any pretence of productivity. The initial plan had been noble, an all-nighter to power through your respective essays. Jisung, working on a criminal psychology paper about the correlation between childhood trauma and serial offenders, and you, tackling an extensive pharmacodynamics essay that had been looming over you for the past two weeks.

It had started well enough, with the both of you settled at the kitchen table, books and notes spread chaotically across the surface, the occasional scribble of a pen filling the silence. But the problem with you and Jisung studying together is that you both suffer from severe procrastination and catastrophic attention spans.

The moment one of you so much as breathed in a way that hinted at distraction, it was game over. So, naturally, about an hour ago, you’d both given up. Now, the essays are forgotten, the textbooks shoved aside in favour of something far more important, music, gossip, and Jisung’s secret stash of soju.

Jisung sits across from you at the table, clad in his signature late-night study attire, white Hello Kitty pyjama pants, a white tank top, and his ridiculous pink slippers. He had insisted on buying the matching pyjama pants for you, too, claiming it was non-negotiable. You’d relented, and now you sit mirroring him, your pink Hello Kitty pyjama trousers comfortable as you sip soju straight from the bottle, legs curled up on the chair. Your cropped white camisole barely does anything to keep you warm, but the alcohol buzz helps.

Jisung is mid-rant, voice animated as he leans across the table. “Okay, so, get this. You remember that one TA, you know the one, who was fucking around with that sophomore from the dance department?”

You blink at him, soju bottle pausing mid-air. “The guy who looks like he’s one bad decision away from committing wire fraud?”

Jisung cackles, smacking the table. “YES! Him! So, apparently, he got caught trying to cheat on his fiancée, who, by the way, is pregnant, but get this, he tried to do it with one of the professors. Like, a whole ass faculty member.”

Your jaw drops. “No fucking way.”

Jisung nods rapidly, eyes wide with glee. “Swear to God. And the best part? The professor rejected his ass so hard she went straight to the dean about it.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. “As she fucking should!”

He holds up a finger. “Wait, it gets better. The dean pulled up receipts from other students who had already complained about him for being a sleazy bastard, and now his fiancée, who, might I remind you, is carrying his unborn child, found out everything.”

You gasp again, slamming your palm against the table. “Tell me she left his ass.”

“Oh, immediately,” Jisung confirms with a manic grin. “Kicked him out of their apartment, trashed his shit, and she blasted his cheating ass all over social media.”

You let out a delighted shriek, shaking his arm. “I love women.”

Jisung laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Women are a fucking gift.”

You nod fervently, taking another swig of soju. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through you, making you sink further into your seat, relaxed and happy. This is your favourite part about late-night study sessions with Jisung. Sure, you never actually get anything done, but the chaos, the drama, the stupid giggles, it makes it worth it.

Jisung lets out a long yawn, stretching his arms over his head before pushing himself up from his chair. “I need a fucking caffeine boost if we’re gonna keep going.”

You frown as he makes his way to the fridge, opening it and rummaging through the shelves. “You do realize we haven’t actually studied for like an hour, right?”

He snorts. “Details, details.”

A moment later, he turns around, two energy drinks in hand. He tosses one to you, and you catch it easily, popping it open without hesitation. The moment the liquid touches your tongue, you let out an involuntary shudder and Jisung notices immediately, cackling. “Tastes like battery acid, doesn’t it?”

You cough. “This is gonna restart my fucking nervous system.”

Jisung takes a sip of his own and physically recoils. “Why does this taste like regret?”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “We are so gonna regret this in the morning.”

Jisung waves a dismissive hand. “Future us problem.”

You both clink your cans together in mock celebration.

Then, it happens. From the corner of your eye, something moves. It’s fast, dark, and scuttling across the kitchen floor with far too many legs. For a moment, your brain refuses to process what you just saw. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the soju. Maybe it’s the godforsaken energy drink rewiring your neurons. But then Jisung sees it too and all hell breaks loose.

“SPIDER!”

You and Jisung fucking shriek in perfect harmony, launching yourselves onto the kitchen island so violently that your slippers are left abandoned on the floor. The bottle of soju tips over, spilling across the table, but neither of you care. Your priorities have dramatically shifted.

Jisung clings to you like his life depends on it, arms locked around your waist in a death grip as you both balance precariously on the counter, legs curled up as if that alone will protect you from the eight-legged demon lurking below.

“Oh my fucking god,” you wheeze, voice barely coherent. “Jisung, do something!”

“ME?!” he screeches, clinging to you tighter. “BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK AM I GONNA DO?!”

You shake his shoulders violently. “FUCKING KILL IT!”

Jisung glares at you, scandalized. “YOU FUCKING DO IT, YOU’RE A SCIENCE MAJOR!”

You let out a strangled noise. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?!”

Jisung waves his arms wildly. “FUCKING ANATOMY OR SOME SHIT! DISSECT IT! SCIENCE IT TO DEATH!”

You whimper, gripping his tank top like a lifeline. “Jisung, it’s so big.”

Jisung’s entire body trembles. “I know.”

The spider remains where it is, unmoving, as if it knows it holds all the power in this situation. You and Jisung, still clinging to each other for dear fucking life, remain standing on the counter. Screaming.

The gaming room is bathed in the glow of LED lights, the screen flashing the victorious finish line of Mario Kart as Felix groans into Chan’s mouth, thoroughly defeated. He had been determined to win at least one round against Chan, but his boyfriend is a fucking menace with the controller, and every single time Felix had gotten close to victory, Chan had thrown a well-timed shell or expertly drifted around him, smirking like an asshole the entire time.

Now, Felix is venting his frustrations in the only way he knows how, straddling Chan’s lap on the couch, gripping his jaw, and kissing him hard enough to make up for every single loss. Chan doesn’t seem to mind, hands firm on Felix’s waist, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles over the warm skin beneath his hoodie. Their breathing is heavy, lips brushing lazily against each other as Felix grumbles between kisses.

“I fucking hate you,” Felix murmurs, sucking Chan’s bottom lip into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth, just to be a little mean.

Chan hums in amusement, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his fingers digging into Felix’s waist with just enough pressure to make him feel it. “Yeah? What else is new?”

Felix rolls his hips down, making Chan inhale sharply through his nose. “Fucking cheated,” Felix mutters.

Chan chuckles against his lips. “Not my fault you’re shit at Mario Kart.”

Felix pulls back just enough to narrow his eyes at him, prepared to argue, but before he can get a single word out, an ear-piercing scream echoes from somewhere in the house. Both of them immediately freeze. Another scream follows, two voices this time, high-pitched and frantic. Felix and Chan exchange a glance.

Jisung. And you.

Chan barely has time to mutter, “What the fuck-” before Felix is already up, yanking him off the couch, both of them racing towards the kitchen, their previous activities completely forgotten.

The scene they walk in on is utter fucking chaos. You and Jisung are on the kitchen island, clinging to each other for dear fucking life. Your eyes are wide, faces tight with sheer terror, limbs wrapped so tightly around each other that it’s hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. The spilt soju bottle drips onto the floor, forgotten, while the cause of your absolute distress lurks menacingly near the fridge.

A spider. And not just any spider, a big fucking spider. Felix stops short, eyes flicking between the scene in front of him, then to Chan, then back to you two, who are still making absolutely no effort to get down from your self-made safety island.

Chan takes a slow step forward, hands raised cautiously. “You guys okay-”

Before he can finish, you make a split-second decision, driven purely by instinct. You launch yourself off the counter and straight into Chan’s arms. Chan barely has time to react before he catches you, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as you cling to him like a lifeline, your legs wrapping around his torso like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Chan stands there for a second, eyes wide, before looking down at you, pressed completely against him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, breath shaky against his neck. “Don’t put me down,” you whisper.

Chan lets out a slow breath. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

Jisung, meanwhile, is still stranded, now pointing accusingly at the spider. “Kill it,” he commands.

Felix blinks, then sighs, grabbing the nearest rolled-up magazine from the counter. With zero hesitation, he steps forward and mercilessly swats the spider, its body crumpling instantly beneath the impact. The kitchen falls silent as Felix turns back around, tossing the magazine into the trash like he just finished a job well done.

Jisung, still visibly shaking, lets out a breath. “I want you to know that you just saved two lives today.”

Felix smirks. “What, you think I’d let you two fucking die over a spider?”

You groan, still curled into Chan’s hold. “It was so big, Felix.”

Chan sighs, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “Yeah, yeah, we know, angel.”

Felix eyes Jisung with mild amusement. “You planning on getting down anytime soon?”

Jisung scoffs. “Absolutely fucking not. I need time.”

Felix holds out a hand. “Come on, dumbass.”

Jisung hesitates for a long moment, eyes still darting around the kitchen like more spiders are lurking in the shadows. Finally, with great reluctance, he reaches out and lets Felix help him down. His legs wobble the moment he touches the floor, and Felix has to grip his arm to keep him steady.

Jisung exhales, rubbing his face. “I fucking hate this house.”

Chan chuckles, but before he can respond, Jisung suddenly tenses. His eyes go wide again. “THERE’S ANOTHER ONE!” he shrieks, scrambling back onto the counter so fast that he nearly topples over.

You let out an actual whimper, tightening your grip around Chan’s neck like you’re trying to merge with him as Felix groans. “Fucking hell.”

Without another word, he strides across the kitchen, snatching the magazine back out of the trash as Jisung flails. “BURN THE HOUSE DOWN.”

Felix ignores him, eyes scanning the area. “WHERE IS IT?” he demands.

Jisung points furiously toward the corner near the pantry. “THERE. LURKING.”

Felix moves, quick and efficient, and then SMACK. Another one down and Jisung lets out a breath of relief but still refuses to move. “Do a sweep.”

Felix whips around, scowling. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes.”

Felix sighs so hard, but pulls out his phone, turning on the flashlight, and starts fucking inspecting the entire kitchen.

You, meanwhile, do not move from Chan’s arms. Chan doesn’t seem to mind. His hold on you is steady, his body warm against yours. His hand rubs soothing circles into your back, the soft, repetitive motion helping ease the residual panic still buzzing beneath your skin.

As Felix methodically searches every inch of the kitchen, his phone’s flashlight flickering over cabinets and countertops like he’s a highly trained investigator rather than a half-dressed frat boy at two in the morning, Chan lets his gaze drift toward the kitchen window. His arms are still securely wrapped around you, your body warm and pressed tightly against his, and he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. You’re still slightly trembling from the spider-induced terror, and honestly, Chan’s kind of enjoying the way you’re clinging to him. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. But then, movement catches his eye.

Outside, in the dimly lit backyard, Jeongin is crouched just beneath the kitchen window, peeking in like a goddamn goblin. The moment their eyes meet, Jeongin grins like the absolute menace he is and lifts his hand in an exaggerated thumbs-up. Chan furrows his brows, confused for a moment until it clicks. Jeongin. The little shit. He planted the fucking spiders.

Chan’s grip tightens instinctively around you as the realization hits him like a fucking truck. He doesn’t know how Jeongin managed it, but it’s so painfully obvious now. The conveniently placed, terrifyingly large spiders? The fact that both you and Jisung freaked out just enough to need rescuing? When Chan and Felix were the only ones downstairs?

That devious little bastard planned this.

Chan narrows his eyes in silent warning, but Jeongin only grins wider. Then, still maintaining eye contact, Jeongin forms a V-shape with his fingers, then promptly darts his tongue between them, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Chan almost fucking drops you. His first instinct is to throw something, but his hands are full with you, and he definitely doesn’t want you turning around and seeing Jeongin acting like a feral cryptid in the backyard. So instead, he tightens his grip around your waist, subtly shifting you so that your face remains buried in his shoulder, keeping you blissfully unaware.

Then, he mouths a very clear, very deliberate, “You’re fucking dead.”

Jeongin does not take the threat seriously. If anything, it just makes him worse. He grins even wider, then lifts one hand and makes a circle with his fingers while the other hand repeatedly jabs a finger through the centre, his shit-eating grin widening as he nods enthusiastically.

Chan’s eye twitches and Jeongin then fucking levels up. He cups his own hand like he’s holding a nonexistent dick and fake jerks it off, his tongue darting out obscenely at the same time. Chan visibly recoils, horrified but Jeongin just keeps going. Now, he’s forming two circles with his fingers, mimicking breasts while thrusting his hips wildly, looking like a deranged demon outside the fucking window.

Chan is this close to having a goddamn aneurysm.

Felix, who is still inspecting the kitchen but has now noticed Chan’s sudden stiffness, frowns slightly. “What’s wrong with you?” he murmurs, shining his flashlight toward him.

Chan desperately tries to get Felix’s attention without you or Jisung noticing. His eyes dart meaningfully toward the window, and Felix follows his gaze, only to immediately snort when he sees Jeongin outside. Jeongin, who is now making exaggerated moaning faces while fake-thrusting into thin fucking air. Felix wheezes, nearly dropping his phone. “Oh my fucking God.”

Chan shoots his boyfriend a panicked glare, subtly jostling you against his chest to keep your attention away. Felix, however, is having the time of his fucking life. He watches as Jeongin ups the insanity, now pretending to spank himself while mimicking exaggerated slapping noises with his mouth.

Chan’s expression is pure, undiluted murder and Felix, choking back laughter, lifts his hand and silently salutes Jeongin through the window, acknowledging his true villain status. Chan tightens his grip on you again, his fingers pressing into your back in an attempt to ground himself. He knows the moment he lets go, he’s fucking launching himself out there and killing Jeongin with his bare hands.

Jeongin, still entirely unbothered by the absolute wrath in Chan’s eyes, winks, blows a lewd, exaggerated kiss, then sprints off into the darkness like the chaotic little goblin he is.

Felix, still quietly losing his fucking mind, finally nudges Chan with his elbow. “You have to admit,” he whispers, barely containing his laughter, “that was some next-level shit.”

Chan glares. “I’m going to fucking end him.”

Felix grins. “Not before I thank him.”

Chan groans, resisting the urge to just drop to the floor in exhaustion.

And the worst part? You and Jisung remain completely oblivious to all of it, still wrapped up in your arachnid-induced trauma.

The neon lights of Side Effects pulse in time with the deep bass of the music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, expensive perfume, and just a hint of cigarette smoke from the back patio. The bar is packed, filled with students and young professionals alike, all looking for a night of reckless abandon. You stride in confidently, flanked by Seungmin, Minho, and Jeongin, the four of you cutting through the crowd like you own the place.

With your black faux leather blazer draped effortlessly over your shoulders, your fitted burgundy crop top hugging your frame perfectly, and your black leather mini-skirt barely skimming mid-thigh, you look like you belong in the VIP section of some exclusive underground club. Your chunky platform ankle boots add just enough height to make you feel powerful, and your dangling star earrings glint in the flashing lights as you toss your hair over your shoulder. Your black patent leather handbag swings lightly against your hip, the perfect finishing touch to your outfit.

And for once, for once, Seungmin doesn’t look like a grumpy lawyer in training. Through a combination of your relentless pleading, Jeongin’s shameless bribing, and one single, perfectly arched eyebrow from Minho, you’d finally convinced Seungmin to dress like he actually wants to get laid.

He’s wearing a deep emerald satin button-up, only half-buttoned, tucked into fitted black trousers that hug his legs just right, paired with sleek black boots that add just enough edge to make him look dangerous in all the right ways. His orange hair is styled slightly messier than usual, the strands falling into his eyes in a way that looks almost unintentional, but it’s not.

“You know,” Jeongin muses as he takes in the sight of Seungmin’s outfit, “I hate to say this, but you actually look kind of fuckable.”

Seungmin side-eyes him, unimpressed. “And yet, I still choose not to be.”

You snort, linking your arm through Minho’s as the four of you head toward the bar. “You say that now, but just wait. By the end of the night, someone is gonna be all over you.”

Seungmin scoffs. “If that someone is you or Jeongin, I’m calling campus security.”

Jeongin dramatically clutches his chest. “We would never hit on you, Seungmin. We have taste.”

“Mm-hmm.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitches just slightly, betraying his amusement.

As you weave through the crowd, your eyes catch on the large booth near the back of the bar, where the rest of your friends are already settled. The sight of them makes you grin.

Chan is perched at the head of the booth, looking obscenely good in his fitted white cropped tank top, oversized black cargo pants, and those chunky black boots that make him look like he could stomp on you and you’d thank him for it. His red and black leather jacket hangs off his shoulders just right, and his statement necklace catches the light as he tilts his head slightly, talking to Changbin. His multiple earrings gleam in the dim lighting, and you swear he just radiates effortless confidence.

And then there’s Felix, curled up right in Chan’s lap, looking like absolute sin in his sleeveless black leather vest, the sheer shimmering long-sleeve mesh shirt underneath adding just the right amount of tease. His low-rise distressed denim jeans hug his hips obscenely, and his fingers, adorned with chunky silver rings, drum lightly against Chan’s shoulder as he speaks animatedly to Jisung. His platform boots add just enough height to make him look dangerously pretty, and you barely resist the urge to sigh at how unfairly attractive both of them are.

Minho nudges your side, smirking. “You’re staring.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. “They’re pretty.”

Minho snorts. “They know they’re pretty.”

You hum in agreement before pulling him toward the bar. “Come on. Drinks first.”

The moment you reach the counter, the bartender gives you a knowing nod. You and Jisung are regulars, after all. You lean against the bar, drumming your fingers against the polished wood. “An Anxiety for me.”

Minho slides onto the stool next to you, resting his elbow against the bar. “Mania.”

The bartender quirks an amused brow but doesn’t comment, moving to mix your drinks and a presence sidles up next to you, and you glance over to see a guy, tall, decent-looking, clearly confident, leaning against the bar with a smirk that screams bad intentions.

“Hey,” he drawls, eyes sweeping over you, lingering on your bare midriff. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

You tilt your head, smiling politely. “Oh, I come here all the time.”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, but he recovers quickly. “Yeah? Funny I haven’t noticed you.”

You hum, sipping your drink. “Probably ‘cause I usually come with my friend.”

The guy chuckles, leaning in slightly. “Well, maybe now you’ve got another reason to come.”

Minho watches, amused, as you completely miss the blatant flirting. You just smile, oblivious, sipping your drink as if this is just a pleasant conversation with a stranger. The guy seems to take your silence as encouragement, because he lifts a hand, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Before his fingers can so much as graze your skin, Minho’s hand snaps up, smacking the guy’s hand away with a sharp slap. The sound is loud enough to cut through the music, and the guy jerks his hand back, startled.

Minho levels him with a single, unimpressed brow raise. “Don’t.”

The guy hesitates for a second, looking between you and Minho, clearly debating whether to push his luck. But then Minho tilts his head slightly, gaze turning just a fraction sharper, and the guy immediately backs the fuck down.

Without another word, he mutters something under his breath and walks away and you blink after him, confused. “What just happened?”

Minho takes a sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “He was hitting on you, cupcake.”

You pause, processing this, before frowning. “Really?”

Minho side-eyes you, lips curling slightly. “You’re so fucking oblivious.”

As you and Minho weave through the crowd back toward the booth, you frown, still stuck on what just happened at the bar. You take a sip of your Anxiety cocktail, the sharp tang of citrus and vodka lingering on your tongue, before turning to Minho with an inquisitive look.

"How do you even know that guy was hitting on me?" you ask, genuinely confused. "And second, why would he?"

Minho halts mid-step, exhaling through his nose like he’s just heard the dumbest thing in existence. His grip tightens around your wrist, and before you can react, he turns to face you fully and pinches your cheek hard.

You let out a whiny yelp, swatting at his hand. "Ow! Bitch!"

Minho sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "Cupcake, my poor, sweet, tragically unaware cupcake," he says, voice dripping with pity. "How do I even begin to explain this to you?"

You glare at him, rubbing your cheek. "You could start by not assaulting my face, dickhead."

"That was tough love," Minho deadpans before his expression softens just slightly. He exhales, tilting his head as he studies you, his eyes unreadable under the dim bar lights. "You’re hot, idiot. That’s why."

You blink, momentarily stunned. "Excuse me?"

Minho rolls his eyes, groaning. "See? This is what I’m talking about. You walk around every day acting like you’re just some random background character when, in reality, you’re the kind of girl people fucking notice, whether you realize it or not."

You open your mouth to argue, but Minho doesn’t let you.

"You have zero fucking clue what you look like to other people," he continues, voice firm but lacking its usual bite. "You walk into a room, and people see you, cupcake. You’re all big smiles and pretty fucking eyes and this insanely annoying energy that somehow works for you. You’re the kind of person who’s too fucking bright to be ignored. And guys? Guys notice that shit."

You shift on your feet, suddenly flustered. "Minho-"

"No, shut up, I’m talking," he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. "You can’t fucking see it, but everyone else does. And it pisses me off that you don’t give yourself the credit you fucking deserve."

You chew on your bottom lip, uncertain. "I just don’t-"

Minho flicks your forehead and you yelp, pressing your hand to your forehead. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

"Shut up and listen." Minho leans in, expression serious. "You don’t think people want you. But they do. You just don’t notice it because your brain is too busy convincing you otherwise. That guy at the bar? He wanted you. That’s why he was trying to touch you. And if I hadn’t been there, you would’ve let him, because you’re too fucking nice to assume the worst in people."

You let out a frustrated sigh. "You assume the worst in people."

"Because I’m right," Minho says flatly. "And I swear to God, cupcake, if you ever let some random motherfucker touch you again just because you think it’s ‘harmless,’ I will actually commit a felony."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "What felony?"

"I don’t know yet," he says thoughtfully. "Manslaughter, probably."

You shake your head, exasperated. "You’re fucking insane."

"And you’re fucking blind." Minho pinches your cheek again before slinging an arm over your shoulder, steering you toward the booth. "Now, let’s go before I get pissed off for real."

Still flustered from Minho’s impromptu mean but weirdly touching pep talk, you let him lead you without protest. As you approach the booth, your eyes instinctively flick to Chan and Felix, where Felix is very much still in Chan’s lap, comfortably curled against him like he belongs there. Chan’s arm is draped over Felix’s waist, fingers tracing absentminded circles over his exposed side where his mesh shirt rides up.

Felix notices you first, eyes lighting up as he spots you. "There she is!" he exclaims, grin wide as he pats the empty seat next to Chan. "Come here, angel."

You don’t hesitate, sliding into the booth beside Chan. The leather seat is warm, and Chan, still radiating heat from the alcohol in his system, presses comfortably close to your side. Felix, still nestled in Chan’s lap, leans toward you with a teasing smile, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Took you long enough."

Minho, instead of sitting on the other side of the booth, slides in right next to you, effectively sandwiching you between himself and Chan.

You blink in surprise. "Uh."

Chan smirks. "Comfy?"

Felix chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. "Damn, you’re in the safest spot in the whole bar right now. No one’s getting near you without explicit permission."

You let out a snort, sinking further into the seat. "Yeah, I fucking gathered that."

Minho leans back, expression smug as he casually throws an arm over the back of the booth. "What? Don’t like feeling protected, cupcake?"

You huff, crossing your arms. "I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself."

Chan, still silent, hums softly beside you, his fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against his thigh. Then, in a single, smooth motion, he leans in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "We know you can, angel. But it’s still fun to do it anyway."

Your breath catches and Felix watches with interest, eyes glinting as he nudges your thigh with his knee. "You do make it easy to look after you."

You blink at both of them, thoroughly confused but too flustered to argue and Minho watches the exchange with mild amusement before sighing dramatically. "Jesus fucking Christ, she really doesn’t get it."

Felix cackles. "Nope."

Chan just smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Not yet."

The night has spiralled into beautiful chaos. Two hours, countless drinks, and an obscene amount of bad decisions later, you find yourself slumped between Chan and Minho in the booth, your entire body boneless from alcohol and laughter. Felix, still perched in Chan’s lap like he was made to be there, is giggling into Chan’s neck, shoulders shaking as he wheezes with amusement.

On the dance floor, Hyunjin is grinding on Jisung, his hands on Jisung’s waist, moving obnoxiously to the beat of the music. Jisung, never one to be outdone, has his hands above his head, rolling his hips in exaggerated thrusts, his face dead serious as if this is the most important performance of his life.

Minho, ever composed, takes a slow sip of his drink, his other hand lazily playing with the hem of your top as you remain draped over him. “If I had a fucking won for every time I had to witness Jisung’s crimes against humanity, I’d have fully paid off my student loans.”

Chan chuckles, but his gaze flickers back to the dance floor, watching as Jisung gyrates with deep commitment. “You jealous, Min?” he teases.

You grin, resting your chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Don’t be jealous, Min, Jisung would never fuck Hyunjin.”

Minho hums, unconcerned. “That’s ‘cause Jisung thinks I’m as straight as a ruler.”

Chan snorts. “Well, yeah.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly, allowing you to sink even further into him. “Me? Straight? That’d be cruel of me. I’m for the he's, she’s, theys, and everyone else.”

Felix fucking screeches, throwing his head back against Chan’s shoulder as he cackles and you lose it, burying your face into Minho’s neck as your body shakes with uncontrollable laughter.

Across the table, Jeongin is draped over Seungmin, his entire body limp as he lets himself be cradled like a fucking rag doll. The sight alone is alarming, Jeongin isn’t exactly touchy, and Seungmin? Well, Seungmin is Seungmin.

Which means the fact that Seungmin is openly cuddling Jeongin is a surefire sign that they are both drunk as hell.

Chan eyes them warily. “That’s how you know they’re fucking gone.”

You nod solemnly, squinting as you watch Seungmin idly rub Jeongin’s back, the latter murmuring something incoherent against his shoulder. “I never thought I’d see the day,” you mumble.

Minho exhales. “We need to document this.”

Felix fumbles for his phone, still giggling. “Hold the fuck on.”

As Felix snaps a quick picture, Minho’s fingers reach for your hair, gathering the loose strands and twisting them up into a messy but secure bun. You let out a soft sigh as his hands work through your hair, gentle despite the usual roughness in his demeanour.

“Why’re you doing that?” you murmur, voice drowsy from the warmth of the alcohol and the constant contact.

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “So you don’t fucking get puke in it if you’re sick later.”

Meanwhile, Changbin, ever the responsible chaos enabler, waves down a server and orders another round for the group.

Chan groans, but he doesn’t argue as Felix cheers.

You just giggle into Minho’s shoulder, and he groans. “You’re so fucking wasted,” he mutters, exasperated.

You grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I love you, Min.”

Minho sighs, long-suffering. “I know.”

The first thing you register upon waking up is the absolute fucking warzone that is your brain. Your skull is pounding, your mouth feels like you swallowed an entire desert, and your stomach is not okay in the slightest. The second thing you register is that you are not in your own bed.

You crack open one bleary eye, blinking against the soft glow of morning light filtering in through the curtains. The walls around you are familiar, decorated with framed photos of cats, a collection of books stacked precariously on a small shelf, and a plushie that you distinctly remember gifting to Minho last Christmas still tucked into the corner of the bed. You’re in Minho’s room which means you got absolutely trashed last night.

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. You don’t even remember getting home, let alone changing clothes but judging by the fact that you are now in a pair of Minho’s loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt that definitely smells like him, you know exactly what happened. Minho took care of you. Again.

Still groaning, you push yourself up into a sitting position, your movements slow and painful, your head throbbing in protest. You barely manage to glance down before a voice pipes up from the floor.

"Aigoo," Minho coos, his voice still thick with sleep, his face half-buried in his pillow as he cracks one eye open to peer at you. "My cute little hungover monster."

You glare at him weakly, but there’s no energy behind it. "Shut the fuck up."

Minho just smirks lazily, snuggling deeper into his air mattress, his blanket pulled up to his chin. "Suffer," he mumbles before closing his eyes again, clearly not planning to move anytime soon.

With great effort, you peel yourself out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet as you stumble toward the door, your limbs weak and uncoordinated. Your stomach churns violently as you make your way out into the hallway, one hand bracing against the wall as you try to keep yourself upright. You make your way painfully downstairs, each step a personal attack on your already fragile state. By the time you reach the kitchen, you’re questioning every single life choice that led to this moment.

Seungmin is already there. Slumped over at the kitchen table, his hoodie pulled up over his head, his face half-buried in his arms. He looks about as dead as you feel. The only thing keeping him upright is the large mug of coffee clutched in his hands, steam curling up into the air.

He doesn’t even look at you as he reaches for another mug, sliding it across the table toward you. Your Bubbles mug.

"You’re a goddamn angel."

Seungmin lets out something that sounds like a half-hearted grunt. "Don’t talk to me."

You take a careful sip of your coffee, the warmth instantly soothing the wreckage that is your soul. You exhale, closing your eyes for a moment as you let the caffeine begin to work its magic. After a long moment, you finally open your mouth. "I remember nothing."

Seungmin lifts his head just enough to give you a tired, unimpressed look. "Me neither."

You stare at him. "We were so fucked up last night."

Seungmin sighs, taking another slow sip of his coffee before setting it down with a heavy thud. "And if we can’t remember, it’s a sign we shouldn’t find out."

You nod solemnly, clutching your mug like it’s a lifeline. "You’re so right."

Jeongin stumbles into the kitchen like a zombie, his black hair a disaster, eyes still half-closed as he drags his feet across the floor. He looks exactly how you and Seungmin feel, like absolute shit. He grumbles something unintelligible as he approaches the table, rubbing at his face before slumping into the chair next to you with an agonized sigh.

Seungmin, who still has the bare minimum of functional brain power left, wordlessly slides Jeongin’s Blossom mug across the table toward him.

Jeongin grips it like it holds the meaning of life itself, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, careful sip. He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a sigh, then finally cracks open one bloodshot eye to glance at the two of you. "You two remember anything?"

Seungmin exhales, shaking his head. "Nope."

You raise a single finger, barely lifting your head from where it’s collapsed onto your crossed arms. "Both blank," you mumble.

Jeongin sighs, shaking his head as if he expected this answer. "Three best friends with no memories," he mutters, lifting his mug into the air.

You and Seungmin lift yours as well, the three of you clinking them together like the brain-dead morons you are, letting the warm ceramic press together in an unspoken toast to reckless stupidity.

None of you notice Felix standing in the doorway. He stops, hovering just outside the kitchen, expression faltering as he hears you say you don’t remember anything. His lips part slightly, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as something sad flickers in his dark eyes.

Inside the kitchen, you groan, resting your forehead against your arms again, fully giving in to the sheer fucking exhaustion in your bones. Seungmin, always the most practical one out of the three of you, reaches over and rubs a slow, soothing hand against your back.

You let out a soft, pitiful noise in response and Jeongin watches, then groans loudly, dropping his forehead onto the table in solidarity.

Seungmin stares between the two of you, unimpressed. "Are you two communicating?"

Jeongin, without lifting his head, makes another low, miserable noise and you groan again in response. Seungmin sighs. "Jesus Christ."

Jeongin finally peeks up, blinking at Seungmin blearily. "It’s our new language. Hangovernese"

You nod into your arms. "Fluent."

Seungmin mutters something about wishing he had better friends but doesn’t stop rubbing your back, his fingers kneading into your muscles just enough to help with the pounding ache in your head. Then, another presence stumbles in.

Jisung enters the kitchen looking like he’s been dragged through hell itself, his tank top askew, his hair a fucking disaster, his Hello Kitty pyjama pants inside out for some reason. He does not acknowledge anyone. He does not speak. He moves like a man on a mission, straight toward the coffee machine.

The entire room watches in silence as Jisung yanks open the cabinet, retrieves his Howl’s Moving Castle mug, then aggressively bangs several buttons on the coffee machine, waiting for it to finally start brewing. When it does, he sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping against the counter, fully relying on it to keep him upright.

Then finally he turns, looks directly at the three of you and groans. Immediately Jeongin groans back and you, despite the pounding in your skull, let out another weak, suffering noise in agreement. Jisung nods, then takes his seat next to Jeongin as Seungmin throws his hands up in the air.

"I fucking hate all of you."

Felix trudges back upstairs, his stomach sinking with every step. His head still pounds from the lingering remnants of his hangover, but the ache in his chest is worse. He doesn’t even realize he’s made it to his room until he’s pushing the door open, stepping into the dimly lit space where Chan is sprawled out on the bed, clad only in his boxers, his toned arms stretched lazily above his head.

Chan barely cracks one eye open when Felix enters, shifting slightly against the pillows. "Did you not grab the coffee?" His voice is still hoarse, thick with sleep and the remnants of last night’s alcohol.

Felix doesn’t answer right away, just stands in the doorway, staring at the floor, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard he might actually draw blood and Chan frowns, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Lix?"

Felix finally lifts his gaze, and Chan immediately knows something is wrong. "She doesn’t remember."

The words come out flat, empty, like Felix doesn’t even want to say them out loud, like saying them makes it real. And Chan hates that he understands exactly what Felix means immediately, hates the way his stomach drops as the memories of last night flood back.

The music, the alcohol, the heat of it all. You, pressed between them, your body warm, your laughter breathless as you let them pull you in. The way you moved, letting yourself get lost in them, letting yourself fall into them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chan remembers the way you kissed, soft at first, hesitant in that way that made his head spin, then growing bolder, like you wanted more, like you wanted everything. He remembers how you’d turn, alternating between kissing him and then Felix, your arms wrapped around both of them, your hands gripping onto their shirts, their shoulders, anything you could reach.

He remembers Felix’s hands on your waist, guiding you as you danced between them, his lips trailing lazy kisses down the side of your neck before reaching Chan’s mouth again, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm, losing themselves in the feeling of you.

He remembers all of it.

"Shit," Chan mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Felix lets out a sharp breath before he moves, crossing the room in a few quick steps before climbing into bed next to Chan, curling into his side instinctively. Chan immediately wraps an arm around him, fingers slipping beneath the hem of Felix’s shirt, rubbing slow, absentminded circles into the bare skin of his back.

Felix exhales slowly, letting his forehead press against Chan’s shoulder. "She doesn’t remember," he repeats, softer this time, voice carrying something achingly close to disappointment. "Like it didn’t even happen."

Chan doesn’t answer right away, just tightens his grip around Felix, his fingers still tracing slow patterns against his skin, grounding both of them. Because fuck. What now?

The air at Miroh College’s football field is thick with tension. It’s halftime at the biggest game of the season, Miroh Maniacs versus Levanter Lobos. The crowd is electric, the bleachers packed with students and faculty alike, their voices carrying over the field in waves of cheers, jeers, and murmurs of anticipation for the second half. The players are huddled along the sidelines, sweat dripping down their temples as they gulp down water and electrolyte drinks, their jerseys sticking to their skin beneath their protective padding.

But the excitement that usually comes with halftime is different tonight. It’s heavy, tinged with something sharper. Something that settles in the air, creeping into every inhale. Because tonight? Tonight is not just about football. Tonight is a statement.

You stand in formation with the rest of the cheerleading squad, positioned at the centre of the field, facing the bleachers. The usual red and black cheer uniforms have been discarded. Tonight, every single cheerleader is clad in white. A white crop top with long sleeves, the fabric tight against your skin. A white pleated skirt so tiny that it barely reaches mid-thigh, swishing with every movement. White Converse laced up your calves. Your hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, tied off with a matching white ribbon.

Covering every inch of every single uniform are red handprints. They are smeared across your torsos, over your arms, staining the fabric like bloodied evidence. Some are haphazard, some deliberate. Each one a symbol, a mark left behind, a story untold, a voice unheard.

The field, once filled with the usual halftime chatter, falls silent. The crowd, students, faculty, alumni, watches as the entire cheerleading squad stands shoulder to shoulder, fists raised high in the air.

You stare straight ahead, your breathing steady, your fingers curled tightly as your arm remains locked in place above your head. The adrenaline from the first half of the game still hums in your veins, but it’s overpowered by the burning weight of what you’re standing for.

Across the field, on the sidelines, the football team moves as one. Chan, Felix, Minho, Hyunjin, Jisung, Jeongin, Seungmin, Changbin, and every single one of their teammates raise their fists in the air. A show of unity. Of solidarity. The entire team stands, unmoving, their fists clenched tight, their eyes locked ahead.

Low, mocking laughter, carrying across the field like an ugly stain and you barely have time to register the sound before hands are suddenly grabbing at you. A startled gasp rips from your throat as you feel fingers close around your waist, another set gripping at your arm.

Around you, the other cheerleaders yelp as players from the Levanter Lobos sneak up behind you and the rest of the squad, yanking at skirts, pulling at tops, their laughter growing louder with every struggle. “Oh, come on,” one of them taunts, a smirk curling on his lips as he tugs at Ryujin’s wrist when she tries to shove him off. “It’s just a joke.”

“Yeah,” another one laughs, stepping up behind Lia, his fingers gripping at the hem of her skirt. “You guys wanna make a statement? Let us help you make one.”

Your stomach churns with disgust, your entire body going rigid as a pair of rough hands slide around your waist from behind, one palm pressing firmly against your stomach, the other creeping upward. You freeze for a split second before instinct kicks in, and you thrash against his grip, but he’s strong, keeping you locked against him with ease. “Where you goin’?” he sneers against your ear. “Thought this little protest was for attention, well you’ve got it”

Your pulse spikes, heart hammering against your ribs as you try to pry his hands off, but he’s solid, unmoving, his grip tightening around you. Every fibre of your being is screaming to fight, to get the fuck out of his hold, but he’s laughing now, like this is all just some funny fucking joke. You hate the way your stomach turns, the way your throat tightens as panic starts to crawl its way up.

Then there's a roar of voices from the sidelines, a battle cry of righteous fury. The sound of feet colliding against the field and then the Miroh Maniacs are on the field. Chan. Felix. Minho. Jisung. Hyunjin. Jeongin. Seungmin. Changbin. And every single player in red and black, running, charging, colliding with the Levanter Lobos players who dared to lay their hands on the cheer squad.

It happens so fast. A player from Miroh slams into the guy gripping Ryujin, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Another tackles the one who had been yanking on Lia’s skirt, sending both of them crashing into the dirt.

It’s an all-out fucking brawl. Bodies crash together, fists swing, jerseys rip, grunts and yells echoing across the field as punches land with sickening accuracy. Players tackle each other to the ground, limbs tangling as they struggle to overpower their opponents.

Somewhere in the chaos, you shove the guy holding you as hard as you can, your heart racing as you stumble backwards, but before you can take another step, he and his friend grab you again. A gasp catches in your throat as fingers dig into your arm, another hand gripping at your waist, trying to restrain you.

“You little bitch-”

And then, they’re gone, ripped away from you in an instant. Felix, his usually soft features twisted into pure rage, tearing the guy off of you, his fist connecting with his jaw with a force that makes the fucker stumble back. Chan, his jaw clenched, his muscles tensed, yanking the second guy back by the collar before slamming a fist into his gut, making him double over in pain.

Minho dances through the fight like he was born for this, dodging a wild swing from a Levanter player before delivering a brutal counter, his movements quick, calculated, dangerous. His opponent barely has time to react before Minho’s foot connects with his ribs, sending him crashing onto the ground.

Jisung is feral, throwing a well-placed punch that sends his opponent stumbling before following up with a knee to the stomach. Hyunjin moves like lightning, sidestepping an incoming hit before swinging his leg out in a brutal kick that takes his opponent’s legs out from under him.

Jeongin moves with a precision that’s deadly, swift, knocking his opponent to the ground with a calculated strike. Seungmin’s expression is cold, focused, as he slams a fist into the side of another player’s face, uncaring as he stumbles back, dazed. Changbin is an absolute tank, practically lifting one of the Levanter players before slamming him into the ground with a force that you're pretty sure makes the entire field shake.

Cheerleaders scramble back, their eyes wide, some of them clutching at each other as the fight rages on. You can feel Yeji wrap her arms around you, pulling you close, her body shaking as she watches the chaos unfold. Your own hands tremble as your mind races to process what just happened, what’s still happening.

The sound of whistles pierces through the night as the coaches and campus security flood the field, yelling for everyone to stand down. But not a single Maniac player stops until the Levanter Lobos players are down. Not until the damage is done.

The kitchen is eerily quiet, the dim overhead light casting a warm glow over the room, but the atmosphere is anything but comforting. You sit across from Seungmin at the kitchen table.

Your hands work carefully, methodically, as you clean the dried blood from Seungmin’s knuckles, dabbing at the split skin with a disinfectant-soaked cotton pad. He doesn’t flinch, barely even registers the sting, his anger is too potent, simmering beneath his skin like a slow-burning fire.

"I’m fine, Min," you murmur, voice soft as you move to clean the cut on his eyebrow. He’s still in his football uniform, dirt and sweat clinging to his skin, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle twitch.

Seungmin exhales sharply through his nose. "It’s not fucking fine."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Min-"

He jerks his face away from your hand, eyes locking onto yours, burning. "No, don’t fucking ‘Min’ me. This is not fine. You getting grabbed like that, like you’re some fucking thing to be touched whenever some asshole feels like it? Not fine."

Your throat tightens, but you keep your expression neutral, keep your hands moving as you press another clean cotton pad against his brow. "Are you okay?" you ask, voice quieter now.

Seungmin lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. "No, actually, I’m fucking not."

You sigh again, more resigned this time. "Min, it’s life. I learned to deal with it a long time ago."

"You shouldn’t have to just deal with it."

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the fury in Seungmin's voice.

"Just like you shouldn’t have had to deal with that piece of shit TA," Seungmin continues, voice sharp, practically vibrating with rage. "And you shouldn’t have to deal with all the other bullshit you go through just because you have fucking tits. And what’s worse? You’re fucking taught that it’s just life. But it’s not life. It’s bullshit."

"We all want to change the world, Min," you murmur, dipping the cotton pad back into the bowl of disinfectant. "But it won’t happen anytime soon."

"That’s not fucking good enough."

You swallow. "I know all the tricks, you know?" Your voice is softer now, tired. "Shouting fire instead of help, carrying deodorant because pepper spray is illegal. Knowing which shoes to wear in case I have to run. Walking with my keys between my fingers." You place the cotton pad down, exhaling slowly before meeting his eyes again. "This isn’t a burden you can carry for me, Min."

"I can try."

Your chest aches. "And I love you for that."

His breath shudders as he exhales, and then suddenly, he’s pulling you into a hug, his arms strong, steady, holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. You sink into it, pressing your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat, cologne, and the faintest hint of the laundry detergent he always uses. For a long moment, the two of you just sit there, the weight of the night pressing down but not breaking you.

Then, Seungmin sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I’m surprised the guys who grabbed you is still breathing after Chan and Felix got their hands on them." His lips quirk slightly, though there’s still anger lingering in his expression. "I mean, I assumed after you, Chan, and Felix made out at Side Effects, you’d be a little love polycule by now."

"What?"

Seungmin frowns. "You don’t remember?"

You stare at him. "No, the whole night is a fucking blur, I was wasted, remember? I thought you didn’t remember anything!"

Seungmin shrugs. "I didn’t at first."

You raise an eyebrow, suspicion creeping in. "And now?"

Seungmin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Until I was looking at pictures Changbin took and in the background and in the back is you, with Felix and Chan’s tongues in your mouth." He tilts his head slightly. "At the same time."

Your entire fucking body goes still and your brain stops functioning. The words sit there for a moment, just hanging, as you try to process what the fuck Seungmin just said. But all you can focus on is the way your stomach plummets, the way heat crawls up your neck, the way your heart starts pounding in your ears.

"What the fuck-"

Seungmin just watches you, waiting for the realization to fully hit.

And when it does, it hits hard.

"You’re fucking lying," you whisper, but even as you say it, there’s a gnawing feeling in your chest, a deep certainty that he’s not.

Seungmin shrugs. "I can show you the picture if you want."

You flail for something, anything, to latch onto. "How the fuck do you even know that’s what was happening? Maybe it was-"

"It was exactly what it looked like." Seungmin deadpans. "Don’t try to logic your way out of this, you were fully making out with them."

Seungmin watches you closely as you start wringing your hands, your eyes darting around the kitchen like you’re trying to physically locate an escape route from your own fucking reality. Your breathing picks up, the telltale sign of impending panic, and Seungmin knows he has exactly two seconds to do something before you completely freak out.

“Okay, okay,” he says quickly, his voice calm but firm. “No panic attacks, no freaking out. People kiss people all the time. It’s not that deep.”

You gawk at him, your whole body vibrating with the sheer magnitude of what he just dropped on you. "People kiss people all the time? Min, I kissed Chan and Felix at the same fucking time!"

He shrugs, his expression deliberately casual. "And? I’ve kissed Changbin.”

“You’ve WHAT?!”

You momentarily forget about your personal crisis and instead latch onto his, your hands slamming against the table as you lean in, your earlier panic momentarily shoved aside. “No, no, no. You do not get to say something like that and move on!” Your voice pitches, your thoughts now entirely derailed. “You and Changbin? Since fucking when?!"

Seungmin sighs, as if this is so inconvenient for him. "We’ve also blown each other."

Your hand flies to your chest like you’ve just been personally victimized by this information. "Kim fucking Seungmin, explain yourself right fucking now."

Seungmin tilts his head, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I think you need some wine for this.”

"Oh, for sure," you agree immediately. "We need some fucking wine."

Without hesitation, you practically launch yourself toward the fridge, yanking the door open and grabbing the first bottle of wine you see. You twist the cap off, toss it somewhere over your shoulder and take a long sip straight from the bottle before shoving it into Seungmin’s hands.

"Okay," you breathe, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Talk."

Seungmin takes a casual sip, smacks his lips, and sets the bottle down with an obnoxiously casual expression. “Well,” he starts, leaning back in his chair. “It started when I started going to the gym more.”

You nod. “Okay, yeah, because you wanted to bulk up, got it.”

“Right,” Seungmin confirms, then lifts a finger. “And who is the most insanely jacked person we know?”

You narrow your eyes. “Changbin.”

“Exactly,” Seungmin says, smirking. “So, he offered to help me out with my training.”

You grab the wine bottle back, taking another sip before pointing at him with it. “Right, okay, makes sense. Keep going.”

Seungmin hums thoughtfully. “Well, you know how the gym gets all sweaty and intense-”

“Oh my God.”

“-and there’s just a lot of testosterone flying around,” he continues, completely unfazed by your reaction. “And, you know, sometimes after a workout, you just feel so pent up and, well, one thing led to another.”

You slap your free hand over your mouth. “You fucked.”

Seungmin shrugs. “We blew each other a few times and then, one time, I railed him in the gym showers.”

Your entire fucking worldview has been shattered so you shove the wine bottle back into Seungmin’s hands, as if forcing him to drink it will make this easier for you to process. He accepts it, taking another sip like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world with this information.

You lean in, your voice barely above a whisper. "Wait, wait, wait." You place both hands on the table, steadying yourself. "Changbin the beefcake is a bottom?"

Seungmin snorts, nodding his head. "Yes."

You sit back, exhaling sharply. "That tracks."

Seungmin just smirks, taking another slow sip of wine.

You stare at him, processing, processing, and then, suddenly, a giggle bubbles up from your throat and then another. Until suddenly, you are laughing hysterically. Seungmin watches as you dissolve into laughter, your head thrown back, your entire body shaking with the sheer absurdity of this night.

But then, just as suddenly, the laughter turns into sobs. Your shoulders shake, your breath stuttering, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. Your body collapses forward, and Seungmin moves instantly, catching you before you can fall apart completely.

His arms wrap tightly around you, his hand cradling the back of your head as you sob into his shoulder, your fingers clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you together. He rocks you in his arms, his grip firm but gentle, his chin resting on the top of your head as you quietly sob against his shoulder. His hand rubs slow, steady circles on your back, the repetitive motion grounding you, keeping you from fully spiralling.

Your breathing is uneven, your body shaking as your mind keeps looping back to what happened. The rough hands on your body, the way your own strength wasn’t enough, the sheer helplessness of it all. The first time you’d broken free, only for him and his friend to grab you again, like you were just something to be handled, owned, controlled.

You hadn’t been able to fight back. Your body had gone into survival mode, your brain too stunned to react in the way you always thought you would. You froze. You fucking froze. And in a different scenario, in a different place, with different people- What would have happened?

Your stomach churns violently at the thought, your fingers clenching into Seungmin’s jersey as your anxiety surges, drowning you in worst-case scenarios.

Seungmin senses it immediately. “Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I got you, okay?” He rocks you a little more, his grip tightening, his body a solid, unmoving presence. “Nothing happened. You got out. You’re here. Breathe. Just breathe.”

You try, you really fucking try, but the thoughts just keep piling up, pressing down on your chest, making it harder to think, to move, to fucking breathe and then, the kitchen door creaks open.

Seungmin doesn’t let go right away, but you feel his head lift slightly, his arms adjusting around you as someone steps into the room. Minho. Still in his bloodied, torn football uniform, his hair damp with sweat, knuckles bruised and split, his expression carefully blank. His eyes scan the room, assessing, before landing on you, curled up in Seungmin’s arms, shaking.

“Give her to me,” Minho murmurs, voice gentle.

Seungmin exhales, his grip lingering for just a second longer before he slowly, carefully transfers you into Minho’s waiting arms. You barely have time to process the change before Minho pulls you in, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly, just as securely as Seungmin’s had.

Seungmin steps back, pausing only to squeeze Minho’s shoulder before silently exiting the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind him. It’s just you and Minho now. His hand smooths down the back of your hair, his other arm snug around your waist, anchoring you to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you settle against him, lets you breathe.

Slowly, your heartbeat starts to even out and Minho’s fingers stroke through your hair, his voice warm and steady when he finally speaks. “You did good, you know?” he murmurs.

Your throat is still too tight to respond, so you just blink at him.

Minho’s lips twitch, something fond glinting in his tired eyes. “With the protest.” He nods, his fingers still moving through your hair, lulling you into something calmer. “You made me proud.”

Your breath stutters slightly, something heavy pressing against your ribs, something that feels like both relief and overwhelm at the same time.

Minho smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Even though you don’t need a man’s validation-”

You let out a weak snort through your sniffles, and Minho grins, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your neck. “-you’ve got mine,” he finishes.

A laugh bursts from your chest, sudden and unplanned, bubbling up between your lingering tears. It’s messy, half-choked, breaking into a soft sob immediately after.

Minho doesn’t even flinch. His fingers just continue their path through your hair, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, his voice a steady, warm murmur in your ear.

“I got you, cupcake,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Not while I’m here. Not while we’re here.” He lets his chin rest against the top of your head. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know. You don’t have to believe it right now, but I’ll believe it for you.”

You sniffle against his chest, still fighting the wave of emotions pressing down on you.

Minho continues, voice unwavering. “You’re gonna get through this. You always fucking do.” His thumb rubs slow circles against your back. “And if you ever feel like you can’t, then you call me, and I’ll carry your ass through it. You hear me?”

You nod, pressing your face further into his chest.

Minho huffs out a quiet laugh. “Of course, you probably won’t need me, because you’re a fucking menace, and I pity anyone who ever thinks they can take you down.”

You don’t respond, but your lips twitch slightly.

Minho grins, tilting his head. “There she is.”

His words settle warmly in your chest, pressing into the cracks, filling the spaces where fear had tried to take root. Slowly, the weight on your chest eases.

Eventually, you shift in his hold, tilting your head up slightly. Your voice is hoarse when you finally speak. “Can I ask you something?”

Minho nods. “Of course.”

You hesitate for a second, then swallow, gathering your courage. “Did I really make out with Chan and Felix in Side Effects?”

“Yep.” He grins, his hand still stroking over your hair. “And it was hot.”

You let out a weak giggle, rolling your eyes, but before you can dwell on it too much, the panic returns. “What do I do about them?” you ask, biting your lip.

Minho hums, considering you for a second before shaking his head.

“One problem at a time, cupcake,” he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head again. “Right now, it’s just us. The rest of the world?” He closes his eyes, pulling you close. “It doesn’t exist.”

Chan and Felix stand in the dimly lit hallway, their muscles still tight from the adrenaline of the brawl, their bodies aching from the bruises forming beneath their torn and dirt-streaked jerseys. Neither of them speaks, their ears straining for any sound coming from behind the closed kitchen door where Minho and you are. Their fists clench, not from anger but from sheer helplessness.

When Seungmin steps out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him, both of them immediately straighten, their eyes locking onto his.

Seungmin sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck before meeting their stares. "I know you two like her," he says, voice low but firm. "And I know you want to help her. But right now? She needs Minho, okay? He's got it under control."

Chan and Felix exchange a look, neither of them questioning the truth behind his words. They want to be in there with you, to be the ones holding you together, but they also know Minho is the only one who can truly reach you when you're like this.

So they nod and Seungmin lets out a small breath of relief. "Good. Now, let's get you two cleaned up, you're both a fucking mess."

The living room has been turned into an impromptu first aid station. Blood-streaked towels litter the coffee table, open medical kits scattered between them. The air smells like antiseptic and sweat, and the low murmur of voices fills the space as the rest of the frat tend to their injuries.

Jisung is slouched on the couch, a bag of ice pressed against the side of his face, his cheekbone already swelling into a nasty bruise. Jeongin sits next to him, sniffling as Hyunjin holds a tissue to his still-bloody nose. Changbin is on the floor, legs sprawled out, dabbing at a cut on his knuckle with a disinfectant wipe, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The energy in the room is electric, but there’s no regret. Only satisfaction. Chan and Felix don’t hesitate before grabbing the med kits and moving to each other, Chan tugging Felix down onto the armrest of the couch as he tilts the younger’s chin up, examining the damage. Felix lets him, his hands curling around Chan’s thigh for balance as Chan gently cleans the scrape along his jaw, the cut he hadn’t even realized he had until now.

Seungmin crouches down in front of Changbin, grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe and reaching for the cut on his chin. "Hold still," he murmurs, dabbing carefully.

Changbin watches him intently, his expression unreadable, his gaze flickering between Seungmin’s fingers and his lips. His usual tough, cocky demeanour is absent, replaced with something softer, something almost dreamy.

Seungmin notices but doesn’t say anything, his lips twitching slightly as he focuses on his task. His thumb brushes against Changbin’s skin, and Changbin visibly exhales, blinking like he’s just remembered where he is.

And then Hyunjin dramatically sniffs the air and everyone turns to look at him.

Seungmin furrows his brows. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Hyunjin takes a deep breath, wafting the air toward his face like he’s absorbing something supernatural. "You two," he says, eyes narrowing at Seungmin and Changbin. "I smell queerness."

Jisung snorts, nearly dropping his ice pack as Felix and Chan exchange grins, and Jeongin, who still has a tissue shoved up his nose, suddenly perks up.

"Oh, shit, he’s right," Jeongin says, nodding sagely. "It smells fruity in here."

"Very fruity," Jisung agrees, voice muffled as he presses the ice pack harder against his face. "Like a freshly blended smoothie of boy love romance brewing in real time."

"Like the softest fucking yaoi," Chan muses, tilting his head as he inspects Felix’s wound.

Felix, ever the chaos instigator, inhales deeply and then lets out an exaggerated "Mmm, yes, I smell gay yearning."

"Strong gay yearning," Hyunjin adds, nodding.

Changbin chokes, his face turning bright red. "Oh, for fuck’s sake-"

"Admit it, Binnie," Jisung drawls, grinning despite his swollen face. "You were fully giving Seungmin heart eyes just now."

Seungmin doesn’t even deny it. He just smirks, wiping the leftover antiseptic on Changbin’s chin. "I mean," he says, voice dripping with amusement, "can you blame him? I am pretty fucking hot."

Changbin groans, tilting his head back against the couch. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don’t," Felix says cheerfully.

Hyunjin gasps dramatically. "Wait, do you think Seungmin railed Changbin in the gym showers?"

The entire room turns to stare at Seungmin and Changbin who share a single pointed look.

Jeongin, still holding his tissue, narrows his eyes. "Wait a fucking second-"

"We are not talking about this right now," Seungmin says, standing up immediately.

"Which means it happened," Jisung sings.

"I hate all of you," Changbin repeats, burying his face in his hands.

Chan and Felix just smirk as they continue tending to each other’s wounds, the lighthearted chaos of the moment briefly allowing them to forget the violence of the night. Even if only for a little while.

The morning light filters in through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the walls of Minho’s room. You blink groggily, taking a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of exhaustion still heavy in your bones. The scent of Minho’s laundry detergent clings to the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you borrowed from him last night, your usual routine after crashing in his bed.

Minho is once again passed out on the air mattress on the floor, one arm draped over his face, his mouth slightly open as soft snores escape him. His limbs are sprawled out, completely dead to the world, and you suppress a giggle.

The two of you had stayed up stupidly late watching British Love Island, a show Minho somehow managed to stream despite the fact that you were in Seoul. You don’t know how he did it, but he had simply smirked at you from behind his laptop, muttering something about a few VPN tricks and sheer determination before successfully pulling it up on his screen.

You had mocked the contestants, throwing popcorn at the screen every time someone made a questionable choice, and Minho had loudly judged every single one of them in the most Minho way possible.

“That man is built like an unevolved Pokémon.”

“She’s had her lips done. No way she hasn’t.”

"I would simply choose to have a personality instead of making out with the first man who acknowledges my existence."

"If I ever act like this, please drown me in the Han River."

You sit up slowly, wincing as you shift your hands against the blankets. Your wrists ache immediately, a dull, throbbing pain radiating from where the Levanter player had grabbed you, his fingers pressing too hard, too rough. You turn them over, and sure enough, the faint outlines of bruised handprints remain, ghostly reminders of what happened.

You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to move. Laying here, dwelling, won’t do anything.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stand, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before making your way out of Minho’s room. He doesn’t stir, not even when you carefully step over his sprawled-out limbs.

You make your way downstairs, the scent of something warm and savoury filling the air, leading you straight to the kitchen.

Inside, Chan and Felix are already up, standing by the stove as they move around effortlessly, their bodies bumping into each other occasionally as they work in perfect sync. Felix is focused on stirring a pot of kimchi-jjigae, the rich, spicy scent filling the kitchen and Chan is slicing rice cakes for the tteokbokki, the soft thud of his knife against the cutting board the only sound accompanying the quiet hum of their movements.

You hesitate for a second before softly clearing your throat. "Hey."

Felix looks up immediately, his lips curving into a soft smile. "Hey."

Chan turns at the sound of your voice, his eyes scanning you quickly, taking in the oversized hoodie, the tiredness in your face, the slight way your fingers are trembling as you wring them together. His brows pull together slightly, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. "I’m sorry."

Chan frowns, setting the knife down. "What? Why?"

You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling small. "The protest, it was my idea. I pitched it to Yeji. If I hadn’t-" Your voice wavers slightly, and you hate how weak it sounds. "If I hadn’t, well, there wouldn’t have been the fight. I just wanted to- I don’t know-"

You squeeze your hands together, an anxious habit you can’t seem to break.

"No," Chan says firmly, his voice leaving zero room for argument.

"Absolutely fucking not," Felix adds, shaking his head.

Felix steps away from the stove, moving toward you with careful, deliberate steps, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but is holding himself back. "You are not blaming yourself for this, angel," he says, voice soft but stern. "None of this was your fault."

"Not a fucking ounce of it," Chan agrees. "The only people responsible for what happened were those fucking assholes. Not you. Never you."

Your throat tightens, emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

"You did something important," Felix continues, his voice warm, his eyes so unbearably kind. "You made a fucking statement. You didn’t just stand by and accept bullshit, you fought for something, for yourself, for everyone on that squad. You were brave."

Chan steps closer, his presence solid, warm. "Never doubt that," he murmurs. "Not for a fucking second."

You barely have time to react before you’re being wrapped in a solid, comforting side hug, Chan’s arm looping around your shoulders as he tugs you against him. The warmth of his skin seeps into you, grounding you, holding you together in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

You let yourself sink into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you inhale the faint scent of his cologne, something woodsy and warm, something safe.

Felix watches for a moment before nodding to himself, stepping back to the stove and returning to the kimchi-jjigae, stirring it with a soft hum.

You close your eyes for a second before speaking, voice quiet but certain. "I know I kissed you two at Side Effects," you say, feeling Chan’s arm tighten ever so slightly around your shoulders. "But can we talk about it some other time?"

Chan doesn’t hesitate. "Yeah, of course," he reassures you immediately. "Don't feel like you have to talk about it now, okay? No pressure."

You nod against his shoulder, exhaling as some of the tension in your chest loosens. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me," Chan murmurs, his thumb rubbing small circles against your arm. "We’ll talk when you’re ready. No sooner."

Felix glances up from the stove, watching the two of you for a moment before turning back to the pan in front of him. You can feel his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything. He just lets you be.

After a few moments, you shift slightly, still leaning into Chan’s side. "The TA took power from so many girls at the college," you say, voice quieter now, more measured. "The protest was supposed to be our way of taking it back."

Felix sets the ladle down, turning to you fully. "You did take it back," he says firmly, eyes locked onto yours with unwavering intensity. "You and the whole cheer squad. What you did? That wasn’t just a protest, that was a fucking statement. You stood there, in front of the whole college, in front of him, and you didn’t back down. You didn’t let him fucking win."

Chan hums in agreement, squeezing your shoulder. "You were fucking brave. And I swear to fucking god, Y/N, if I ever hear you try to downplay that again, I will fight you."

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. "You’d lose."

"Yeah, probably," Chan admits with a grin. "But I’d still try."

Felix smirks, flipping the last of the rice cakes in the pan. "I’d pay to see that."

Chan pulls away slightly, his warmth lingering as he crouches down to rummage under the sink, grabbing a small tube of bruise cream. "Can I put this on your wrists?" he asks, already uncapping it. "It’ll make them less sore, and it won’t throb as much."

You glance down at your hands, at the faint outlines of bruised handprints that still linger on your skin, a sickening reminder of what happened. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

Chan nods, his movements slow and careful as he squeezes a small amount of cream onto his fingers before gently reaching for your wrist. His touch is light, barely there, but the moment his fingertips brush over the bruised skin, you flinch involuntarily.

"Sorry," Chan murmurs immediately, pulling his hands back slightly. "I’ll be gentler."

"No, it’s okay," you say quickly, shaking your head. "Just keep going."

He nods again, his touch even softer this time, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles over your skin, rubbing the cream in carefully. His brows are furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line, his whole body language radiating focus.

Felix, in the meantime, grabs nine plates and begins plating breakfast, moving with effortless ease as he finishes up the last of the cooking. He doesn’t comment on what Chan is doing, doesn’t interrupt, he just exists in the moment with you both, the three of you moving in a quiet, comfortable rhythm.

The world outside is still chaotic, still loud, but in here, in this small, warm kitchen, with Chan’s careful hands tending to your bruises and Felix humming softly as he plates food, it feels like, just for a second, you can breathe.

The football coach’s office is stifling, the air thick with barely contained rage as he paces back and forth behind his desk, his fists clenched at his sides, his face red with barely restrained fury. The walls, lined with framed jerseys and old game photographs, seem to close in, the fluorescent lights above buzzing irritatingly as he glares at the two of you standing in front of him.

Yeji stands slightly in front of you, her posture rigid, her chin tilted just high enough to let him know she’s not backing down. You, on the other hand, keep your hands clasped tightly together, wringing them to try and control the anxious energy buzzing through your body, your nails pressing into the soft skin of your palm as you fight the urge to fidget.

The coach slams his fist against the desk, making you jump slightly, but Yeji doesn’t even flinch.

"What the fuck were you two thinking?! You turned the fucking half-time show into a fucking circus! The news caught wind of this bullshit!" he continues, jabbing a finger toward his computer, where the screen is lit up with what is clearly a news article. "You two just fucking ruined the reputation of this football program!"

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste iron and Yeji’s expression doesn’t waver.

"Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to have the school board breathing down my goddamn neck?!" The coach slams his palm against his desk again. "Do you know how many angry fucking calls I’ve had to sit through today?!"

You inhale sharply, keeping your breathing even, focusing on the slight sting of your fingernails pressing into your skin.

"And you know what?" he sneers, leaning forward. "Because of you two and your little fucking stunt, that game was cancelled. The biggest fucking game of the season, gone. Do you know how much money was lost because of that?! Do you fucking understand the damage you two caused?!"

His voice is booming, his face growing redder and redder with every word but Yeji still doesn’t move, her expression eerily calm despite the fire raging in the coach’s eyes.

"And the fight?" His lips curl into a sneer, his hands slamming onto his desk as he leans over it, glowering at both of you. "That was on you too. If you hadn’t pulled that little fucking stunt, the guys wouldn’t have started swinging, but instead, the whole goddamn field turned into a war zone."

He’s breathing hard now, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment, it almost seems like he’s done. Then he laughs, a short, bitter sound. "And guess fucking what?" he says, his voice dropping to something almost mocking now. "Because of your bullshit? That TA?" He points toward the screen, where a very familiar face is plastered all over the article. "He’s gone. Permanently."

"The media went fucking wild over the protest. The school couldn’t fucking hide it anymore, not with videos spreading like wildfire all over social media, so congratulations," he sneers, "you two just got him fucking fired."

Something burns in your chest, but you keep your mouth shut. Yeji, however, smiles. It’s small. Barely there. But you see it and from the way the coach’s eye twitches, he sees it too.

"You think that’s fucking funny?" he snaps.

Yeji shakes her head. "Not at all, Coach." Her tone is even, unreadable. "I just think it’s interesting that you’re angrier about the game than you are about the reason we protested in the first place."

The tension in the room is suffocating, and you feel the weight of it pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe. The coach lets out a slow, measured breath before he smiles.

"Effective immediately, the entire cheer squad is suspended from the program.You two might not give a fuck about this school’s reputation," the coach continues, voice laced with venom, "but I do. And I will not have a squad of disruptive, attention-seeking, reckless fucking brats tarnishing this program."

Yeji tilts her chin up higher. "I authorized it," she says, her voice like steel. "As cheer captain, I take full responsibility for the protest." She turns to you then, her gaze gentler, though her posture remains firm. "Y/N has received her scolding. She can go now."

You hesitate but Yeji gives you a pointed look and you swallow thickly, turning on your heel and walk out of the office, your hands still trembling at your sides.

The shouting starts behind you as you walk away from the coach’s office, Yeji’s voice sharp and unwavering as she fires back at him, matching his fury with her own. You can’t make out the words anymore, not properly. It all feels muffled, like you’re underwater, the sounds distorted, blending together into an indistinct roar.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, your hands still trembling at your sides as you walk down the hallway, your feet moving on autopilot. The weight of everything presses down on you, coiling tight in your chest, a mixture of emotions threatening to drown you.

You should be angry. You should be furious. The protest was necessary, the fight wasn’t your fault, and yet, here you are, punished for standing up for yourself.

Your fingers curl into fists as you walk, your breathing uneven, your vision unfocused. You barely register the sound of footsteps coming toward you until you bump into someone.

The impact jolts you slightly, knocking you back a step. You blink and find yourself face-to-face with Felix, his usual easygoing expression shifting into something more serious the second he gets a proper look at you. His brows knit together, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady you, gripping your arms gently.

"Angel," he says, his voice soft but concerned. "What’s wrong?"

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. The emotions, the frustration, the exhaustion, it’s all sitting there, clawing at your ribs, but you can’t seem to get it out.

Felix doesn’t press you for an answer, instead, his grip on your arms tightens slightly, grounding you, and then, without hesitation, he grabs your hand. "Okay," he says firmly. "Come with me."

Your fingers instinctively curl around his, the warmth of his palm a steadying presence against your own. You don’t question it. You don’t ask why. You just nod, letting him lead you away from everything, away from the coach’s office, away from the suffocating weight of the conversation that just took place, away from the overwhelming noise of it all.

As he pulls you down the hallway, you manage to find your voice. "Where are we going?"

Felix glances over his shoulder at you, his lips twitching slightly into a knowing smirk. "Mine and Chan’s favourite place," he says. "I’ll text Chan to meet us there."

You blink at him, your fingers still wrapped around his. "I didn’t know you guys had a secret hideout."

"Well you do now," Felix says with a small grin, squeezing your hand gently before tugging you along, leading you out of the building and into the crisp afternoon air.

Felix leads you down a winding path, away from the bustling campus, past old industrial buildings and empty parking lots, until you reach the outskirts of Seoul. It takes about ten minutes before you arrive at your destination, an old scrapyard, tucked between rusted-out shipping containers and stacks of discarded metal parts.

The place is huge, sprawling out in all directions, piles of junk reaching up toward the sky. There are abandoned cars, broken appliances, and stacks of old furniture, all left to decay in this forgotten corner of the city.

You stare at it, blinking. "A scrapyard?"

Felix grins, clearly proud of himself. "Yep!"

You look at him, then back at the scrapyard. "Okay, but why?"

Felix tugs you further in, stepping over a pile of rusted pipes, leading you toward an old workbench near the centre of the lot. There, sitting in an open wooden crate, is a collection of metal baseball bats, their surfaces scratched and dented from obvious use.

He gestures to them with a dramatic flourish. "So," he says, "whenever Chan or I are having a really bad day, we come here and we use these."

Your brows knit together as you stare at the bats. "And do what?"

Felix’s grin turns absolutely mischievous. "Break shit! It’s fun! You shout what you’re angry about as you smash things. Helps let it out."

You blink at him. "You just come here and destroy things?"

"Yep!" Felix says cheerfully, reaching down and picking up a bat, resting it against his shoulder like a professional. "Way cheaper than therapy."

You stare at him for a long moment before exhaling a laugh. "This is the most unhinged thing I’ve ever heard."

"And yet," Felix says, tilting his head, "you kinda wanna try it, don’t you?"

You hesitate. You do. There’s something appealing about it, something cathartic about the idea of taking a bat to something breakable and not having to worry about consequences. Before you can respond, the sound of sneakers hitting pavement catches your attention.

Chan jogs into view, slightly out of breath but grinning, his curls bouncing with every step. "Sorry, sorry," he pants, coming to a stop beside Felix. "Had to sneak out of practice before coach finished arguing with Yeji."

Felix snickers. "So what you’re saying is, we need to get this anger session started before he figures out we're gone?"

"Exactly," Chan huffs, running a hand through his damp curls before turning to you. "You ready to get mad?"

You hesitate again, still unsure, but before you can overthink it, Chan hands you a pair of safety goggles. "Gotta protect those pretty eyes," he says with a wink, before putting a pair on his own face.

Felix hands you a bat, practically vibrating with excitement as he grabs one for himself. "Don’t think too much about it," he says. "Just let it out. Watch and learn, angel."

Felix takes a step forward, rolling his shoulders, then grips the bat with both hands. He scans the area, eyes landing on an old television set half-buried under a pile of scrap. "Okay, I’ll start," he says, adjusting his stance. "I fucking hate those Lobos bastards."

Then he swings and the bat connects with the glass screen of the TV, shattering it on impact. The crash echoes through the scrapyard, shards flying, the sheer force of the hit making the TV collapse inward.

"Fuck yes!" Felix cheers, shaking out his arms. "That felt amazing."

Chan grins, stepping up beside him. "My turn."

He grips his own bat, eyes scanning the area before landing on an old car door, slightly unhinged from its frame. "I hate that guys get away with hurting women because they can. Because society lets them." His voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it, something dark simmering beneath his usual calm demeanour.

The impact of Chan’s swing is deafening, the metal bending brutally beneath his strength. The door caves inward, the force of the hit making it rattle against the ground and Chan exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders before turning to you. "Your turn."

You stare at them and then down at the bat in your hands. "I don’t know what to say."

"Say whatever you feel," Felix encourages. "Doesn’t have to be deep. Just let it out."

You take a breath, adjusting your grip on the bat. Your eyes flicker around the scrapyard until you spot an old rusted-out filing cabinet, the metal already warped from years of exposure.

You shift your stance, adjusting your hands on the bat. "I hate that we got punished for the protest," you say hesitantly.

Then, tentatively, you swing. The bat connects with the cabinet, sending a dull clang ringing through the air. The hit isn’t as strong as theirs, but the impact still sends a thrill up your arms, a spark of something electric settling in your chest.

Felix whoops, clapping his hands. "That’s our girl!"

Chan grins. "Again."

Something in you clicks and you adjust your grip, planting your feet more firmly. "I hate that we were the ones who had to stand up for ourselves!"

You swing again, harder this time. The bat crashes against the metal, leaving a dent.

"Yes!" Chan yells.

"I hate that the TA got away with it for so long!"

Another swing. Another impact.

"I hate that people like him exist, that people like him win all the fucking time!"

The bat slams into the cabinet, the force making your arms shake, but you don’t care, you don’t care because suddenly you’re furious, the weight of everything, the anger, the helplessness, the fucking injustice of it all, pouring out of you.

Felix and Chan start joining in, their voices rising with yours, bats swinging, metal crunching, glass shattering. The scrapyard is filled with laughter, with shouts, with the pure catharsis of letting go. By the time you’re done, you’re breathless, your hands shaking not from fear, but from the adrenaline rush of it all.

Felix drops his bat first, turning to you with a huge grin. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," you say, breathless. "I really fucking do."

The three of you stand amidst the wreckage of the scrapyard, your breathing still slightly uneven from the sheer adrenaline of smashing things. The sun hangs lower in the sky now, casting an orange glow over the metal and broken glass scattered around you. Chan and Felix are grinning, eyes bright with excitement, as if they’ve just finished the best therapy session of their lives.

"I think I’m ready to talk about the kisses now."

Felix’s smile lingers for a second before he blinks, tilting his head. "Yeah?"

Chan rubs at the back of his neck, a small smirk playing on his lips, but his expression is carefully neutral. "Okay, let’s talk about it."

You nod, adjusting your stance slightly as you tighten your grip around the bat still resting in your hands. "I just... I want to know what you two were thinking. Because you two are already together, so I don’t-" You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. "I don’t get it?"

Felix immediately steps closer, reaching out to take your hand gently in his. His grip is warm, grounding, as he meets your gaze with nothing but sincerity. "We’re together," he says softly, "but we like you too, sweetheart."

Your brain short circuits and you blink. Then you point at yourself silently, tilting your head to the side, because surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying.

Felix laughs, his grip tightening around your fingers. "Yes, you," he confirms.

Chan, who has been watching this entire interaction with poorly concealed amusement, lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You really had no clue, huh?"

Your lips part slightly, but no words come out. Your thoughts feel scrambled, like someone just hit shuffle on your entire fucking life.

"We’ve been flirting with you for months," Chan continues, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you never realised."

"You were flirting with me?"

Chan snorts. "Oh my God, yes."

Felix grins, nodding along. "Like, blatantly, sweetheart. Like, we could not have made it more obvious if we tried."

You squint at them, your brain scrambling to backtrack, to replay every interaction you’ve had with them over the past few months, trying to see if you missed something.

"Okay, but what does that mean?" you finally ask, shifting your weight slightly. "Like, what are you saying, exactly?"

Felix squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "A polycule, a throuple, a triangle of love," he says. "All three of us."

You take a breath. "So is this a date?"

Chan grins, shaking his head. "No."

Felix lets out a soft laugh. "We’d do a date properly, sweetheart."

Chan gestures around at the wrecked scrapyard, raising an eyebrow. "Think of this as, like, a pre-date date."

You blink again and Felix beams. "She’s buffering."

"She is," Chan agrees, amused.

You roll your eyes, finally finding your words again. "I was not buffering, I was just processing!"

"Sure, sure," Felix teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. "So, does that mean we get an actual date?"

"Yeah. I think I’d like that."

The air is warm as you step out of your apartment building, a gentle breeze brushes through your hair, making the loose strands dance around your face as you shift your bag over your shoulder, scanning the parking lot for Chan’s car and there they are.

Leaning casually against Chan’s sleek black car, both of them looking like they walked straight out of a streetwear editorial.

Felix is the first to notice you, his eyes lighting up instantly, a huge grin stretching across his face. He pushes himself off the side of the car, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black-and-white windbreaker jacket. The oversized fit of it drapes over his frame effortlessly, the simple white tank underneath hinting at the toned muscle beneath. His black knee-length shorts give him an almost skater-boy edge, thick socks scrunched up over his chunky black combat boots, the entire look screaming casual but expensive.

Chan follows Felix’s gaze and turns toward you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stands, dressed in all black, his fitted ribbed tank top hugging his frame in a way that makes your stomach flutter just a little bit. His black knee-length shorts are loose but structured, the perfect blend of relaxed and stylish, paired effortlessly with his black sneakers. The final touch, a soft grey beanie, rests snug over his curls, making him look even softer than usual, despite the way his muscles flex as he stretches.

Both of them take their time drinking in the sight of you, their eyes flickering over your outfit, the cropped white tank layered under your slouchy grey zip-up hoodie, the way the slightly oversized fit makes you look effortlessly comfortable but still put together. The black flares hug your legs perfectly, the hem grazing the tops of your chunky white sneakers, a simple but stylish choice. And the black ruched shoulder bag resting against your hip completes the look with a subtle touch of chic.

Felix whistles, tilting his head as he gives you a once-over. "Damn, angel," he muses, his eyes sparkling. "You clean up nice."

Chan snorts, rolling his eyes at Felix before stepping forward slightly, his gaze softer, more appreciative. "Told you comfy would suit you," he murmurs, reaching out to tug at the edge of your hoodie playfully. "You look perfect."

Your face warms slightly under their attention, but you mask it with a playful eye roll. "You two act like I showed up in a ballgown or something," you say, crossing your arms.

Felix gasps dramatically. "That would’ve been iconic!"

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "C’mon, let’s get going." He pulls open the car door, gesturing toward the passenger seat with a teasing grin. "Unless you plan on standing there and letting us admire you all day?"

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you climb into the car. "You act like you don't admire me all the time anyway."

Felix, climbing into the backseat, laughs loudly. "She’s got a point, Channie."

Chan just grins, starting the engine as Felix settles in behind you, the doors closing with a soft thunk. As the car hums to life, you turn to Chan, raising an eyebrow. "So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?"

Felix leans forward between the seats, resting his chin on your shoulder with a smug grin. "That would ruin the fun, sweetheart."

You groan, slumping back into your seat. "You two are menaces."

Chan laughs, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. "You’ll love it, trust us."

The car rolls to a smooth stop, and you glance out the window and you see the large, softly lit sign of a luxury spa. The building is sleek and modern, the entrance framed by elegant gold accents, the kind of place that screams relaxation and comfort.

You blink in mild surprise as Chan shifts the car into park, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He turns to you, his smirk nothing short of pleased with himself. "See? Comfort."

Felix unbuckles his seatbelt, already stretching in the backseat, his grin mischievous. "We figured you could use a break," he says, voice warm. "And let’s be real, we needed one too."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you lean back against the headrest. "I haven’t been to the spa in ages."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "Then it’s about time we changed that."

You sigh dramatically. "The last time I went, it sucked because Seungmin kept pointing out violations in the law the entire time. He literally made a list."

Felix laughs loudly, shoving open his door. "Of course he did."

You step out of the car, stretching your arms above your head as you take in the building. "Alright, so what’s the plan here? What kind of spa day am I in for?"

Felix steps beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "We booked a private room just for the three of us," he says, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly. "TV, face masks, nice food, the works."

You raise an eyebrow. "No massages?"

Felix smirks, his grip tightening slightly before he leans down to whisper, "Not unless you want me to do it."

Your breath hitches for half a second before you scoff, shoving his arm off of you. "Oh my God, you’re impossible."

"I try my best," Felix says with a wink.

Chan, clearly amused by the entire exchange, nudges you toward the entrance. "Come on, let’s get inside before Felix starts offering his services to random strangers too."

Felix places a hand over his chest dramatically, gasping in mock offence. "I would never-"

"You absolutely would," you and Chan say at the exact same time.

Felix pouts as he follows you both inside. "You guys have no faith in me."

The moment you step inside the spa, the air changes, it’s warm and inviting, carrying the faintest scent of lavender and chamomile, the kind of atmosphere that immediately makes your muscles loosen.

The reception area is sleek and minimalist, the lighting soft, the furniture unreasonably comfortable-looking. There’s a quietness to the space, a peaceful hum that settles deep in your chest, already melting away the tension you hadn’t even realized you were still carrying.

Felix is practically buzzing beside you, clearly excited about this whole plan. "See, angel? No stress. No noise. Just us, hiding from the frat, doing nothing for a few hours."

You huff a laugh, already feeling yourself relax at the idea. "So basically, we’re having a quiet, lowkey movie day with face masks and food, where the rest of the frat can’t find us?"

Chan nods, his smirk widening slightly as he pushes open the door to the private room with Bang on the door. "Exactly."

You grin, looking between the two of them. "I love it."

The private room at the spa is stupidly nice, plush seating, a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, dim lighting that makes everything feel way more expensive than it probably is. The air smells like fresh linen and essential oils, something soft and calming, and the walls are lined with neatly arranged trays filled with skin-care products, towels, and refreshments. There’s even a massive sofa with fluffy blankets thrown over the back, making it perfect for sinking into and never leaving.

As soon as you step inside, Felix throws his arms up with a grin. "Hell yeah, private luxury, baby!"

Chan shakes his head, but you can see the fond smile tugging at his lips as he walks over to the TV, grabbing the remote. "Alright, what are we feeling? Classic Disney or some random bullshit?"

Felix, without missing a beat, plops down onto the sofa and stretches out dramatically. "Classic Disney, obviously."

You smirk, kicking off your sneakers near the door before making your way toward him. "You say that like you don’t always pick Disney movies when you’re hungover."

"And I stand by it," Felix says, dead serious. "Disney movies heal people, angel. It’s science."

Chan hums in agreement, scrolling through the options before clicking on Beauty and the Beast. "Perfect."

You grin, flopping down beside Felix as he immediately grabs one of the spa’s fluffy blankets, throwing it over both of your laps. Chan joins you a second later, sighing as he stretches his legs out as Felix reaches over to poke your side. "Alright, before we get too comfy, we’re doing face masks."

You brighten up immediately. "Oh, hell yes."

"But-" Chan starts.

"No buts," Felix cuts him off, sitting up. "We’re pampering you tonight, Channie. Don’t fight it."

Chan groans. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?"

Felix ignores him, already reaching for one of the spa’s pre-packaged clay mask powders. You scoot closer, peering at the instructions before Felix unceremoniously dumps the powder into a bowl.

"How much water does it need?" you ask.

Felix shrugs. "Eh, I’ll just eyeball it."

Chan immediately lifts his head. "Wait-"

Too late. Felix dumps an arbitrary amount of water into the bowl, the mixture immediately turning into something that looks more like thin oatmeal than a face mask.

"Looks… fine?" you say.

Felix nods. "Yeah, totally fine."

Chan squints at you both. "It’s fucking liquid."

"Shhh," Felix hushes him, grabbing a brush and stirring. "It’s gonna be great."

Chan sighs like he knows this is going to go terribly, but still sits up obediently, letting you and Felix hover over him as you both dip brushes into the bowl of sludge.

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh as you swipe the mask onto Chan’s forehead. It immediately starts sliding down toward his eyebrow.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "It’s so bad."

Felix snorts, painting a thick, gloopy streak down Chan’s cheek, only for it to drip toward his jaw. "It’s art, angel. Let it happen."

Chan stays painfully still as you and Felix struggle to contain your laughter, the mask refusing to stick properly to his skin. Then Felix grabs the cucumber slices from the refreshments tray and just starts slapping them onto Chan’s face.

"There we go," Felix says, deadpan. "Perfect."

Chan sits there stoically, his entire face covered in dripping face mask and randomly placed cucumber slices, looking like he’s reevaluating all of his life choices.

"You two are actual menaces," he says flatly.

Felix beams. "Thank you."

You wipe tears from your eyes, your stomach hurting from laughing so hard. "It’s a look, honestly."

"I hate both of you," Chan mutters, though he doesn’t move to wipe any of it off.

Felix claps his hands together. "Alright, now it’s our turn."

You and Felix opt for sheet masks instead, much safer than the crime you just committed on Chan’s face. The cool fabric presses against your skin as you smooth the mask over your features, the slight tingle from the serum oddly soothing.

Felix leans back, sighing happily. "Skincare gods, bless me tonight."

Chan, who still has a single cucumber slice hanging off his cheek, just shakes his head. "You two better not fucking take pictures."

"No promises," Felix replies immediately.

You giggle, adjusting your sheet mask before Felix suddenly perks up, his eyes landing on a small manicure kit near the refreshments table.

"Oh? Oh."

"What?" you ask, following his gaze.

Felix grins, grabbing the small kit and waving it in front of your face. "I’m doing your nails, angel."

Your brows lift. "Are you even good at it?"

"Excuse me," Felix gasps, placing a hand to his chest like you deeply offended him. "I have skills, Y/N. Let me prove myself."

You glance at Chan, who is still sitting there with cucumber chaos on his face, watching the two of you with his arms crossed. "Should I trust him?"

Chan shrugs. "No idea. This is new information to me."

Felix pouts. "You doubt me?"

"Absolutely," you tease.

Felix huffs but still gently grabs your hands, pulling them into his lap. "Doubt all you want, sweetheart. You’ll be thanking me when I make these nails look amazing."

You smile, letting him file and buff your nails, the repetitive motion oddly calming.

Chan, still stuck in his gloopy mask, watches silently, his head tilted slightly as he listens to you and Felix giggle at each other. You catch the way his lips quirk slightly at the corners, the affection in his gaze as he watches Felix compliment you nonstop while painting your nails.

"This color matches your hair," Felix hums, carefully brushing on the polish. "You’re gonna look so fucking cute."

You roll your eyes but grin, watching the polish glisten under the dim lighting. "I’ll admit, you’re not bad at this."

"Told you," Felix sing-songs, sticking his tongue out.

Chan exhales a soft laugh, adjusting the cucumber slice barely hanging onto his nose. "I can’t believe this is my life."

"You love it, don’t lie."

Felix finishes up, blowing lightly over your nails before beaming at you. "Perfect. My best work yet."

You wiggle your fingers, admiring them. "Okay, I kinda love them."

"Told you," Felix says smugly.

An hour later, the three of you are completely settled into the plush sofa, tangled up in the kind of warmth that comes from being full, comfortable, and undeniably spoiled. The spa staff have been slipping in and out quietly, refilling plates with fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and warm, fragrant tea that you’re sure costs more than your monthly grocery bill.

The TV now plays Peter Pan, the familiar scenes casting a soft glow over the dimly lit room. It feels perfect, the kind of peace you never realized you needed until you were right here, living in it.

Felix is pressed against one side of you, his body warm beneath the fluffy blanket you’re sharing, fingers idly tracing patterns against your knee. Chan is on the other side, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the occasional brush of his fingertips against your shoulder sending tiny sparks up your spine. All of you have matching nail polish now, Felix’s idea, obviously. His nails, Chan’s nails, your nails, all a perfect glossy shade that matches the soft lavender tones in your hair.

Felix tilts his head toward you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "So how did we do?"

You hum thoughtfully, sipping your tea, dragging out the moment just to make them wait for it. "Well," you start, setting your cup down carefully. "Neither of you has asked me for a lock of my hair yet, so already, you’re doing better than my worst date ever."

Chan snorts, shaking his head. "No fucking way."

"Swear to God," you say, solemnly. "Dude just straight-up looked me in the eyes and asked if he could keep a piece of me like I was a goddamn Victorian ghost bride."

Felix wheezes, his entire body shaking against yours. "Angel, what the fuck?"

"You’re telling me!" you exclaim, throwing a hand up. "And I still had to sit through the rest of that meal because he drove us there and I didn’t want to die walking home."

Chan sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "This is why we’re never letting you date people we haven’t pre-approved."

Felix hums in agreement. "Exactly. We’re your new dating consultants."

"Or," Chan adds smoothly, his fingers brushing lightly against the bare skin of your forearm, "you just date us instead."

You glance between them. Felix, his bright mischievous gaze locked onto yours, his fingers still tracing gentle lines against your knee. Chan, steady and certain, looking at you with something deep, something that makes your heart skip a little too fast.

Felix licks his lips. "Can we kiss you?"

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening around the blanket without meaning to and you nod. Chan chuckles, tilting his head. "You better remember this time."

Felix leans in first, closing the space between you so smoothly that it feels seamless, like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. His lips brush over yours, gentle at first, almost teasing, before he deepens it, tilting his head to slot against you more perfectly.

His lips are soft, slightly sweet from the tea, moving against yours with a warmth that sends a spark straight through your body. His fingers slide up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he takes his time, savoring the kiss like he never wants it to end.

The second Felix pulls away slightly, Chan is there, his lips pressing to yours in an entirely different way, firmer, more certain, like he’s been dying to do this. His fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your head just right so he can kiss you deeper, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction as he feels you melt against him.

Felix is still there, still watching, his breath slightly uneven as he lingers close, his forehead brushing against yours when Chan finally pulls away. For a second, you’re just breathing, lips tingling, your heart hammering so hard you’re surprised they can’t hear it.

Then Felix grins, tilting his head. "One more."

And then he’s kissing Chan, right in front of you, moving into him so smoothly that it feels natural, like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times before which they have. Chan hums against his lips, his hand sliding up into Felix’s hair, pulling him in closer as he tilts his head. Your breath catches, eyes locked onto the way Felix sighs softly against Chan’s mouth, the way their lips move together in sync, the way they fit.

Felix pulls away first, his lips pink, his eyes still half-lidded as he turns back to you. "Now you."

You don’t even know who kisses who next, because the next thing you know, Felix’s fingers are threading through your hair as he tugs you back in, his mouth slotting perfectly against yours as you sigh into the kiss.

Chan laughs softly against your jaw before pressing kisses there too, his lips brushing over your skin, trailing soft, teasing pecks down your neck. Felix nips at your lower lip before pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a soft laugh. "You definitely remember this time, right?"

You let out a breathless giggle, feeling a little dizzy from the warmth of them both surrounding you. "I think it’s burned into my brain forever."

"Good," Chan murmurs, nudging his nose against your temple before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there.

Felix sighs happily, nuzzling into your other side. "We should do this more often."

You laugh, tilting your head slightly to bump against his. "What, make out?"

"Yes," Felix replies immediately.

"Yes," Chan agrees.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. "You two are the worst."

"And yet," Felix teases, his fingers slipping beneath your hoodie to brush against your waist, "here you are."

Chan hums in agreement, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you even closer. "And you’re not running away."

"Nope," you say, smiling to yourself as you rest your head against Chan’s shoulder, Felix’s arm still wrapped around your middle. "Not running at all."

Chan presses a final kiss against the top of your head before letting out a satisfied sigh. "Yeah. I think this date went pretty well."

Felix grins. "Same time next week?"

"Sounds perfect."

The air is thick with tension and the undeniable hum of adrenaline as the half-time whistle echoes through the field. The Miroh Maniacs and the Cle Cobras break away from the first half of the game, sweat dripping down their faces, jerseys clinging to their bodies from the intensity of the match. The Maniacs have been dominating the field, outrunning and outplaying the Cobras at nearly every turn, and the scoreboard reflects that perfectly, Miroh sitting comfortably with a twelve-point lead.

The bleachers are alive with roaring cheers, students decked out in Maniacs’ red and black, waving banners and throwing their arms in the air as the players jog to the sidelines for a much-needed water break.

You, however, are not down on the track with your team, shaking pom-poms and hyping up the crowd like you should be. Instead, you and the rest of the suspended cheer squad are sitting on the front row of the bleachers, your legs casually crossed over one another, exuding pure nonchalance despite the fact that you’re not technically supposed to be here.

Your red ribbed turtleneck sweater fits snugly, hugging your torso in a way that makes you feel both comfortable and a little bit powerful. The black pleated mini skirt you paired it with barely brushes mid-thigh, but the real finishing touch to your outfit is the black bomber jacket draped over your shoulders, Chan’s jacket, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the fabric. You tug it around yourself, adjusting the sleeves slightly as you lean back, shifting your black rectangular sunglasses higher onto the bridge of your nose.

Beside you, Yeji is practically vibrating in place, her fingers tapping against the metal bleachers, her body buzzing with anticipation. "How much longer?" she mutters under her breath.

You smile, shifting slightly as you glance toward the centre of the field. "Should be any second now."

None of the other cheerleaders know why the two of you are waiting so eagerly, why you’re both sitting there grinning like you own the place, practically giddy despite your suspension. But they’re about to find out.

Lia, who’s seated a few spots down, narrows her eyes suspiciously as she leans forward. "Alright, what the fuck are you two plotting?"

Yuna, her brows furrowed, leans in next to her. "Yeah, you’re acting way too smug for two people who are technically banned from cheering right now."

Ryujin crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she watches you both closely. "What the fuck are you hiding?"

You and Yeji exchange one glance and then, simultaneously, you grin as the opening beats of Queencard by (G)I-DLE explode through the field speakers.

A ripple of confusion spreads through the crowd, heads snapping toward the field as the Miroh Maniacs, Chan, Felix, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin and the rest of the team, come jogging out of the changing rooms and they’re not in their usual jerseys. They’re in cheerleading uniforms. The same red and black skirts, the same cropped tops with MIROH MANIACS emblazoned across the front, the same pom-poms clutched in their hands. And then they start dancing.

Yeji gasps beside you, slapping your arm as the entire squad erupts into laughter, screams of shock and delight echoing across the front row of the bleachers.

"NO. FUCKING. WAY." Ryujin cackles, doubling over. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

Lia shrieks, gripping Yuna’s wrist as the two of them lose their minds, their laughter barely heard over the crowd that is absolutely eating this up. You knew this was happening, you and Yeji personally helped teach them the choreography in secret, but seeing it now, in full effect, is something else entirely.

Chan, smirking, perfectly in sync with the rest of the team, spins on his feet before dropping low, his movements sharp and fluid, perfectly timed with Felix, who is on his left.

Felix, his grin shining brighter than the fucking sun, shakes his pom-poms before tossing them up dramatically, winking straight at you. You laugh, doubling over as Yeji clutches her stomach, shaking with laughter.

"Oh my GOD," you giggle, covering your mouth. "They’re actually doing it! They’re fucking doing it!"

The Miroh Maniacs execute every single move with alarming accuracy, hitting each step of the routine flawlessly, their footwork sharp, their hip rolls too precise for comfort.

"THEY’RE SO GOOD," Yuna screeches, hands clutching her cheeks. "WHY ARE THEY SO GOOD?"

"This was Chan and Felix’s idea," Yeji gasps out, still laughing, barely able to breathe. "*They wanted to do it for us, for you, especially."

Your heart flutters wildly at that, but you barely have time to process it before: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT?!"

The coach’s voice explodes from the sidelines, his face turning an alarming shade of red, his arms flailing wildly as he marches up and down the field. "WHO THE FUCK APPROVED THIS?! THIS IS A FOOTBALL GAME, NOT A GODDAMN CIRCUS!"

You burst out laughing, your whole body shaking as you watch the coach lose his absolute mind, veins popping in his neck, hands thrown in the air like he’s praying for patience. "LEE MINHO, STOP FUCKING GRINDING ON YOUR TEAMMATES AND PLAY FOOTBALL!"

Minho, who is currently rolling his hips like he was born to do this, smirks at the coach and winks. "Sorry, Coach! Gotta keep my form tight!"

"STOP WINKING, YOU MENACE-"

Before the coach can fully combust, the entire field erupts in a deafening scream as Jisung, wild-eyed and completely unhinged, does a quick spin, drops low, then BENDS OVER and flips his skirt up, revealing a pair of lacy red panties.

"OH MY GOD," Lia shrieks, practically collapsing against Yuna. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HE WEARING?!"

"WHY DIDN’T WE KNOW ABOUT THIS?!" Ryujin screams, clutching onto your jacket.

The crowd is going insane, whistling and whooping as the Cle Cobras are staring in pure disbelief, some of them doubled over, others just straight-up wheezing on the field.

Jisung, still bent over, ass on full display, smacks his own ass and blows a kiss to the crowd.

"HAN JISUNG, YOU ARE DONE, YOU HEAR ME?! DONE-"

"You can’t stop me, Coach," Jisung purrs, flipping his skirt back down. "I was born to be a star."

You are crying, tears are streaming down your face, your lungs giving out from how hard you’re laughing. And then Chan and Felix, grinning like absolute shitheads, blow you kisses. You barely manage to catch your breath before you instinctively blow one back.

Yeji gasps beside you, her mouth falling open. "NO!"

You blink. "What?"

"YOU SNAGGED CHAN AND FELIX?!" Yeji demands, her eyes wide with betrayal.

You laugh, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I’m not their girlfriend yet but pretty much?"

Ryujin groans, throwing her head back. "Fucking FINALLY."

"Wait, hold on, hold on-" Yuna waves her hands wildly, her eyes darting between you and the two men who are still watching you from the field, clearly entertained by your reaction. "When the fuck did this happen?!"

"I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP," Lia gasps, hitting Ryujin’s arm. "I KNEW IT!"

Before you can answer, the entire squad suddenly stills, eyes snapping back to the field. Because Minho is now bent over in front of Jisung and Jisung is pretending to spank him and Yeji freezes. "...We didn’t teach them that, right?"

You tilt your head, watching Minho throw a wink over his shoulder as Jisung dramatically smacks the air behind him. "No," you say, grinning. "But I love it."

And as the crowd erupts once more, the Miroh Maniacs fully committed to their performance, the coach on the verge of a stroke, you think, that this might just be the best halftime show you’ve ever seen.

The second half of the game is a bloodbath. Whatever little morale the Cle Cobras had left after that halftime show is utterly destroyed by the time the whistle blows again. The Miroh Maniacs hit the field running, and it’s clear they have no intention of letting up.

Chan, back in his usual jersey, is all business, barking out plays, directing his team with sharp, decisive gestures. Felix moves lightning-fast across the field, agile and lethal, outmanoeuvring every single defender that tries to get in his way. Minho and Changbin are unstoppable, bulldozing through the Cobras' offence like they weren’t even there.

Hyunjin, graceful and calculated, dances across the field with the ball, spinning out of reach from grasping hands before launching a perfect pass to Jeongin, who slams it home into the end zone.

The crowd erupts. The Cle Cobras are absolutely done. By the time the final whistle finally sounds, the scoreboard is practically mocking them: Miroh Maniacs 42 - Cle Cobras 10

The crowd explodes in cheers, deafening, the entire student section losing their minds as the Maniacs gather at the centre of the field, whooping and shouting, piling onto each other in a sweaty, exhausted but exhilarated heap.

You’re already moving, practically hopping down from the front row of the bleachers as the team trots off the field, jerseys soaked with sweat, hair disheveled, their energy still thrumming with the high of their victory.

Chan and Felix are near the front, pulling at their jerseys to wipe the sweat off their faces, their skin flushed and shining under the bright field lights.

You grin, jogging over to meet them. "Not bad, Maniacs."

Chan snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulders as soon as you reach him, pressing a grossly sweaty kiss to your temple. "Not bad?"

"Absolutely not bad," Felix corrects, tugging at the collar of his jersey, trying to get some airflow. "We annihilated them, angel."

"True," you concede, letting them pull you in between them as they catch their breath. "Still doesn’t change the fact that Jisung stole the whole fucking show."

From the sidelines, where he’s chugging a bottle of water, Jisung whoops loudly, pumping a fist in the air. "Damn right, I did!"

Chan laughs, shaking his head. "I’m never letting him live that down."

"I don’t think any of us are," you agree. "That shit is going down in college history."

Felix grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "That aside-" he starts, his voice slipping into something smoother, something teasing. "Did we dance good enough to become your boyfriends officially?"

You pretend to think about it, tapping your chin, humming dramatically. "Mmmm... I dunno..."

"Angel," Felix whines, leaning in closer, pouting like he’s actually suffering. "Don’t do this to us."

Chan huffs, reaching over to poke your cheek. "We put our bodies on the line for that performance, Y/N."

"We learned how to twerk," Felix deadpans, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. "For you."

You snort, finally turning to face them fully. "Fine, fine," you grin, throwing up your hands in mock defeat. "You pass. You’re my boyfriends now."

Before you can even process what’s happening, Chan and Felix lunge. Felix grabs your face, his hands warm, his grin radiant as he presses his lips to yours, soft, but giddy, like he can’t contain how fucking happy he is. The second he pulls away, Chan’s there, his hands firm on your waist as he tilts your chin up, kissing you with a little more pressure, a little more certainty, like he’s staking his claim.

When he pulls back, Felix giggling into his shoulder, you’re breathless, warmth blooming in your entire body.

"YOU’RE WELCOME!"

The three of you turn to see Jeongin, still sweaty and grinning like a little shit, has his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting from the sidelines. You burst into laughter, still pressed between Felix and Chan, who are both shaking their heads in exasperation.

"Little bastard," Chan mutters under his breath, but there’s nothing but fondness in his tone.

Felix sighs dreamily, leaning his head against your shoulder. "He really does deserve some credit."

"Only some," you grin, tilting your head slightly so Felix can press a kiss to your temple.

Chan snorts. "Disgusting."

"Jealous?" Felix smirks, lifting his head just enough to flutter his lashes.

"Deeply," Chan says flatly before tugging you back into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I call next kiss, fuck off."

Felix laughs, wrapping his arms around both of you as the team celebrates in the background, as the crowd cheers, as the stadium lights shine down and for the first time in forever, everything feels exactly the way it’s meant to be.

A/N: This draft has been sitting stewing for nearly two months because I got stuck on the plot after the scene in the coach's office but multiple anon requests for Chanlix made me reopen the document again and get to work <3 A/N 2: Also please look at my poll and answer so you have a say in what you see next

Requested by: multiple anons

Bang Chan Taglist: @0haerireah0

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

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