#the drop in my mood almost paralyzed me lmao

[hibiscusangel15]

Wish the world would stop for like a whole week. I'm too tired to deal with it today lol

[oliviaischillin1204]

A Ticklish Competition- A Fic By @Ticklish-Sides

[note: another excellent excellent fic from @ticklish-sides, with a couple minor additions from myself lmao. please read this y’all, i almost died as it was being written]

With the Prince of the Imagination and the Side who controlled the Flight and Fight reflexes, things were bound to get heated about who was the stronger Side. And that meant several, several different contests about strength. Which Logan and Patton were always the judges for. They had sat through so many different sit-up contests, push up contests, track and field contests, and hundreds of others. None of which Virgil or Roman ended up winning because they were too stubborn to ever give up before both dropping like stones. And Patton and Logan were officially done with it. So they decided to suggest a little contest of their own.

Virgil eyed the bar attached to the ceiling of the den with an arched eyebrow. “You guys seriously did this? I thought you hated our contests.”

Logan nodded from where he was sitting on the couch with Patton. “That’s correct, we do. However, seeing as you are both extremely stubborn and we can’t see either of you stopping these contests anytime soon -”

“Contests where you’re pushing yourself way too far!”

Logan nodded, pointing at Patton approvingly. “Yes, also that. So, instead of watching you two put your health at risk, this is the final contest that we’ll allow. Do chin-ups until someone can’t do them anymore. Whoever wins this contest, wins forever. Understand?”

Roman and Virgil glanced at each other with narrowed eyes. Finally, Virgil nodded. “Fine. Not that I’ll need any more contests. Because I���m going to win.”

“Please,” Roman scoffed confidently, walking over to one of the bars with a smirk and pulling him up, Virgil hurriedly going to the other one. “You’ll be out by the time I’m on my tenth chin up. I’d wish you luck, but it’d be cruel to give you false hope.”

As the two of them bickered back and forth, Logan and Patton exchanged knowing smirks. Logan moved a hand behind his back, Patton fingering something in his pockets. “Now, on my mark,” Patton said in a sweet tone, voice bordering on a coo, “do your first chin up. Ready? Start!”

Logan and Patton watched as Roman and Virgil started their chin up, silent for the first few minutes, just watching. Logan then slowly pulled out a Doctor’s stethoscope and pulled it around his neck and Patton moved his hands out of his pockets, little monster claws attached to his fingers. “Oh, I just forgot to mention what happens to he who wins and he who loses,” Logan said in his well-practiced Doctor tone that had the two Sides competing freezing in the middle of their chin-ups and looking over at Logan, eyes widening in horror when they saw the stethoscope. “Whoever loses, is given to Patton to be his Gigglebug for the day. And whoever wins, is given the honour of testing out the many, many experimental treatments that I need testing. Now,” Logan leaned back against the couch with a smirk, “please, continue.”

Virgil stared at Logan with wide, excited eyes, a wobbly smile tugging at his lips. “A-are you serious? Like, seriously?”

Patton winked at him, wiggling his fingers at Roman and Virgil and grinning when Roman squeaked and pulled himself up against the bar as if to protect his armpits. “That’s right, Virgey Bear. So, unless you want me playing with your cute little tummy, I suggest you keep on doing your little chin-ups.”

There was a pause as Roman and Virgil met each other’s eyes, both of them wearing an expression that was a mix of excitement, anticipation, and stubbornness. Neither of them wanted to give up and lose the right to the very important bragging rights. So, with Virgil letting out a shaky breath and Roman closing his eyes, they started back up with their chin-ups. But there was a difference this time. Patton and Logan didn’t stay quiet.

“You know, one of the treatments that I’ve prepared would be perfect for you, Virgil,” Logan hummed, fingering his stethoscope. “I’d like to test which is better for enhancing ticklishness. Lotion or oil. What do you think Virgil? I think that it’s oil, personally, but I’d love to hear your take on it.”

His take on it was one thing that Virgil could give. He couldn’t even open his mouth, cheeks flushed pink and his lips stretching out into a small grin. He shook his head as he shakily pulled himself up to the bar. He was twitching a little as his Lee mood increased and he imagined just how thorough Logan would be with testing out his treatment.

Roman glanced over at Virgil with a smirk. He was doing a bit better than Virgil, his quickly rising Lee mood and his drive to win and hold this over Virgil’s head forever battling against each other. “Looks like Patton’s gonna have a new Gigglebug soon,” he cooed at Virgil, enjoying how that pink blush darkened. “I hope you’ve brushed up on your nursery rhymes. I hope that Patton makes you sing ‘My Little Piggy’ over and over and-”

“Now, now, Roman,” Patton tsked, waving a clawed finger at him and shaking his head. “Don’t you tease Virgil now, not when he’s trying so hard. You better focus on doing chin-ups and not on Virgil,” he smirked a little, “otherwise you’ll be the one singing the songs. And I got the perfect song for you. How about I sing you a verse now?”

“No,” Roman and Virgil both cried in unison, Roman’s cheeks starting to match Virgil.

Logan arched an eyebrow. “How rude. Patton offered to sing you a verse of a lovely song and you both shut him down, and quite rudely too.” He crossed his legs and turned to face Patton. “Patton, I would love to hear you sing your song.”

Patton clapped his hands, beaming at Logan happily. “Aww, thank you, Lolo.” He faced Roman and Virgil, Virgil paralyzed at the top of the bar and Roman’s arms trembling as he tried to pull himself up. “Round and round the garden, goes the teddy bear,” Patton sang sweetly, wiggling his clawed fingers and grinning when a giggle escape Roman. “One step, two steps, tickle you under there!” He suddenly lunged a little, Virgil shrieking and nearly losing his grip on the bar. “Oh, Virgil’s shaking, Virgil’s shaking!”

“I’m not,” Virgil laughed, forcing himself down. His knees and arms were trembling hard but he pulled himself back up, his lips pulling down into a stubborn pout. He wasn’t going to lose, not to Roman. “I’m nohohot!”

Logan tapped Patton’s arm, leaning in and stage whispering, “I think he’s lying, Patton. Terribly rude for a Gigglebug, isn’t it”

Patton nodded solemnly. “Oh yes,” he stage whispered back. “Don’t worry. If he drops, I’ll teach him some manners.”

Virgil squealed, paralyzed and just hanging from the bar. He didn’t think he could handle this teasing for too much longer. Luckily, the two Lers decided that Roman was costing through this challenge just a bit too easily.

“You know, Roman,” Logan hummed, lowering his glasses and looking at Roman over them, “if you win, I’d be very interested in inspecting your muscle groups to determine how strong you really are. An in-depth abdominal examination would do the job, I believe.” He smirked as Roman’s chin-ups, which had been mostly steady up until now, started to get shaky. “Oh? Are you getting shaky, Roman? Don’t give up now. You wouldn’t want to lose the honour of testing out my treatments, would you?”

Roman rested his face against the bar, giggles slipping out of him excitedly. Unfortunately, Patton wasn’t about to let Logan get in all the teases.

“Oh, Roro, it’s okay if you lose. Honestly, I’d encourage it,” Patton chirped, drumming the claws on his fingers together excitedly. “Romie, I’ve got some special little brushes that would love to tickle-tickle your underarms! Won’t you please drop for me, kiddo?” He perked up as Virgil started to shakily rise with the attention not on him. “Oh, looks like Virgil is still trying to win! Awww, I have an idea! Why don’t the two of you drop at the same time, that way I’ll get two Gigglebugs!

Logan tsked, shaking his head. "Now, now, Patton, don’t be greedy. I’d like to have a patient today to test my treatments out on.” He glanced over at the competitors with a smirk. “Perhaps if you’re going to be greedy, so shall I. If they both managed to stay in for this competition for the next five minutes, I get both of them as patients. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Patton sighed with a pout. “Can I be your Nurse if you win though?”

“Oh, of course, Patton,” Logan said with a gentle smile, ignoring Roman squealing and Virgil barely hanging onto the bar. “As long as I’m able to join you if you win.”

Patton perked up and nodded, clapping his hands. “Doesn’t this sound fun, Roro, VeeVee? Whatever happens, you’ll both end up tickled pink! You’re going to so much fun whether you win, lose or tie!”

Roman’s face was bright red from his giggles, arms shaking hard. He didn’t think he could hang on much longer and, from the looks of it, neither could Virgil. The Anxious Side was paralyzed, hanging straight down and giggling furiously. They needed to do something drastic. “Choose,” he squeaked out, trying to adjust his grip. “V-Virgil, just chohose which one. Gigglebug or patient?”

Patton and Logan both leaned forward with interest, eyes trained on Virgil. “That’s right, Virgil,” Logan hummed with a sharp smile. “Just choose, Virgil. Would you rather spend the day with me or Patton? I’d suggest choosing quickly, however. Spend too much time thinking, and both you and Roman both will be mine and Nurse Patton’s patient.”

And right as Logan said the word patient, Virgil’s grip on the bar gave out and he collapsed to the ground, just a second before Roman. The two Lees gasped for breath as they laughed, clutching at each other’s arms. Virgil had his face pressed into Roman’s shoulder to hide his wide, wobbly grin and Roman was holding Virgil close with his face buried in Virgil’s hair.

“Gohood job, Virgil,” Roman giggled, rubbing at his cheeks like he could scrub the bright pink blush right off them. “Yohou did really good.”

Virgil nodded against Roman’s shoulder, staying silently but patting Roman’s arm supportively.

“Awww, so sweet! You boys both did great!”

Roman and Virgil looked up to see Logan and Patton standing over them, Logan with a sharp grin and Patton with a teasy, innocent smile. “And, Roman, you won! You know what that means” Patton cheered.

“He sure does,” Logan hummed, holding out his hand expectantly. When Roman hesitantly took it, he yelped when Logan pulled him up smoothly and right in front of him with a smirk. “Is the patient ready for his treatment?”

Roman burst into giggles, nodding happily as Logan led him away, shaking with anticipation.

Virgil looked up at Patton who winked down at him, scooping him up in a bridal style hold. “Looks like I got a cute little Gigglebug all to myself today! What'cha say, VeeVee? You ready to get going?” He laughed when Virgil buried his face into his shoulder. “Awww, someone’s shy today! Don’t worry, Gigglebug, we’ll have loads of fun today!”

And Patton was right. Because Roman might’ve won the competition, but everyone was a winner here today.

[butmomilovepeter]

first date

read on ao3?

imagine not posting for a year only to come back with this for no reason lmao hey guys 

~

The mission was over and done within the hour, and that should have been the first sign that something was wrong. There was an ache in Tony’s chest; a mix of anticipation and anxiety, but he chose to ignore it. That was the second sign. 

“Hey, Pete, come with me,” Tony said, motioning for Spiderman to follow. “I just want to do a quick sweep down that block.” He waved towards it absentmindedly. 

“On it!” 

He’s in a good mood today, and it makes Tony smirk. Peter’s a genuinely happy kid, but he’s also seventeen, and if Tony knows anything about seventeen year olds, it’s that their mood swings are unpredictable. So when Peter doesn’t give him any attitude, the ache in his chest dissipates, and a bit of relief replaces it. They made their way down through the street, fixing lampposts and flipping cars and helping pedestrians. (Why people still wanted to live in New York City he didn’t know. It was clearly one of the most susceptible cities for alien attacks.)

All the while, Peter was kind and quiet for the younger kid’s sake, and put on a more mature facade for the adults. It made Tony’s heart swell, though he would never admit it. 

“You’re chipper today, young Skywalker,” Tony joked. “What’s up?” 

“Chipper is a weird word,” Peter said, but there was a laugh in his words as well. “Does something have to be “up” for me to be in a good mood?” 

“Yes, because last week you snapped at me for asking if you wanted pizza for dinner.” 

“I was tired!” he argued. 

“You were being moody.” 

Peter thought about this for a moment. “Fair.” 

“So, really, what’s going on?” Tony was genuinely curious. “Is it about MJ?”

“What? No,” he said, and Tony could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “No, it’s not about MJ.” 

“I think you’re lying to me,” said Tony. “I can tell when you lie to me.” 

“That’s creepy, Mr.Stark.”

“Maybe,” he said. “C’mon, spit it out.” He nudged Peter in the shoulder. 

“I have a date tonight, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He whispered it as if she would hear him, which only made Tony laugh. “At seven. Right after this.”

“God, finally. I thought you’d never ask her out.” 

They rounded the corner, finding themselves alone and away from the crowds. The alleyway was clear. (That really should have been sign number three.)

“Whatever.” Peter crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’m excited.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tony smiled. “What’s the plan? Dinner and a show? A little Lady and the Tramp action? Or maybe--”

“Stop talking.” 

“There’s the attitude--”

“No, stop talking.” Peter was rigid. He was sensing something, and the ache in Tony’s chest bombarded him. 

Tony blinks. He blinks, and it’s chaos. 

Chaos because he just closed his eyes for a millisecond, a millisecond, and then there was the shout. The firing of the weapon. The cry as Peter went down, and the thud as he ungracefully hit the ground. 

“Peter!”

He fired blindly at the source. Anger is a funny thing, in this case, because anger isn’t just anger at the moment. It’s protection, loyalty, and fear all wrapped up with anger slapped in front of it. Tony chases the alien-- a sickly grotesque vomit-green thing, with drooping skin and bones. No doubt sent by a Thanos wannabe, or even some other powerful entity, pushing the limits for the Avengers. Clearly, this was Tony’s limit, because he doesn’t even register how fast he flies at it, his ammunition being wasted and catastrophically used on the stringy green thing. It falls down dead a couple feet ahead of him. 

“Tony, what the hell was that?” Steve commands through their coms, his voice edged with worry and annoyance. 

Tony can’t even really hear him. “Peter.”

“What about the boy?” That’s Thor. 

“There was one more. It got Peter.” 

Tony clambered out of his suit, not caring about the dangers anymore. The others yelled in his ears, but he didn’t want to listen to them. He just wanted to get to Peter. 

Peter had somehow army-crawled his way to the brick wall. His face was pale. He had taken his mask off, and now all Tony could see was the sweaty and ghostly way his face gleamed off the newly-lit lampposts. 

From the front, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. From the front, he just just looked stressed, tired, and pained. 

Tony exited his suit swiftly, knowing the dangers and not caring. He wanted human hands to help the kid. (Well, human hand. The other one was lost to Thanos. But it was Tony. He wanted to be Tony, not Ironman, when he approached Peter.) 

He fell to his knees by his side, cupping his face with his good hand. “Look at me, Pete. Look at me. Where--?”

“My back,” Peter wheezed. 

“Let me look at it, alright?” 

Tony carefully leaned him into his shoulder so he could see the damage. He suppressed a gag first when he saw it. It’s the smell. Burning flesh. It’s not a normal wound. It’s like fire. It burned away the back of the spandex of Peter’s suit, his back now exposed. And his back...Tony could puke. Layers of skin were burnt--he couldn’t tell you what kind of burns he’d have. He didn’t know. He tried to touch it, but all Peter did was yelp into his shoulder and seize in on himself. 

“Mr. Stark-- Tony--” and Peter doesn’t call Tony that often, so he knew his pain tolerance was being breached. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer. 

Tony pulled Peter back against the wall, watching as the poor kid winced and screwed his face up to deal with the pain. When he did open his eyes again, they were hazy and red, and they didn’t seem to really see anything at all. 

“It’s gonna be alright, yeah? We’ll get the team and we’ll get Strange down here, and he’ll fix you up, huh? So just--so just stay with me.” Tony cupped Peter’s face with both hands. “Stay with me.” 

Peter tried. He truly did, and Tony could tell. But still, his head lolled in Tony’s hands, and the grip he had been keeping on Tony’s sleeves weakend. “Can’t.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Tony chided, shaking him in a way he hoped didn’t hurt. “You’ve got a lot of people counting on you.” 

He didn’t want to explain to Morgan why Peter wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want to have to tell May Parker that she had lost her whole world again, this time permanently. He didn’t want to add a Spiderman hologram to their Avengers memorial. He didn’t want to plan a funeral. He didn’t want to lose a child. He didn’t--he couldn’t. 

“God, MJ is gonna kill me,” Peter said, his words playful, but his tone thin. “And don’t even get me started on May and Ned.” 

“Kid?” Tony was scared. Very, very sacred. He pulled Peter into his arms, careful to avoid the growing wound on his back. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll give me more gray hairs.” 

Peter hugged Tony back weakly. “If you have to, tell them, okay? Morgan, too.” 

Tony knew what Peter meant, and somehow that made it worse. “Well, that’s just not happening, you know that, right?” 

“Tony, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” he said between gasps.  Peter was weak. He was strong, but he was very weak. He was nearly liquid in Tony’s arms. 

Tony swallowed. “Fine. If.” 

He could tell Peter was smiling, but when he finally went completely limp, Tony prayed that wasn’t the last time he’d see him do that.

~

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Tony’s voice is shallow. There’s something caught in his throat. His demeanor is tight, his face is strict. He feels like if he moves an inch he might explode. 

Strange, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically soft. His eyes have bags under them, and his shoulders droop forward. He looks mentally exhausted. 

“Tony—”

“Tell me the truth, Strange.” 

Strange’s eyes flicker towards the chart in his hands. “He’s been burned bad, Stark. He’s alive, but it’s painful.” 

“I can deal with painful,” Tony responds. 

Strange’s lips made a thin line. “Perhaps...but can he?”

This startles Tony, so much so that his demeanor cracks a bit, and his mouth drops open. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t a normal kind of pain because this wasn’t a normal kind of weapon,” he responds, keeping his voice low. “This tech--there’s magic in it. My kind of magic.” 

“But the stones are gone,” Tony says, anger veering on his voice. 

“They are, but that doesn’t mean that magic like that isn’t still out there, Tony.” 

“So...what's your plan, then?” 

Strange didn’t respond for a second. He looks like he was weighing his options. “There’s a couple ways we could deal with it, and none of them are ideal.” 

Tony gulps. “Lay it on me.” 

“One, we could wait it out, but he’s either going to be in incredible amounts of pain or not conscious at all.” Strange starts leading him down the hallway to Peter’s room. Everything is white and clean and shiny, and Tony feels like a stark contrast to everything around him. “That’s...the simplest way.” 

“I take it the other way isn’t like that?” 

Strange shook his head. “It’ll be quicker, but it could also make it worse.”  Strange continues to stare at him, like he was trying to find the best route to follow the conversation. 

“Just spit it out, Strange, Jesus!” Tony completely crumbles. He’s worried. He wants to be able to go home with Peter by the end of the week, by the end of the day. 

“Tony, I’m being cautious because you can’t make this decision in your state,” Strange responds sharply. “You want him better, we all do, but if we rush into anything, we could do more harm than good.” 

“What’s option two?” 

“Stark--” 

“What’s option two?” he says more forcefully. 

Strange stares at him again, his face hard to read. “There are spells. I know some that may help.” 

“That sounds peachy,” Tony says, looking at the ground. “But there’s a price, right?”

“Yes.” Strange opens the door to the hospital room. “Even if it succeeds, it could cause new problems, ones that we might not be able to solve. Magic is a fickle thing, Stark. It’s almost its own entity. It doesn’t like to be controlled, it likes to be channeled. ” 

“Would it kill him?” 

“It might. Or it could paralyze him, void his mind of thought, make his burns move to a different place--there is a lot of risk.” 

Tony stares at Peter’s bed. The kid was on his stomach, his wounded back prominent against the white linen sheets and pale skin. His head was turned to the side. His whole face was smooth and lineless and white. It makes Tony’s stomach turn. 

“But if we don’t? If we don’t use magic?” 

Strange sighs. “The sedatives Banner and you made will keep him under, and I can  work on treatments now, but there are no guarantees. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” He pauses, looking carefully between Tony and Peter. “... if  he’ll wake up.” 

Tony’s voice hitches in his throat. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. He takes deep breaths and he tries to steady himself, because he cannot handle that. He holds his hands together; the smoothness of the right arm against the calloused and worked one of the left. His words are stuck in his throat. 

“It’s your choice. I’ll back you up either way,” said Strange. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” he says after a moment. 

Strange grips his shoulder as he walks out, leaving Tony alone with the prone Peter. He finds himself making his way to sit in the armchair next to the bed. 

His hand moves on it’s own towards his head. He pushes back Peter’s hair from his face, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Don’t let it be if, kid,” Tony says. “I’m begging you.”

~

May answers on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re calling to make lunch plans.” 

“May…” 

“This isn’t a lunch plan phone call, is it?” 

“I wish I could say it was.” 

He paces up and down the linoleum hallway of the medical wing, his footsteps echoing off the walls. 

He hears May shudder a breath over the phone. “What’s wrong with him?” Of course she already has an idea. 

He goes into his scripted explanation, being careful to keep his tone hopeful and light. He knows she didn’t buy it, but he knows she’s grateful anyway. 

When he finishes, she doesn’t say anything. He just listens to her breath deeply, no doubt holding tears back. He doesn’t blame her. He kinda wants to cry too. 

“Um, Happy can, uh, pick you up if you want to come up here,” he says, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I would,” she responds, her voice thick. “Do you...do you think he needs anything?” 

“I don’t know if he’d even notice,” and he regrets saying it as soon as he does. 

May doesn’t seem to mind or care. “Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“What-what do you think? Do you think he’ll…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

“...That’s the other thing, May. We have some options. But neither are ideal.” He somehow has made it back to Peter’s room, much to his dismay. He wanted to be far away from there. 

“Let me guess. Either way, it’s still up in the air.” 

Tony nods. “Either we wait it out, see what Dr.Banner and Dr.Strange can do...or we take a more mystical approach.” 

“Mystical?”

“The wound isn’t human, May. It’s, in the good doctor’s terms, magical.” He sat down at that same armchair. “And with him being a wizard and all, he says he might be able to do something about that.” 

May is quiet. He assumes she’s thinking it over. “What’s your take?” 

“Usually, I’d say we wait,” he says. “But...I trust Strange. And I feel like it’s worth a shot.” 

“Then do it. I spent the last five years grieving over him, Tony. I can’t do that again.” There’s rustling on her hand, probably her gathering Peter’s things. “So if you’re saying we’ve got a shot at this, take it.” 

Tony feels his heartbeat hammer in his chest with adrenaline. “I do. I have to believe we do.”

May’s voice was full of tears. “He had a date tonight. His first real date. Laid out his clothes and everything.” 

Tony doesn’t respond. He if did, he wouldn't be able to make clear words. 

At some point, May hangs up. Tony sends Happy to whisk her up to him. 

Tony watches Peter’s mechanical breathing. The wound itself he tries to look away from. The skin around it is red like hell. The burns are bone deep, but there’s something unsettling and wrong about them, like they clung to his very existence and not just his back. Maybe that’s what Strange was talking about. 

He walks in about fifteen minutes later. “Stark?” 

“Let’s do it,” he says, getting to his feet. “Bring on the magic, Dumbledore.” 

~

Lighter footsteps come running down the hallway. “Daddy!”

Morgan was dressed in her favorite overalls, which we rustled from playing and other such five-year-old activities. 

“Hey, squirt.” Tony scoops her up into his arms and twirls her around, glad for the moment of solace after such a harrowing day. “What’re you doing here?”

Pepper, and May follow in suit, each wearing a matching solemn expression. May looks like she’s been crying. 

Pepper lands a kiss on his cheek. “How is he?” 

“Strange is testing some things out. Seeing what might work. He hasn’t started anything yet,” says Tony, placing Morgan on his hip. “But the gang’s all here.” He nudges Morgan’s cheek with his own. 

“What’s wrong with Pete? Mommy won’t tell me,” Morgan says, gaining a few dry chuckles from the group. 

“Oh, you know Peter. He always lands himself in trouble,” Tony supplies, hoping she’ll accept his answer. 

But she’s his daughter, so of course she won’t. “What kind of trouble?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, because explaining to a five-year-old that her pseudo older brother got shot with a magical alien gun isn’t easy. 

Pepper takes May’s hand, leading her down the hallway. “Let’s go grab some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

That leaves Tony alone with his daughter. She tries to ask him again, but stops short when he gives her a quick look. He sits down on a bench outside Peter’s closed off room. “It’s a long story, kiddo.” 

“I like stories,” she replies. 

Tony gives her half a smile. “Not these kinds, baby.” 

“What’s wrong with him, Daddy?” She pushes on his knee while he kneels in front of her. 

“You remember when Mom and I went to that big fight? And everybody was there?” When she nods slowly, he continues. “I got pretty banged up, remember? So I had to get this?” He waved the metal hand around, flexing his fingers and pushing her hair back. 

“You got your cool arm,” she says, trailing her fingers down it. 

“Right,” Tony continues. “We had another fight today. And Peter got pretty banged up.”

“Will he get a cool arm, too?”

Tony kisses her forehead. “No, not that kind of banged up. It’s on his back, M.”

“Can I see him? He says I always make him feel better.”

Tony felt his eyes well up with tears. “Not yet, baby. You know Dr. Strange? He’s trying to fix Pete up. But it might take a long time.” 

“I don’t like waiting, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, me neither, babe. But we’re gonna have to if we want him to get better.” 

She stares down at her sneakers, like she doesn’t know the right thing to say. Tony doesn’t know either, so they stay silent for a few minutes. 

The girls return after a few more minutes. 

“I told Ned to make something up for that MJ girl’s sake,” May says quietly, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her coffee. “He’s out of his mind worried.” 

Secretly, Tony knows it’s kind of selfish of him to feel so hollow about losing Peter. It’s May who should be on the edge of a breakdown, not him, yet somehow she seems calm and collected. It took a whole year and a half before May and Tony spoke about anything, much less about Peter. She didn’t accept his invitations, and Tony didn’t blame her. She was angry at him for losing her nephew, her only living family. Tony blamed himself too. It wasn’t until Morgan’s second birthday that she brought him up, saying how when Peter was Morgan’s age, his favorite color was red, like Morgan’s was too. 

For her, it was always something. The Parker’s, then Ben, then Peter. 

Tony had lost people too, but he had Pepper and Morgan to help him through. 

He’s about to say something to her, an apology or a condolence, but Strange busts out from Peter’s room, huffing. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

~

Tony watches Strange make strange symbols and movements, but he doesn’t interrupt. His worry clouds his curiosity. The orange glow of Strange’s powers hurt his eyes, but he keeps them trained on Peter, who was still stone-like in his sleep. 

He made his wife and daughter wait in the hall, but he did ask May to join him. Should next to him, her jaw stiff upon seeing her nephew (her son ) lying so still. He grabs for her hand in a comforting way, which she gladly accepts. He knew why; she wanted to hold some tangible if she couldn’t hold Peter. She wanted to hold onto something real. 

Strange’s eyes are closed and concentrated, breathing deeply as he conjures some sort of spell. 

There’s a sudden blast of energy that ripples between them all, sending shivers down Tony’s spin and the brief scent of burning in his nose. Strange holds the energy (perhaps the spell? Magic still confuses Tony) in his hands, and then slowly dissolves it into Peter’s wound. 

For a brief, cold, solid moment, Peter does not breathe. He does not move. He flatlines, and Tony is already to fall to his knees if it wasn’t for the equally distraught May holding him up. 

And then, he gasps. 

Strange immediately does something else, another spell or other such magical words, and Peter’s back seems to heal itself. 

“Woah, what the hell--?” Peter says softly, shifting his arms underneath him to sit up a little. 

“Peter!” May cries, letting go of Tony’s hand in favor of helping Peter turn around. “Jesus, baby, are you okay?” 

Strange seems a bit put out, and he nearly falls back into the other armchair on the other side. Tony mouths him thank you before coming to Peter’s otherside, gaining him half a nod and a sigh from the other man. 

“May? What happened?” Peter asks, flexing his fingers and stretching his shoulder. “Mr.Stark?”

“What do you remember, kid?” Tony asks, removing the tubes away from Peter’s face. 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “We just finished the mission, and we were talking about my date, and then...oh God . Did I miss my date?” 

Tony and May both bark out ridiculous laughs, causing a helpless look from Peter. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Ned had to cover for you,” May replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“She’s not going to be happy. She’s been waiting for me to ask her for, like, a month.” 

“You can ask her again, Pete. I’m sure she’ll say yes,” Tony offers. 

“I hope so. I don’t know what Ned could have possibly come up with. He cracks under pressure,” Peter says, letting May and Tony coddle him. 

The door swung open. “Pete!” 

Morgan came running at them, ready to jump right on Peter if it wasn’t for Tony catching her mid-air and dropping her down softly. 

“Sorry. I could only keep her out there for so long,” Pepper says, a light smile on her lips. 

Morgan clammers to squeeze herself between Peter and her father. “You’re awake!” 

“Yeah, Morg, I am,” Peter says with a laugh. “No doubt because you’re here.” 

She grins wildly at him, asking a million questions about why he didn’t get a metal back, why “Mr.Strange” was being so quiet, why Peter didn’t have a shirt on, why everyone looked like they were crying, and just about anything that came to her head. 

Tony took mental snapshots. These were the moments to remember. These were the moments that made it worth it. 

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 1: Blast from the Past

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which the ghosts from their past come knocking on their doors.

Word count: 6.5k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link

I wrote this chapter before Eroda/Adore You came out so the goldfish thing was totally a coincidence lmao.

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When Harry was six, he had a goldfish.

He'd asked for a dog for his birthday, but his mother didn't think he was responsible enough to take care of a dog, so she bought him a fish instead. Despite not being as cool as a puppy, the goldfish was actually a great companion, and Harry loved him a lot. He called him Mr. Finny.

Mr. Finny died a week after coming home. It took Harry a month to get over Mr. Finny's death for it was his first experience of losing something that meant a lot to him.

He was too little when his father went away. He was four, and his sister was six — the same age as him when he lost Mr. Finny. So he guessed it had been rough for both his mum and Gemma to deal with such a big loss. He'd had nightmares for a whole week after losing his goldfish, imagine losing a person.

Losing things were easier because things couldn't walk away from you and if you couldn't find them, you could just replace them with something new and better. With people, you couldn't do that. Once you'd lost them, you could lose them forever. Just like goldfishes, even if Harry had found another one that looked exactly the same, it just wasn't Mr. Finny.

Ruby was his second experience of loss which had taken a heavy toll on him. He had lost a part of himself when he lost her. But then he found a better piece to fill that empty space when he returned to Holmes Chapel for Y/N's mother's funeral. They had both lost someone they loved, but they found each other, and now they were exactly where they wanted to be.

They had spent the last month of the summer travelling around Europe after attending Niall's concert in Italy and a friend's movie premiere in Paris. Y/N had only agreed to go because she couldn't say no to Paris, but she was genuinely happy during the trip, which made him happy too.

That was only until summer was over.

There was no perfect timing for finding out your loved one had passed away, but it certainly shouldn't have been at the airport just five minutes after he'd landed in London. It was Gemma who called and broke the news to him. She said their mother was devastated and they needed him to come home, so he immediately called his chauffeur to pick him up at the airport, and of course, Y/N wouldn't let him go alone.

Harry wasn't very close to his stepdad, but he loved the guy because he'd made his mother happy. Now she cried herself to sleep every night like she used to when Harry's father left. Harry had never thought he'd see her like that again, but he guessed it had taught him something new about loss.

Mr. Finny died because Harry had overfed him. He lost Ruby the same way, by loving her too much. When he tried not to love someone more than they loved him, he ended up losing his Bambi. Then there was his mum and his stepdad, who'd had a beautiful and healthy marriage, until death stepped in and took him away. Loss had no expiration date, people did. And no matter how old you were or how hard you tried, you would keep losing people anyway.

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"Harry, wake up! Wake up!"

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was two bright eyes staring right back at him. He blinked fast, trying to get a grip on reality when he felt his girlfriend snuggle her face into his neck.

"You're safe, baby. I'm here," she said as he pulled her closer.

It was the third time that week Harry had had a nightmare. The first time was when he'd just got back to London after the funeral. The second time was just two nights ago.

"Is it the same dream?" Y/N asked. She seemed very concerned, so he gave her a smile and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"You didn't even leave a note this time," he said. "I came to your place and someone else was living there."

"No wonder you kept asking, 'where is she?' in your sleep." His girlfriend chuckled as she combed her fingers through his unruly hair. He loved it when she did that, it always calmed him down.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he said with a pouty face.

"Nah, woke up a long time ago. I was watching you sleep."

"Creepy."

"Shut up. You love me."

"I do." Harry grinned as she got on top, straddling his waist and holding his face between her palms.

"You know, you can talk to me about anything that's bothering you, no matter how trivial you think it is."

"I know." He nodded. "I've been stressed out lately, that's all."

Y/N didn't seem to believe him but she knew him too well to continue asking questions. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his and her hand going from his chest, down to his belly button, and under the covers. His soft gasp turned into a moan, making her smile devilishly.

"Let me help you relax, yeah?" she whispered into his mouth, tasting every sound he made while pumping him agonisingly slow. "God, you're so hard. Is this for me?"

"Fuck, Bambi."

"Say you're hard for me."

"I'm—I'm hard for you."

"Hmm," she hummed and bit lightly onto his bottom lip. "It's so big in my hand, always makes me feel so full. God, I want your big cock in my tight—"

"Move in with me."

If a four-word sentence could instantly kill the mood, that would be it.

"What?" Y/N's face was almost paralyzed when she pulled away.

Harry had blurted out many things he shouldn't have said during sex with other people, like those couple of times he had called out her name instead of whoever he was with. But never had he been more embarrassed than this moment right now.

Cheeks turning red, the man sat up with his back resting against the headboard. His girlfriend was kneeling in front of him with her hands on her knees and waiting for him to break the silence.

"I'm sorry, I—I didn't...didn't mean that."

"You didn't?"

"Well, no. I mean...yeah, I did, but I—"

What the fuck are you rambling on about, Styles?

"I-I do want that. I want you to move in with me," he blurted with his eyes squeezed shut and when he finally opened them, she was staring at her hands, not at him anymore. He knew that question had come out at the worst moment, but he hadn't expected her reaction to be like this.

"You—you want me to live here?" She raised both eyebrows, pointing down. "In this house?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're basically living here now. It's not like anything has to change."

"It changes a lot, H. I love my flat and I...well, I just—You know..." Now it was her turn to stutter. "I mean, are you...sure this is what you want? We've only been together for three months."

"We've known each other for twelve years, Bambi."

"Still..."

It wasn't exactly an answer, but he had a feeling that it was. To say the least, he was disappointed.

"Look, it's okay. Let's just...just forget I ever asked. I'm sorry for making this weird."

"No, no! I—"

When she paused, he guessed she was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for how she'd reacted, not an answer. But after a moment, she glanced back up and told him, "can I have more time to think?"

"Of course." He nodded quickly. "Take as much time as you need."

So that was a maybe, he assumed. A maybe was still better than a no, even though most of the time when someone said maybe, they actually meant to say no.

"You know I love you, right?" she spoke after a quiet moment. "Because I do. A lot. It's just—"

Before she could finish the sentence, he smashed his lips against hers. She tend to ramble when she got nervous or excited and that was the fastest and most effective way to shut her up. She called him rude for it but never seemed to mind.

Slowly, Harry pulled away, letting his lips brush hers. He loved the way she was gazing at him with hooded eyes and their foreheads against each other. He clasped his hands on either side of her face and whispered slowly, "I'll wait for your answer. Whatever it is, I'll love you anyway "

Y/N’s reply was only a hurried nod as she pulled him in and kissed him again.

They stopped the discussion there and went on with their usual morning routines: sex, shower, sex in the shower, breakfast, then him dropping her off at campus, and them sitting in the car for five minutes straight because she was too nervous to go on her own.

Normal people returned to uni after the summer with a new haircut or a new nose, not a new millionaire boyfriend who just happened to be a famous actor. Y/N kept telling herself she would eventually get used to it, but everyday passed by and she kept wondering when that would be.

"Want me to hold your hand?" Harry asked when he noticed the way she was pinching her thighs, and without waiting for an answer, interlocked his fingers with hers.

When they were little, she used to ask him to hold her hand as they walked to school on the day of an exam. Exams made her anxious, and even though holding his hand didn't solve that problem, it did temporarily put her at ease. Now, everyday felt like exam day...

"Want me to walk you to class too?" he joked, smirking as she gave his shoulder a nudge. "Well, if you don't feel like going to class today, maybe we could just go home and have more sex."

Giggling, she booped his nose. "You're cute. But I think I'm gonna man up and get out of this car."

"That's my girl. Keep me updated?"

"Sure, baby. Have fun at the photoshoot."

Harry kissed the back of Y/N's hand when she opened the door, but he didn't let her go right away.

"Hey! You forgot something!" He pointed to his lips, pouting like a little boy.

"You're like my mum!" she grumbled before kissing him quickly. "Bye, mum!"

"Bye, sweetie! Be good in school!"

Y/N waved her boyfriend goodbye for the last time and walked straight ahead, ignoring all these strangers' eyes on her. It was insane how just a few months ago she was a nobody on this campus. She could have worn her pyjamas to lectures and nobody would've cared. But now she couldn't even leave home without having to make sure her outfit that day wouldn't get her trending on Twitter. To be honest, it was nice how he loved showing her off to the world and was proud of having her as a girlfriend. She really hoped their relationship would be considered normal once she'd become a famous writer. Well, if she became a famous writer.

"Another agent rejected me today!"

"Good morning to you too, Y/N!" Alice giggled as Y/N took a seat in front of her at the library desk. "Did they give you feedback this time?"

"Nope. Just 'wish you the best of luck in the future'. That was all they could come up with and they had the nerve to say no to my book!" Y/N breathed angrily and turned to see Alice raising an eyebrow at her. "Sorry. I got a bit riled up."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

Y/N chuckled as she jokingly flipped her friend off. "Anyway, I know I'm supposed to get used to rejection because JK Rowling also got rejected twelve times before becoming the JK Rowling but—"

"Y/N, Y/N," Alice cut her off and reached out to hold her hand. "Your book is great! I'm sure you'll find an agent who appreciates your talent. If not, you can always ask Harry to hook you up with someone."

"Taking advantage of my boyfriend's name and connections would be the last thing I would want to do, thank you," Y/N said while kneading her temples, making Alice laugh.

"It's only the third time you've been rejected. Relax!"

Relax.

Y/N didn't know how to do that anymore.

It wasn't just her book. It was also Harry, their relationship, and her newfound 'fame'. Maybe people didn't want to work with her because of what they'd heard. Maybe they were afraid that she'd be known as Harry Styles' girlfriend and not for her writing. Or maybe her book just wasn't good enough. Either way, it sucked.

But those things were just minor problems at the moment. Alice must have thought they were driving her crazy, but the truth was, she was so stressed out about her boyfriend's question that even the tiniest problem could trigger her. She wished she could've just said yes. In fact, she had almost said yes. After all, he had a good point. It wouldn't make a big difference because they were practically living together now. Still, there was something so scary about moving in with someone you'd only been dating for three months.

If something happened and you two broke up, you wouldn't have a place to go back, physically and emotionally, which was why she never wanted to rely on him. She needed to make sure that she could still get back up on her own if something went wrong. Y/N just didn't know how to explain that without making it sound like she was sceptical about their relationship. She had never been more sure about anything else. But then again, nobody could predict the future. And seeing how fragile he was after losing his stepfather, she didn't think it'd be a good idea to have this conversation now.

"Hi!"

The high-pitched voice pulled Y/N back to reality. She and Alice both looked up and saw a brunette with the kind of smile that they would put on the university's brochures. Without waiting for Y/N to figure out if they'd met before, the girl extended her hand and said enthusiastically, "my name is Mandy and um...I'm a big fan of Harry...your boyfriend. Nice to meet you!"

"Oh, okay...Hi.” Y/N smiled awkwardly as she shook the girl's hand. Meanwhile, Alice was trying her best not to crack up.

Mandy happily went on, "there's a new club opening tonight and I'm going there with my friends for a girls' night. So if you're interested, you should totally come with us."

"I appreciate that you asked but—"

"We'll be there for sure!"

Y/N's jaw dropped when Alice gave her an unapologetic grin after taking the offer on her behalf. Mandy, however, seemed overjoyed. "Great!" She clasped both hands together. "I'll send you the address on Instagram. My friends will be so happy to meet you."

The girl left as quickly as she'd arrived, but Y/N was still sitting there and staring at Alice with her mouth agape. It took her a moment to speak, "no! I won't be there! Are you insane? This is a trap!"

"Y/N, don't be crazy."

"They want me to come so they can pull some shit and embarrass me!"

"Or..." Alice lifted her shoulders, "they just hope you'll bring your celebrity boyfriend. If he can't make it, they still get to hang out with his girlfriend. It's a win-win situation."

Sucking in a breath, Y/N blew out her cheeks and ran her hands over her face.

"It's been hard, isn't it?" Alice asked.

"So fucking hard!"

"Don't worry, big sis. I'll be your bodyguard tonight."

Y/N rested her head on one hand while Alice was holding her other. It didn't feel as good as when Harry did it, but it'd do for tonight. She hoped so.

Before the drama last year, her life used to revolve around partying, drinking, and writing. Now she spent most of her time on her own or with Harry, and as much as she enjoyed this new lifestyle, she still missed the good old days.

Thanks to Alice's motivational talks, she had gained enough confidence to let herself be excited for tonight. She had put on makeup and a cute outfit and even curled her hair. She was ready to have fun. But all that excitement only lasted until she arrived at the club.

"Is that Harry Styles' girlfriend?" someone said as soon as she walked in.

People were staring at her like she'd shown up in her sleeping gown, but she turned a blind eye to them all and followed her new friends to the bar. It might take more than a couple of drinks for her to relax.

Alice, on the other hand, was really enjoying the atmosphere and bobbing her head to the loud rock song she normally wouldn't listen to.

"What's with the long face? Have some fun, sis!" she told Y/N, who responded with a snort and a side-eyed look. She was just about to say something to justify her being awkward when a guy and a girl walked up to her and Alice and asked if they could have a picture with her. That had never happened before so Y/N could only smile as the guy handed Alice his phone.

"Right, I'm not dating an actor," Alice mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Y/N managed to contain herself until the strangers left and then started bouncing like a little girl. "I'm famous for no reason, Al! I feel like a Kardashian, but in a good way."

"I told you it wouldn't be so bad, didn't I? Come on, let's dance!"

Alice grabbed Y/N by the arm and dragged her to the dance floor. It was only then that Y/N allowed her body to move freely to the music. She loved the quiet life, but she relished the crazy fun times like this when there was no distraction and intrusion. Tonight she would be that main character in a rom-com, just having fun with her friends and not giving a fuck about anything else.

But then, she saw him.

Like a ghost, he disappeared and reappeared every time the light flicked from red to blue. Or maybe it was really a ghost that she'd seen. The thing about ghosts was that they weren't always the spirits of the dead, they could also be memories and people you had lost as you grew up, and sometimes those were the things that haunted you forever.

"Blake..." the name slipped out of her mouth as she watched the man say something to his friends and make his way to the nearest exit.

Her entire body went stiff. The music was muffled as the buzzing in her ears became louder and louder. She'd had only one drink, she couldn't have been so drunk that she started seeing things that didn't exist. That could've been someone who looked like him. Someone with the exact crooked smile, black hair, and pale eyes. She told herself that only to push her way through the crowd and go after the man.

Just like Alice in Wonderland, she knew she shouldn't have followed the white rabbit, but she was too curious to let him go. What if it really was Blake? Then what? What would she do?

Before she could process those thoughts, a person bumped right into her at the door and almost knocked her over.

"Watch where you're going!" she snapped at them, but then her eyes were wide with shock. "Isaac?"

"Smiley!" Isaac exclaimed, looking more uneasy than happy to see her. "What...what are you doing here?"

"Girls' night out." She pointed to Alice and the girls. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm here...um..with a friend. Are you in a hurry?"

Y/N glanced back to the exit, staring longingly for a moment and then heaved a sigh. "No, I thought I saw someone I knew, but...never mind. What's happening with you?" she changed the subject. "I haven't seen or heard from you since the funeral. Harry is having dinner with Niall tonight, I thought you were with them."

"Well, Niall asked me to come but I've got plans," Isaac said, staring at the drink in his hand.

She found it odd that they hadn't made eye contact for more than a second, but she didn't want to think too much about it right now.

"About the funeral..." he trailed off. "How's H?"

"Where do I even start?"

"It's that bad?"

"Well, he keeps saying he's fine but I don't think he is," she breathed. "His mother is heartbroken and he cannot stay with her because he still has to go to work."

"That's awful..."

"Yeah, he's been worrying too much about Anne that he doesn't give himself time to grieve."

Isaac didn't respond as he threw his head back and gulped the rest of his drink. He seemed nervous and distracted tonight, which was nothing like him. Was there something about this club that got people acting strange?

"So where's your friend?" Y/N changed the subject again to help him loosen up, but if anything, it only made him tenser.

"My friend?" He cleared his throat. "Yeah, about that, I—"

"Y/N?"

Y/N turned around when she heard her name, and in front of her was a girl, brunette and petite. She skipped the introduction and jumped right in for a hug and Y/N's first instinct was to shove her away.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?!"

"My name is Emilia," the girl said abruptly. "Emilia Styles..."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Y/N snorted and squinted her eyes at Isaac, but Emilia didn't give the man a chance to think of a response.

"I thought you said she knew! Were you lying to me?"

"Please let me explain! Emi!"

"What the fuck?!" Y/N caught his wrist before he could run after the girl. "How about you explain to me what just happened!"

"Look, Smiley. I gotta—"

"No!" She gritted her teeth, her grip only tightened. "You're not going anywhere until I have my answer! Did she say her name was Styles?!"

Isaac tossed his head back and took a deep breath while Y/N was patiently waiting for his explanation. He was stuttering again. It'd all he'd been doing tonight and she'd thought it was weird at first, but now it was really getting on her nerves.

"She's Harry's half-sister," he finally said. And Y/N stilled for a second.

"Harry doesn't have a—" Then, it hit her. "Oh, fuck..."

"Yeah..." Isaac gave a nod when her fingers loosened around his wrist and she eventually let him go.

"Does Harry know?"

"No." He shook his head. "I met her in a cafe two months ago."

"Have you met...him?"

The man swallowed and slowly shook his head again. "But he...um...he knows about me and that I'm friends with Harry."

"So let me get this straight." Y/N took a few steps backwards until she was standing against the wall. "You've known this girl for two months and you haven't said anything to us?"

"I couldn't. You two were in Europe and then there was the funeral. I didn't want to break this news to Harry when he'd just lost his stepfather!"

"Then why did you tell Emilia that I knew about her?!"

"I fucked up, okay?!" Isaac buried his face into his palms, his head hung low. Y/N had never seen him like this before. He was supposed to be the one who kept people calm no matter how bad the situation was. He was Isaac. The Isaac she knew never freaked out!

"She was very eager to meet Harry," Isaac uttered as he tugged at his hair and ignored the look of doubt she was giving him. "She asked me to introduce her to you both but—"

"But you knew Harry wouldn't want to meet her, and you didn't want to let her down, so you lied."

That wasn't even a question because it was the answer. And honestly, Y/N didn't know how to feel about this. Disappointed? Maybe. Worried? Yes. Probably scared too. There was no way Harry could take this news better than she had.

"You're telling him tomorrow."

"What?"

"You heard me." She crossed her arms. "You're only making it worse by keeping a secret from him."

"Didn't you just say he was going through a lot?"

"Yes. That's why you can't let him find out the truth by himself, he has to hear it from you."

Isaac opened his mouth to argue, but he came up with nothing because she was right. There was no excuse for him to continue keeping this a secret.

"I will," he said at last and she finally let go of that sigh of relief. "But please don't say anything to him. I'll talk to him first thing in the morning."

"Alright." Y/N bowed her head. So much for a fun night, she told herself.

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"Stop checking your phone, Harold!"

"Sorry, I just—"

"Put it away!" Niall said as he reached across the table and turned off Harry's screen. "I didn't take you out to dinner so you could stare at the screen all night. Were you even listening to what I was saying?"

"Yes, you were telling me about your ex, Beth."

"Jess."

"Yeah, her." Harry shrugged and drank down the last of his wine.

"Who were you texting?" Niall gestured at his phone, raising an eyebrow. "Was it Y/N?"

"No, she's out with her friends. I'm waiting for her to text me back."

"Chill out, mum." The singer chortled as he leaned back in his chair. "You remind me of my high school girlfriend who didn't give me space."

"I'm not clingy!"

"Didn't say you were. You said it yourself."

Harry rolled his eyes at his best friend's snarky remark but then went on anyway, "I'm just afraid she's mad at me or something."

"Why? What happened?"

"This might be embarrassing but," he said with a pause, "I asked her to move in with me...right when we were about to have sex."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah...It's dumb. I know."

"Fuck yeah it's dumb!" Niall slammed his hand on the table and three other people turned to look at him but he didn't care. "Well? What did she say?"

"She said she'd think about it, but I might have scared her a little."

"Or maybe you're just overthinking." Niall calmly adjusted his napkin and poured himself another glass of wine. "Being angry about something so insignificant just doesn't sound like Y/N to me. I think you should ask her how she really feels."

Harry put down his phone at last, his eyebrows furrowed. "Should I?"

"Why not? I know this whole serious relationship thing is new to you but communication is key. I mean, just look at me and Jess."

"You were together for a week and I haven't even met her."

"Exactly! That's why you don't wanna end up like us, Harold."

For almost seven years they'd been friends, that was the first time Niall had given him good relationship advice. So Harry decided to listen to the man and stop by his girlfriend's place after dinner.

He left her a text to let her know he was coming, but she probably didn't bother to check her phone. Why couldn't she be one of those people who couldn't live without their phones? He loved that about her, but her missing his texts and calls constantly could be frustrating.

Harry was out of breath when he climbed five floors to get to his girlfriend's flat. It'd been over a year, and the lift was still broken. How could she do this everyday? If he was her, he would've moved out as soon as he could; but he didn't come tonight to tell her that, of course.

Before Harry could ring the doorbell, his phone buzzed with two new messages.

⌲ Grumpy Little Deer: I'm almost home.

⌲ Grumpy Little Deer: You won't believe who I saw at the club.

He was just about to ask who it was, but then he heard footsteps going up the stairs.

Y/N appeared with a weary smile and immediately went in for a long passionate kiss. She smelled like alcohol mixing with the sweet scent of perfume that he loved, and he almost whined when she pulled away.

"What's that?" she asked, staring at the paper bag in his hand.

"Oh, right." He smacked his forehead, chuckling. "I thought you might be hungry, so I bought you noodles from your favourite Chinese restaurant."

"Aww, yes! I'm really hungry," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "I swear I've gained a lot of weight since we started dating."

"Your perfect boyfriend puts all your exes to shame, doesn't he?" Harry popped his dimples at his own joke, but she said nothing and only smiled in return.

"So, earlier at the club—"

"Wait!" He grabbed her hand. "Before you tell the story, can I say something first? It's kind of important."

"Oh, okay, s-sure." Y/N nodded, looking a bit worried and puzzled as he sucked in a shaky breath.

"I want to..um...apologise for this morning. I think I came off as a bit too pushy when I asked you to move in with me. You're not ready yet, and it's fine if you want to say no. Just know that I would never pressure you into doing anything you're not comfortable with. And if you think I'm being too clingy, you can tell me anytime."

"What are you talking about? You're not clingy." The girl squinted her eyes as she cupped his cheeks. "Baby, you're not. I love being around you."

"Really?" Harry said under his breath, his lips curved into a bashful smile.

"Absolutely!" She scoffed. "So don't you ever say that again or I'll—"

Without letting her finish, he pulled her closer to a full-body contact and buried his face into the crook of her neck, freezing her to the spot. His strong grip had told her everything he didn't want to say, and the story that'd been on her mind since she left the club had gone out of the window.

After a quiet moment, he pulled away and another smile appeared. "Who did you see at the club?" he asked.

Y/N's brain started screaming 'Blake, Blake, Blake' as her lips parted and she began to stutter, but what came out of her mouth wasn't that name.

It was, "your half-sister."

Watching his smile slip slowly, she wished she could just take back those words. She was supposed to tell him she'd seen Blake, or at least someone who looked like Blake, and nearly had a heart attack on the dance floor. But she had chickened out and ended up breaking the promise to Isaac. She had never felt shittier.

"H-How?" was all he said, his trembling fingers were withdrawn from her face.

"I ran into Isaac," she admitted. "He was with this girl...Her name was Emilia. He said she was your half-sister..."

Harry's face twisted before slowly turning blank. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest as she started second-guessing what his next move would be. She expected him to say something. Anything. But then he shoved the paper bag in her hand and stormed off, leaving her no choice but to chase him down the stairs.

.

.

.

"Okay, where the fuck is she?!"

"Harry!" Y/N shouted when her boyfriend shoved Isaac aside and charged into his living room. She stood at the door, pale with fright, and the regretful look in her big eyes had told Isaac everything he needed to know.

He clenched his jaw, staring her down in disbelief. "You fucking told him?"

"I—"

"Do not speak to her that way!"

"You need to calm down, mate," Isaac told Harry as Y/N rushed forward to stand between them, pushing them apart.

"Calm down?" Harry laughed bitterly. "You don't get to tell me to calm down, mate."

"Baby, please, don't—"

"And don't fucking raise your voice at my girl. She told me the truth, which you've been keeping from me for two fucking months!"

Isaac stayed quiet, only giving Y/N one last glance before turning away. She knew what that look meant. If she was Isaac, she wouldn't forgive herself either.

"Why...why don't we all sit down and...and talk about this?" she stuttered, one hand holding her boyfriend's shoulder, the other pressing against his chest, but neither of the men paid attention to her now.

"Why did she come to you?"

"She didn't come to me. I met her by accident." Isaac drew in a long breath. "It's a long story, so please calm down and then we'll talk."

As Harry leaned on Y/N for support, Isaac leaned against the door. Once the silence had filled up the room, Isaac was the first to speak.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier...All of this is my fault. But Emilia didn't lie about who she was, H. She's shown me photos of her parents."

"So you haven't met him?" Harry glanced back up to meet his best friend's gaze. "That man."

"No." Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. "But Emilia told him about you and he wanted to see you."

"Bullshit." Harry exhaled a laugh as he looked away, his lips drew back in a snarl. "That fucking asshole could've 'wanted to see me' twenty years ago, but guess what?"

"I know you're mad at him—"

"No, not at all!" Harry chimed in, interrupting Isaac. "You can only be mad at the people you care about. And I don't want to have anything to do with that man or his family."

"Emilia did nothing wrong. If you would at least talk to her—"

"I don't fucking care. Tell this Emilia girl I don't want to see her and I don't want her to bother the people I love."

Isaac tossed his head back and inhaled deeply when Harry stormed out of the room, but Y/N was still standing there, tugging at her earlobe.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"Please leave," he cut her off, putting his head in his hands.

"No, you don't get it. I didn't tell him on purpose!"

"Y/N." The way he said her name made her shiver. "Just leave."

Y/N clenched her fists as her shoulders slumped. He didn't even look at her when he called her by her name, not Smiley, so she guessed she should go. Enough damage had already been done tonight.

She left his house with her head hung, and he slammed the door right behind her. She deserved that. But Harry didn't. Now he was sitting in his car with his forehead on the steering wheel and didn't even flinch when she got in and shut the door. So she sat there for almost a minute, just pinching her thighs, not knowing how to start.

"I'm so sorry," he spoke, at last, his voice was shaking as he lifted his head to look at her. "I don't want to get angry and raise my voice when you're around. Like...like that night in the hospital."

"But you weren't yelling at me."

"Still, I shouldn't have yelled. Whenever I yell, I lose someone I care about," he whispered, twisting the silver signet ring she'd given him on his birthday. "Do you think I'm a bad person for not wanting to see that girl?"

"Of course not." She took his hand away from the ring and placed it on her thigh. "The only bad person here is your dad. And you shouldn't let his mistake many years ago make you feel like this is your fault."

With a gentle smile, Harry reached out his hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He looked into her eyes, thinking for a bit. "You know, I used to wish he would come back one day. I believed that would fix everything and our family would be happy again. But as I grew up, I realised some people left for a reason. And most of the time, it was the same reason they should never return. I-I just...What if he tries to get back in touch with my mum? I don't want him to ruin everything, Bambi...Not again."

"He won't. We won't let him." She held his neck and stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I'm sure Isaac will respect your decision and ask the girl and her father to stay away. Everything will be fine."

Neither of them knew for sure what could happen next, but hearing it from her put him at ease. Pressing her lips against his, Y/N gave him a reassuring smile. "Want me to hold your hand?"

"Yes, please," he said, making her chuckle as their fingers intertwined.

.

.

.

"You're not coming up?"

"No, thank you.” Harry put on a grin as he watched his Bambi unbuckle her seatbelt and open the door. "I think it's better if I spend some time on my own."

"See? You wouldn't get this option if we lived together," she said and snorted when he raised an eyebrow. "Too soon?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." Beaming, she folded him in her arms and gave him a chaste kiss. "Goodnight, baby. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Bambi, wait."

Harry quickly rolled down the window as she turned back, putting one hand on the top of his car.

"I forgot to ask you if you had fun with your new friends."

"Oh, yeah..." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling at her feet. "They were nice. And some random people asked for a photo with me!"

"Ooh, you're famous for no reason now, like the Kardashians, but in a good way."

"Exactly!"

The way her nose crinkled when she laughed never failed to make his heart jumpy.

"Goodnight, kid. I love you."

"I love you more," Y/N said before they shared one last kiss. And she stood there, waving goodbye until his car was gone.

It was 2 AM. Y/N felt like her legs were falling apart as she climbed all those stairs up to the fifth floor. After a whole year of filing complaints about the broken lift in this building, she had come to terms with the fact that they would never have it fixed. She could either suffer once in a while, or move in with Harry and never have to suffer again.

That should be added to the pros and cons list of living alone and moving in her boyfriend. She would make that list later, now she couldn't wait to fall into bed and sleep until noon.

Boyfriend: 1

Y/N: 0

Caught up in her random thoughts, Y/N almost didn't notice the empty boxes in the hallway. It seemed like someone had finally moved into the flat in front of hers, but honestly, she didn't care. She'd never talked to her old neighbours anyway, so it wouldn't matter if she didn't say hello to her new one.

The girl was digging through her bag to look for the key when she heard footsteps on the stairs. They stopped right behind her, then a familiar voice that she wished she hadn't recognised froze her to the spot.

"Y/N?"

[basicallywhiterice]

Eight words: Han Jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, lowkey friends to lovers lmao, smidge of angst, fluff

Warnings: Cursing

Word count: 8.5 k

Summary: Sure, one could tell someone they loved them with eight letters. But eight words convey deeper, more complex meanings.

a/n: Happy birthday, Han aka J. One aka Jisung! I wish you a smooth, unhurried transition into adulthood, as do all Stays. And dear reader, I present to you this fic about my bias… enjoy!

•••

One word.

Three words and eight letters can sum up my feelings towards Han Jisung, although they’re much more intense than what eight letters can contain.

“I hate you.”

Case in point: After a long day of lectures and labs, I’m ready to throttle him.

“Jisung.”

“Y/n,” he mocks, making his voice higher to imitate mine.

No, he’s not my friend. Of course not. I wouldn’t tell a friend: “I’ve been looking for you. Thanks for responding to my text messages asking where you were. I really appreciate it.” No, Jisung’s really more like a stuck up, annoying dumbass who happens to do well on every test he takes.

“Oh, I had my phone turned off. But you missed me that much?”

I puff my cheeks up and sigh. “You wish. Do you wanna review for the Bio exam together?”

“Biology?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“The one I’m really good at?”

“Debatable, but whatever floats your boat.”

“And let me get this straight,” he says, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “You need my help to study for it? My help? The help of me, Han Jisung? J. One? The one for you?”

“I don’t need your fucking help-” I bite back a few colorful words when I see his barely-hidden smile expand into a smirk and he shakes his head, almost disapprovingly. “Sort of, yes.” I muster the fakest smile I can display without cringing, tilting my head for added sarcasm.

“No.”

“Why not?” I sigh, having expected this to happen.

“What’s the fun in that, darling?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I fume over his disgusting pet name. “Han Jisung, I’m gonna strangle you in your sleep-”

“While that sounds tempting, and I had no idea you were into that, you’re not giving me any other reasons to help you, darling.” He leans back, resting his head against his pretty soft interlaced fingers, fixing me with The Look™ that lets me know he’s messing with me and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

“We’ve studied for every test together and I’m sick of asking if you want to study every single time? Is that a good enough fucking reason for you?”

He drops one of his hands down and rests his index finger on his chin. “That’s valid…” he exhales, after a long, drawn out pause.

I nearly deck him in the face. I roll my eyes instead. “You know what, I’m leaving. Tell me your answer tomorrow if you need that long to think.” I shove my binders and textbooks into my backpack, swing it up on my shoulders, and make a beeline for the door. It’s not fair to snap at him so unexpectedly like this, but with the first semester at college rushing to a close, I don’t have enough time to play these petty games.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait up. What’s wrong?” he runs after me and pulls me back by my elbow with his right hand.

I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my anger that’s not because of him but directed at him (at least, not today). “Nothing, I’m just really not in the mood for this kind of exchange for another twenty minutes. I have to study for more than just the science exam. I’d like it if we could just skip this elaborate negotiating for just one day.”

“Oh.” He lets go of my arm. “Yeah. Sure. Studying for exams together. Same studying schedule, texting if we change any days?” When I nod in affirmation, he sticks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sorry for stressing you out more. You can tell me when you’re having a bad day, you know.”

Oh. “I know. Sorry for snapping at you. I didn’t mean it.” He starts to say something, but I hold up a hand. “It’s somewhat tolerable to have someone to banter with every day.” I blurt out.

Jisung glances down, then raises his gaze to meet mine. His eyes squeeze into crescents. His plump lips (ew) stretch outwards to reveal his pearly whites. I’m sure that my expression mirrors his.

“Good to know my efforts are appreciated.”

“Don’t get a big head. Well, don’t get an even bigger one.”

“You mean a big brain.”

“No, you don’t have a brain.”

He feigns a hurt expression. “Wow, princess. I thought I was tolerable.”

“You ruined the mood!” I shake my head, laughing. “You’re only somewhat tolerable. Definitely not when you call me pet names.”

“Sugar, you wound me.”

“Han Jisung!” I smack his arm half-heartedly.

“You love it though, honey.” He rests his hand on the top of my backpack, gently guiding me out the library doors and towards the parking lot.

Hm.

(Yes.)

•••

Two words.

This was supposed to be a peaceful weekend hangout.

“Felix, put that knife down! Right now! Or no Fortnite for a week!”

Somehow, all our weekend hangouts end up with Chan and Woojin babysitting. That is, until they act like kids themselves.

“Don’t challenge him to a knife fight, Chan! This isn’t Australia, where you have to fend for yourself in the desert—Kim Woojin if you join them I’ll let Minho cook dinner for a week.”

Then the rest of us babysit them until we figure out a better alternative to plastic-knife fencing (Changbin and Chan end up winning after they team up). After finally agreeing on going to the park (like in the Boxer video you know), the boys take over the swings and unintentionally terrorize children (while complaining about freezing to death) while Ryujin and I rethink our life choices and miss Tzuyu, who’s in Taiwan visiting her family.

“Why are we friends with them, again?” she asks, picking at her nails and pretending not to laugh when Seungmin throws wood chips in Hyunjin’s face.

“Yeah, y/n, why are you friends with us?” Jisung butts in after Jeongin refuses all of his hugs. I shoot him a thumbs up, and he grins behind Jisung’s back.

“I’m not friends with you. I’m friends with everyone else here because they’re cool, unlike you, stupid.”

“Ah, you were never a good liar, sweetie.”

Ryujin stifles a laugh, and I shoot her a half-hearted glare. “Not right now, Jisung. I’m still stressing over exam grades.”

“All the teachers entered them this morning, you know.” Surprisingly, there were no pet names present in that sentence. Hallelujah.

“They did?” I check my phone, and sure enough, all the exam grades are there. “What! I was reloading this page all morning! What’d you get in Bio?”

“An A. You?”

“As expected. Same.”

“As expected,” he mimics.

“Is that why you didn’t drag me on the slides?” Ryujin asks. “Because you were worried about your grades, that always end up being an A?”

“No comment.”

“You should go and have fun now that you know your GPA is safe,” she suggests. “No point in coming here if you’re just going to sit here.”

“You were the one who refused to associate with these,” I jab a thumb at the boys, “losers.”

“Oops.”

“You guys should play tag with us or something,” Jisung offers. “See who’s a loser then.”

“Challenge accepted. I’ll go round up the others,” Ryujin agrees, pushing herself off the metal bench and jogging over to the swings.

“What about you, y/n?” asks Jisung.

“Hm. Maybe.” I pretend to think, already knowing my answer is going to be yes.

“Come on! Join us?”

“How could I say no? I can’t just sit back and watch you lose without joining and winning against you.”

“... I’m going to pretend the reason is because you’re such a great friend to us.”

“Only the rest of them. Not you.” I correct him.

“Thank you. ‘preciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

•••

Three words.

The ice on the streets is frozen and so am I.

I had ducked into the quaint little cafe on campus to grab a hot drink and to regain feeling in my feet when I saw what’s causing me to stand here—frozen, like a statue.

I saw Jisung. In our cafe. The one I frequent at least twice a week with him (not voluntarily, of course. He follows me here, probably to annoy me more, and I let him so I can annoy him more.)

Under normal circumstances, I’d be disgusted, not paralyzed. But today is different.

He sits at a two-person table. Next to him, a girl leans over his shoulder, wearing the headphones connected to his computer, occasionally commenting on parts of what I assume is his latest song. Her backpack rests on one of her shoulders. When she turns her head, I can see her face clearly.

He’s with Tzuyu, one of the youngest rising stars in the arts at our university, a hardworking student, an all-around sweet person, and a good friend of ours.

Why, one might ask, did I freeze in place? Simple: I’m sick of Jisung trying to woo girls with the songs he composes.

Once I regain my senses, shuffle forward in line, and place my order, I glance over at their table again. Tzuyu takes off the headphones and starts talking while pointing to different places on his laptop. Jisung smiles sheepishly at the last thing she says. The little prick. It must be an act–after all, if he’s flirted with so many girls through his music, he should be used to the compliments.

Tzuyu walks away from him after glancing at her watch and waving goodbye. She notices me when she’s halfway to the cafe door and grins, waving at me before she shoots Jisung one last smile and leaves. I wave back.

Of course, this exchange means that Jisung notices me. He motions for me to wait, holding up one finger. He clicks around on his laptop, closes it, and slides it into his backpack, along with his headphones. He stands up right as my drink is finished and my name is called. I snag the drink and try to rush to the door as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, I’m very conspicuous, and Jisung follows me, calling my name.

I’m outside when he catches up with me, frozen in place once again as I internally debate if I should stay and talk to him or leave him. He makes the decision for me when he steps beside me, tugging my elbow in the direction I’m facing to get me to walk so I don’t hold up foot traffic.

“I told you to wait for me in there, y/n. You usually do it, why’d you ignore me today?”

Play dumb, y/n. “Who’s y/n?” Not that dumb!

I clear my throat and try again. “You were in there?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I know you saw me.” When I don’t reply, he sighs. “Walk with me? It’s the last week before break and I won’t have the pleasure of personally annoying you every day.”

I tilt my head forward to tell him to start walking. I can only think of a (half-hearted) protest once we’ve walked a full block. “It’s going to snow soon.”

“You love the snow.”

I exhale through my mouth, forming a cloud of condensation with my breath in the crisp, chilly air. “Yeah, I do.”

A beat passes. Quietly, Jisung asks, “Are you mad?” Another beat. “At me?”

I think back to Tzuyu getting the opportunity to hear an unreleased track. “No, I’m not.” My heart pangs when I picture them leaning in so close together, even though my rational self tells me I shouldn’t be mad over something that small, especially if it concerns such a close friend and such a stupid asshole.

“I think you’re mad. You’re talking a lot less than normal.”

“Congratulations. You must think you’re so smart.”

“Thanks for finally noticing.”

“Look, what do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re mad.”

“Who said I was mad?”

He snorts in disbelief. “You literally just admitted to it.”

“When did I say that?” I stop walking.

He laughs, a dry, airy chuckle that morphs into a sigh. “I just want to know why you’re mad, and if I can help.”

I scoff. “Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be alright. Is there anything else-”

“No, you don’t seem like you’ll be fine! You almost never get angry!”

“Why are you so angry about me being angry? Not everything’s about you.”

I suppose it would be a great testament to anyone else’s character if they realized my insults were just my anger speaking and refused to insult me back. However, this is Jisung we’re talking about. He’s more likely to stop talking because he can’t think of a retort, not because he’s conscientious.

Sigh. Maybe he’s not that bad after all.

Just when I acknowledge the slim possibility that Jisung might not be a jerk all of the time, he reaches out and steals my phone.

“What-”

“I’m not giving this back until you tell me why.” He taps away at the lock screen, and unlocks it.

My lips part slightly and my eyebrows crease together. I’m in shock. “How-”

“I’ve seen you enter your password a lot, I just never thought about using it until today. Let’s see… should I read over the English story you refuse to send me because it’s not done yet?”

I break out of my stupor. “Stop it! There’s a reason I haven’t sent it yet. It’s horrible!” I reach out, left arm flailing uselessly, hand smacking his shoulder. He just steps back and turns away from me.

“Oops, too late.” Over his shoulder, I can see him click on the Google Docs app and open the most recently edited document. He scrolls the page down, reading as he goes, but he’s moving around so much that I can’t read the words on the screen at first. My heart nearly stops when I recognize the format of my poetry doc, a place where I word vomit all my artistic and lyrical poetry ideas.

“Jisung, stop! Right now!” I wonder how desperate I sound right now, although I try not to show it.

That’s my poetry. It’s raw, unfinished, and, quite frankly, really cringy. I’ve only trusted Ryujin, Tzuyu, and Hyunjin enough to read one poem, let alone all of them. And now Jisung is scrolling through the entire document.

My blood boils over, simultaneously turning to ice. I chuck my cup of hot chocolate into the trash can. My appetite’s been ruined. I wrestle my phone out of his grip using two hands, palms and fingers crashing against the screen, frantically checking to see if I accidentally modified my poems with my clumsy tapping. I silently sigh in relief when I’m certain nothing was edited. Then, I fix Jisung with a cold, blank stare.

“Those poems were good…” he trails off when I take a step towards him. “No, really.”

“Those were personal poems that I don’t want people to read unless I decide to share them when they’re finished. I don’t want someone who’s going to make fun of me to read it! Don’t you understand the concept of privacy?” I spit out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. That… kind of reminds me of my songs and how I only share them with people I trust a lot when they’re unfinished. I shouldn’t have gone through all of that.”

“It reminds you of your songs? Well, unlike you, I don’t use my creative work to flirt with others.”

He flinches, eyes wide and panicked. “How did you know about that?”

“About you flirting through songs? It’s obvious: you let them listen to your unfinished work, and then they compliment you and you pretend to be all humble and everything and-” I groan and run a hand through my hair. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice-

“Are you mad that Tzuyu was helping me with a song earlier in the cafe? Is that why you’re mad?”

I gape at him. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your enormous ego! Plus, don’t you remember what happened the last time you stole my phone?”

Jisung wasn’t always this annoying. When I first met him, I even thought he was cute. (I still do, but I always deny it, and any non-platonic feelings, if anyone accuses me of thinking that way.) But a few weeks after I met him, when we had become friends, he stole my phone and accidentally deleted a notes page where I kept several passwords (that I was too lazy to remember). He apologized, but the damage had already been done.

“I’ve never used my music to flirt with anyone. And for your information, I ran into Tzuyu. I didn’t invite her to flirt with her.”

Oh. “Ok, and?”

He drags a hand over his face. “Why were you mad at me when we left the cafe?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m ready to storm off and leave, but I realize that Jisung did have a point. Today is the last day before break, and even if he’s a conceited jerk, I don’t want to end things on a bad note until we see each other again.

I take a deep breath. “Let’s sit down and talk through this like civilized people. Is that ok?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this entire time!”

I drag him over to a bench and plop down, leaving a respectable amount of distance between us. “You want to know why I’m mad? I’ve been asking to hear your unreleased tracks for who knows how long, and you won’t even let me read the lyrics. I have to wait until you and the rest of 3racha drop an album. And I understand that! You're allowed to not share your work! But you also let a ton of people listen to your songs and they just end up complimenting your talent, whereas I’ve offered to help you refine your songs. To me, that seems shallow, especially since most people you show them to are girls. And then you go through my poems without my permission. To be fair, I might be overreacting.”

“No, you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I smile tiredly. “Sure, I’ll probably share them someday, but I need a heads up. I thought you would’ve understood how much they mean to me since you’re protective of your songs.” I drag a hand over my face. “Ok, rant’s over.”

And so I spend the next half an hour understanding Jisung’s point of view. I end up accepting his apology. As we part ways, he pulls me into a hug. I don’t resist, and bury my face into his shoulder. When we pull apart, he waves before walking away. I can’t help the goofy smile that spreads onto my face once his back is turned. Suddenly, a thought washes over me.

Idiot. I’ll miss you.

•••

Four words.

Winter break is refreshing.

That is, until I realize how unproductive I’m being. Then I panic, becoming both unproductive and unhappy.

It’s almost a relief when I get back to school, until I realize how much work I’m drowning in. Then I wish I was on break again.

Sigh. The paradoxes of life.

On the bright side, at least I get to see my squad again. (And (see) roast Jisung.)

On the third week back from school, Hyunjin drags Ryujin and me to one of 3racha’s monthly shows (they have quite the fanbase on campus.) We would’ve gone anyways, but Hyunjin is a nice addition.

The first thing he says when we arrive at the venue is, “Aren’t you so excited about seeing Jisung perform? Hmm?” while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, y/n, aren’t you going to gush about how cute he looks while performing?” Ryujin adds.

“No. And that was one time. Once.”

“No, it’s every time. You always talk about him.” Hyunjin may have a point.

“Is there something that we should know?” Ryujin asks slyly. “I am your roommate, so if you’re going to talk about him 24/7, you might as well just tell us you like him instead of being in denial.”

“No. I don’t like him. I never talk about him.” My words sound weak even to me. “Remember? He’s like my mortal enemy.”

Pause. The two of them stare at me skeptically, waiting for me to stop denying everything.

“Ok, fine. He looks so fricking attractive when he’s performing, and his eyes transform completely and it’s like looking at a sharper version of him, and he still manages to be absolutely adorable when he smiles and his nose and eyes scrunch up, and-” I envelope Ryujin in a hug, cringing in embarrassment. She tries not to laugh, but I can feel her shoulders shaking. Hyunjin fails to contain his amusement, laughing so loudly that 3racha, preparing backstage, can probably hear him.

“Not a single word to anyone,” I make them promise.

“I’m totally convinced that you don’t have a crush on him,” Hyunjin says once he’s stopped laughing (two minutes later.)

“You’re the one who’s all buddy-buddy with him when you tried to beat him up that one time in high school.”

“People change,” he shrugs. “But you’ve always seemed like you had a soft spot for him.”

“No, you’re wrong. He’s my sworn enemy. He deleted my passwords that one time and read my poems and that makes him my arch-nemesis.” I sigh. “Oh, who am I kidding?”

Luckily (or not), Jisung chooses this moment to saunter over, sparing me from all their teasing. “What’s up, my dudes? Are you ready to get wowed by us?”

“Wow is your best song yet. You’re performing that tonight, right?” I confirm.

“Yup. I’m sure you guys can get some meme-worthy material out of Changbin’s reactions.”

“Jisung, have I ever told you how attractive you look when you perform?” snickers Hyunjin, excessively batting his eyelashes and latching onto Jisung. I shoot him daggers with my eyes while trying to look not-exactly-murderous to Jisung. Ryujin stifles a laugh at my expense for the second time tonight.

“Thanks, buddy. I’m aware, but it’s nice to know that someone appreciates my hotness every once in a while.”

“Why are we here again?” I wonder out loud, giggling at the overly dramatic look of betrayal that Jisung puts on.

“My dear, it’s obviously for me! How could you forget?”

“Oh right, it was for my favorite 3racha member, Changbin!”

Jisung shrugs Hyunjin off, coming over and embracing me playfully. “No, not allowed.”

“C’mon, let’s go say hi to my man, Changbin!” I tell the ‘jins, tilting my head towards the stage.

“Noooo. Darling, that’s so mean.”

I give up on pushing Jisung off once it’s clear that he stubbornly refuses to leave. I ruffle his hair instead as “revenge.” (“Hey! That took me a solid five seconds to style! You’re fixing that.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever floats your boat.”) Ryujin, Hyunjin, and I agree that we should go greet Chan and Changbin. As we head backstage to say hi to 2racha, Jisung reluctantly stops hugging me when it gets too difficult to walk. He still keeps a hand loosely anchored on my right shoulder. I don’t complain, nor do I shrug him off. I guess it feels nice ok when he’s a normal, chill, person.

Ok, that was an under-exaggeration. I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

Maybe Ryujin is secretly a mind reader, or maybe I’m just really transparent, because she pokes my arm, not saying anything when I ask her “what,” while trying to hide the furious blush I know is present on my face. She just raises her eyebrows and grins. I widen my eyes back.

“So, uh y/n.” starts Jisung, breaking me out of my semi-staring contest with Ryujin. “There’s an open mic at our cafe next week—you know, the one we go to at least twice a week? Anyways, there’s an open mic next Friday and I was planning on going to either test out a new song I produced or a couple of poems I wrote and would you—I was wondering if you wanted to go too? I know you’re a little hesitant about sharing your poems, but from what I saw, you had some really good works and I’m sure other people would enjoy your poetry too. And of course you don’t have to go, I just thought it would be a fun experience if you were down.”

I’m floored. Han Jisung being genuinely nice and considerate? Unheard of. But when I start thinking about all my previous encounters with him, I realize that this is not the exception—it’s the rule.

Maybe I was so intent on labeling him as a rival that I’ve been halfheartedly denying the existence of his good traits.

“Thank you for appreciating my poems. That… honestly, that means so much to me. I’d love to go and perform. As long as I have time to prepare and I get to choose what to present… it’ll be new, but doable.” I wrap both arms around his waist and squish the left side of my face against his right shoulder. “I’m excited for Friday.”

“I’m glad you’re excited.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

Wait. What am I doing lowkey cuddling him in public? Oh well. I don’t hate it. In fact, I might go as far as to say… I really like it.

(When we get backstage, I fist-bump Changbin and do a weird quasi-dance off with Chan before hugging them both and wishing them good luck before promising to record the entirety of Wow. Jisung pouts and pouts and pouts some more until I fix his hair, then takes my hands and pulls me around in circles like the man-child he is.

Ryujin promises to tell their embarrassing stories to all their fans after she greets 2racha.

Hyunjin forgoes any formalities and starts complaining about Seungmin.

“Chan, control your child! He’s becoming more and more savage. The world can’t contain his saltiness.”

“Maybe that’s his way of showing love.”

His face goes :o. “RYUJIN, YOU’RE A GENIUS!”)

•••

Five words.

It’s Wednesday and I am: straight-up not having a good time (bro).

After a long day filled with tests and being even more sleep-deprived than usual due to said tests, I really just want to curl up into a ball and do absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, I need to stay awake in order to finish a creative writing story (yes, another one.) Then, I need to study for two more tests for tomorrow and do a shit ton of homework. On top of that, with the open mic two days away, I’m furiously revising and editing what I’m presenting.

To be completely honest, I’ve been playing with ways to reference Jisung in my poems. I know: crazy, right? Stupid Jisung and his stupid mole on his left cheek on his stupid face that my gaze always drifts back to. Stupid Jisung and his genuinely expressive personality. Stupid Jisung and his amazingly accurate intuition and knowledge and pair of eyes that allow him to say things like:

“You’re staring at me quite a bit, sugar.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just thinking of all the ways I… could get you to shut up.” I finish lamely.

“Really, now.” He leans towards me in his stupid library chair. “Do any of them involve making out in the library?”

Gahhhh. “Not funny didn’t laugh.” I go back to trying to be productive, but it’s hard when my brain is spewing out thoughts faster than (Jisung) Changbin and Chan can rap.

It sucks sometimes when Jisung makes all these suggestive jokes because he’ll never see me in a romantic light. I think that might be part of the reason why I try (and routinely fail) to act so cold to him: I was aware of all the emotions beneath the way I wanted to view and portray him. (My brain: No, this is not a crush. Crushes are shallow and go away after a week. These feelings aren’t going anywhere.)

I get through editing one paragraph of my story before Jisung speaks again. “Are you considering the offer?”

“No.” Maybe. Yes. “Don’t you have a lab report to write?”

“I’d gladly give up on that for you.”

“Jisung, stop, please. Not tonight, ok? On any other day I’d go along with your banter, but I have serious shit to get done with tonight.”

“Oh, ok. Do you want me to help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks for offering.”

I give up on my story for the time being and slip an earbud into the ear facing away from Jisung. I pull out a thicc textbook and finish my Calculus homework. A page of notebook paper later, I’m done. I close the book, lean back in my seat, and rub my eyes.

“You look like you need a break,” he notes.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you deserve it. I’ll even play with your hair.” Darn it! Why why why does Jisung know all my weaknesses? It’s always a destresser for me when plays with my hair. Still, I’m a little hesitant to completely neglect my work for five minutes.

“I’ll give you a back rub too.” Hesitation? Productivity? Who? We don’t know them.

I fall into his outstretched arms and nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck. He laughs a little, leaning back in his chair. His soft hoodie creates a comfortable cushioning, and I sigh in contentment when he runs a hand through my hair, wrapping my arms around his waist. He shifts his legs so his knees are slightly angled toward me, and I do the same.

Then he shifts his right arm and closes the lid of my computer. And picks it up off the table. And sets it back down further away from me so I can’t reach it.

“Jisungggggg,” I whine, reluctantly lifting up my head. I extend my left arm, trying to grasp it, but he just pushes it away again. “I need that. Gotta get this bread. Flaunt that croissant. Ice that rice.” I’m not sure when I stopped talking and started babbling nonsense, but I can blame my lack of sleep for that.

‘What you need is a good night of rest.�� He picks up the laptop and holds it close to him, turning away from me.

My senses kick back in. “No! I need to get all this stuff done first. Then I can sleep. Give,” my right hand grasps the edge of my computer. “It,” I give a strong yank. “Back!” We engage in a brief game of tug-of-war before I almost pull it out of his grasp. Then he snatches it back, firmly in his grip.

I huff and pull out my phone forcefully, opening the Google doc containing my poems and stories I’m planning on presenting at open mic for a few revisions and edits. “Must you always be this infuriating? Like, is there a point to stealing my computer when there’s stuff I need to do?”

A small, almost imperceptible pause. I almost don’t even notice it because it’s so brief. It goes straight to the back of my mind.

“You need to rest, y/n. I don’t think all of this stressing is good for you.”

“That doesn’t mean you can steal my computer.”

“Deal with it.”

I sigh. “I hate you right now,” I mumble tiredly. I go back to skimming over my prose and poetry, inserting and deleting a few words here and there.

I have no idea how long the silence stretches on until Jisung responds. “I know, you’ve told me.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz it’s the truth.” Is it grammatically acceptable to use the word ‘like’ in a narrative if you want to have a casual tone? Like, if you want to express a coherent train of thought without using too many words? Would that tone be acceptable? Jisung’s tone just now was off. He almost seemed hurt—oh my god what did I just say.

I come to the (belated) realization that I falsely told him I hated him—with what sounded like conviction, too!—just as he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and sometimes, you treat me like I’m you’re enemy or rival. I thought we were friends. I wrote you a song—multiple songs. I’ve tried dropping so many hints about how I see you as more than just a friend, but all this time, you saw me as less than one.”

My drowsiness has dissipated. “No, Jisung, I wasn’t thinking—have you never seen me as a rival?”

“It’s ok. You’re not obligated to feel anything for me. You don’t owe me anything. And of course not. I would never see you in such a negative way.” His entire demeanor changes. Jisung is normally very open about his emotions, whether he’s happy, stressed, excited, sad, hurt, enthusiastic, or serious. In this instance, though, his face falls into a more neutral expression that betrays next to nothing about what he’s thinking. But this expression is more than enough to tell me what he feels.

He’s hurt because of what I said. Deeply hurt.

“You could’ve just told me that you hated me,” he continues. “I don’t understand why you would make me feel like we were friends while secretly despising me.”

“Jisung, I don’t hate you.”

“Sure you don’t.” He laughs without humor. “Well, seeing as you clearly don’t want my company, I’ll leave now.” He shoves his laptop, textbook, and notebook into his backpack. He rises and starts walking off.

I rush after him.

“No, Jisung, I didn’t mean it. Please just listen to me.” I catch his left arm a few seconds after we exit the library. He stands there, stationary, neither moving towards me nor pulling away from me. The wind gently breezes past the two of us, tousling the ends of his hair. My heart threatens to get stuck in my throat. I swallow and force myself to go on. “I don’t hate you. You can hate me all you want for saying hurtful things to you, but I’ve never hated you and never will.”

“I could never hate you. And while you may not completely hate me, if you’ve always felt hostile toward me—ever since the start of our so-called ‘friendship’—I don’t really know what to think anymore.”

“No, that’s not what I think. At all. Please hear me out.”

“I think I should leave. Have fun studying without a constant annoying distraction.” He lets his arm slip out of my grip, taking a step forward. “Goodbye.”

He takes long strides away from the library, away from me. All I can think about is how wrong he is. About how wrong I am.

I hurt him, a person with one of the truest hearts and most genuine personalities I’ve ever met. Always being open and transparent with his thoughts, never failing to make me smile. He knows me so well, and I know so much about him, too. He’s been through the ups and the downs with me, and I’ve stayed by his side when he’s needed support, too. He even manages to harness raw, heavy emotions and transform it into beautiful songs such as ‘I see’ that he, Han Jisung, J. One, produces. And now he thinks I hate him.

“No,” I whisper to myself after he’s gone and no one is around to hear me. “It’s the opposite of that.”

I like him so much. Platonically, and romantically. But I’ve missed my chance to tell him, and I’ve broken our friendship that we’ve always had, even if I denied its existence.

Five words can crush someone.

•••

Six words.

Once I’m done with my self reflection about just how foolish and spiteful I acted, I call Ryujin, Hyunjin, and Tzuyu for help. We meet at the dorm Ryujin and I share.

Hyunjin silently shakes his head. Ryujin gives me a side-hug, rubbing circles into my right shoulder. Tzuyu is the first to speak after I describe the events that happened.

“He really likes you. He’s written at least five songs for you and ten songs about you. That day in the cafe, when I ran into him and saw you, he asked for my opinion on one of his songs for you. The reason why he’s never asked you two,” she glances at Hyunjin and Ryujin, “is because he thought you guys would spill the beans.” She sits down on my right side and offers me a hug. “You need to talk to him as soon as possible. He’s cares enough to write songs for you.”

“I know, but he won’t respond to any of my messages or calls.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin starts, “I’m sorry if this sounds bad, but we were always convinced that you two were secretly dating and wouldn’t tell us.” He half-smiles awkwardly. “Don’t give up just yet.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that!” Ryujin comforts. “We all make mistakes. Don’t let this bother you and make you give up. I’d say that you’ve learned a lot from this.”

“Thanks, Ryu.” I groan, my face falling into my hands. “What the heck am I supposed to do?” I wrote you a song. I thought we were friends. I’ve dropped hints about how I see you as more than just a friend.

He cares enough to write songs for you.

I’ve been thinking of ways to reference Jisung in my poems.

“That’s it!” I exclaim. “Poetry! And maybe a short story, too.” When I see three confused faces, I elaborate. “He’s written songs about me, right? Well, writing is important to me, so what if I wrote about him in the stuff I’m reading at the open mic? And apologize and explain to him afterwards? All I need to do is make sure he goes to open mic, and you guys could help me convince him. At least, that’s the best idea I can think of right now.”

“Sure.” “We’ll help you.” “You got this, girl!”

Their encouragement lifts my mood, and I’m overly optimistic for a second. My phone buzzes, and I dare to hope that I might be able to mend my relationship with Jisung.

The message is from Jisung, and I foolishly hope for the best. Then I read what he sent.

You don’t have to pretend, y/n.

He doesn’t believe me. He doubts that I see him positively because of how hurtful I acted and the words I said to him. Honestly, I don’t even blame him. If I was in his position, I’d probably do the same.

I have screwed up. Big time.

I never meant to hurt or belittle him, even if I claimed he was my enemy. But somewhere along the way, I turned into one of the worst kinds of people and did.

I hope I can salvage this.

•••

Seven words.

Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. Everything will turn out fine.

It’s showtime. After much persuasion, Tzuyu and Hyunjin convinced Jisung to perform at open mic (of course, they had to make him think I wouldn’t attend.) Jisung will perform first, then perform one more time after three people. I’m the person right before him.

I stand inside near the counter, far away from our regular table near the windows. He hasn’t seen me yet. I fiddle with my hands, trying to hide my face. I breathe a sigh of relief when he hops on stage to perform. He hasn’t seen me yet.

He greets the patrons of the cafe, cracking a few jokes before kicking things off with a revised version of ‘For you’. He gets halfway through it before he locks eyes with me.

I tentatively wave. He glances away.

After he finishes, he receives a warm round of applause. He grins, equally bashful and proud, and hops off the stage. He situates himself far away from me.

Two more people present. Two and a half minutes into the second person’s slam poetry performance, I work up the courage to shuffle over to him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve never hated you. I’ve never even disliked you. In fact, I feel the opposite way. I just never thought you’d see me as more than a friend, so I tried convincing myself that you weren’t an all-around amazing person. It didn’t work. It would never work.”

He stares at me, not speaking. I press on.

“You’re one of the most genuine people I know. I can always tell what you’re thinking, because you have nothing to hide. You’re incredibly dedicated. You’ve been a great friend to me, especially when I was rude to you and didn’t deserve it. You see the best in everyone and encourage them to showcase their strengths.” I take a fluttering breath. “I never thought that someone like you would even consider someone like me. I’m sorry for calling you annoying and saying that I hated you. You’re not annoying. I don’t think anyone who’s ever met you would hate you.” I lace my fingers together. “I am really, truly sorry for saying untrue, hurtful things to you.”

The poet onstage finishes. The people watching applaud. I’m next, but I’m frozen in place.

Jisung breaks the silence. “Good luck. We can talk later.”

I dare to smile, and walk onstage.

I’ve chosen to share a short story about the time I accidentally kicked my friend in the face when we took a dance class, saving my poems for another time. I’m really telling a story about Jisung. I take a deep breath and begin.

“This is the story of how I almost broke my friend’s nose.” This is the story of how I broke my friend’s heart.

I describe the contemporary dance class we were in and how close our friendship was. “She was one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” He’s one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would do without him.

I add details to build an image of that day, inserting humor and appealing to the audience’s senses, while making sure that my plot advances. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings. When I kicked my leg up, my foot collided with her face.” I wasn’t being true to myself or him. When I spoke, my words attacked him.

“I felt immediate regret. I had hurt my friend on accident because I was careless.” I immediately felt horrible. I hurt him with my careless words and actions.

“For a few horrifying minutes, she couldn’t talk because of the pain. I thought our friendship was over and that she would never forgive me.” For a few terrifying days, he wouldn’t talk to me because of the pain I caused. I thought our friendship was over. I thought he would never forgive me. I still do.

“Yet in the end, she chose to forgive my mistake. Even though my actions didn’t reflect how deeply I cared about her, she knew me well enough to understand it was an accident. She knew how much she meant to me, and how I never intended to hurt her.” I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive me. I hope he knows me well enough to know that he means the world to me. I hope that all is not lost.

“It’s easy to harm someone on purpose. It’s even easier to do it on accident, because we’re not fully aware of our actions—we zone out—until we can see a concrete impact. Be self-aware. And if you want to do something fun with a friend, make sure it’s in a low-risk setting. Don’t end up like me! I might have taken the phrase “break a leg” literally if I was a little more careless. The point is, people need time to think. Forgiveness is not easy to receive. But when someone chooses to forgive because they want to, especially if that person plays a crucial role in your life, that can mean the world to someone. Thank you.”

Granted, that’s not the best narrative I could produce, but given my time limit of one-and-a-half day, I’m not too disappointed in myself.

Jisung and I pass each other when he heads toward the stage.

“This song is dedicated to someone special,” he says once he’s onstage. “I hope you guys like it!”

And it’s about me. Us. The time we stayed up until 2am studying and found this cafe because it was the only one open then. The time we wrote tons of poems, narratives, and short stories together (most of them were as a meme, barely longer than four sentences) because we bet the other person they weren’t as creative (it ended as a tie—we created the last poem together). The time he asked for help on the lyrics for a song and I ended up showing him a few of my poems willingly.

My eyes are glued to him, right up until he exits the stage and walks up to me. Then they flit towards the stage for a moment while I try to prepare myself for whatever he has to say. The world stops spinning as he opens his mouth.

“I forgive you.”

Blissfully, unexpectedly, the world starts spinning again. “You do?”

“You didn’t mean it, and while it hurt to hear, I know you don’t actually think that way. It’s not like I’m perfect, either. I’ll get annoyed and say things that aren’t true, too.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “I know you, y/n. Like you said, you wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose.” He gives a gentle tug on my hand. “You want to get out of here?”

“I’d love to.” I lean up and press a brief kiss against his cheek. “Where to?”

“You know that new burger place we wanted to try out? I was thinking we could go there.” He pauses. “As a first date,” he adds, the slightest hesitance showing.

I grab his other hand and take a half step towards him. “That sounds like the perfect first date.” I blush. He blushes. He pecks my forehead, the tip of my nose, and both of my cheeks. I untangle our hands to reach up and pinch his cheeks, squishing them together. Mindful of the people in the cafe, we leave soon after, sparing them from watching our PDA. We decide on taking my car, since I drove by myself here and Hyunjin dropped him off and yeeted out of here. (Speaking of Hyunjin, he, Ryujin, and Tzuyu have been blowing up the group chat—The 3 Musketeers—asking how things went. I text them that things went well, and silence my phone.)

Before I start the car, he takes my right hand. “Don’t ever think you’re not good enough,” he states firmly. “You are good enough. 100%. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“Aw, thank you. I realize that a little more now. I was really out of it that day. I turned into a mean version of myself, but I’m working on being more aware of what I’m feeling.”

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’re only human. What matters the most is that you truly didn’t mean it and you’re sorry. I’m with you right now,” he starts drawing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, “am I not?”

“You’re right. You are with me now.” I lean in to kiss his cheek, reluctantly pulling away after a few moments to start driving. “Now, Mr. Han Jisung… give me the best first date ever.”

I smile. He smiles. We’re blissfully happy.

•••

Eight words.

That night, the squad gathers at our dorm and invites Jisung in after our date to question, gush over, and tease us. I spend most of the time curled up in his arms, snuggling with him as Ryujin asks what his intentions are (“To show this wonderful lady how much I love her.” “You pass.”).

Hyunjin keeps insisting he was right all along (“I knew you would end up dating!” “Whatever cooks your bacon, buddy.” “You were right, ‘jin! You’re like a fortune-teller. Quick, tell me what I’ll get on my English story next week!” “Uh… 420.”).

Tzuyu grabs me by the shoulders and squeals about how much of a power couple we are (“You guys are so cute! You could write each other poems as gifts! Aaaaah, our y/n is growing up so fast!” “...thanks, mom.”).

While we talk, I occasionally press light kisses anywhere I can reach: his cheek, his neck, his hand, his forehead, and his lips. The reactions are either highkey shipping (Ryu and Tzu) or highkey faked disgust (Hyunjin lmao). (We don’t tell them that we made out in the car for a solid twenty minutes before coming inside.)

The topic shifts from our relationship to anything and everything. After passionately debating whether humans are inherently neutral (neither good nor evil) and if raccoons should be considered pests, it’s well past midnight, and Tzu-Hyun-Sung head home.

The next day, Saturday, we have a weekly hangout with the nine boys and us three girls. More teasing ensues (particularly from the Aussie line and Changbin), but the day is like any other until that night.

Jisung and I go on our second official date to our favorite ramen store, the one where we know the owner by name. We take a stroll outside by a river afterwards, admiring the scenery.

“Y/n, I really like you. I get so happy whenever I see you, or even think about you. You make me want to compose a million love songs and dedicate them all to you. So what I’m saying is… I’m asking you if you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“Yes! A million times yes. I would love to. I could write a million poems about you.” I lean up and kiss him, smiling as I do so. “I would love to be your girlfriend, sweetheart.”

“You finally called me a pet name, babe! Why are you so cute?” Another smooch. He presses his forehead against mine. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“You’re cute. And I’m the lucky one.” I suddenly step back and grab onto his shoulders. “The lucky J. One!”

He laughs, shaking his head, and we continue walking. “This is part of what made me fall for you.” He swoops down for another kiss, leaving me a blushing, stuttering mess.

Jisung really has a way with words. Of course, that’s a given, seeing as he’s a songwriter and poet. But combined with his actions and intentions, his strong work ethic and how much he cares about everyone, the transparency of his thoughts and emotions, he really is unique.

He has the power to make me speechless. But I’ll always have eight words to say.

You are amazing and loveable. Never forget that.

•••

Happy birthday, Han Jisung. You have the support of all us Stays.