#the first two are test for a school assignment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asahicore · 25 days ago

Text

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied.

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade.

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face.

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around.

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson.

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute��who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice.

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot.

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.”

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves.

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue.

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice.

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone.

“Y/N-”

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone.

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic.

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked.

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers.

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe.

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there?

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right?

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist.

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie.

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey.

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other.

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.”

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder.

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else.

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you.

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie.

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair.

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class.

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile.

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up.

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding.

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life.

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom.

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you.

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together.

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble.

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology.

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you.

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that.

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight.

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple.

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them.

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily.

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.”

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.”

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says.

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside.

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is.

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely.

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile.

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year.

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really.

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness?

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you.

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on…

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now?

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement.

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does.

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley.

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence.

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore.

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you.

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles.

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this?

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes.

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks.

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now.

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls.

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway.

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz @enhastolemyheart (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #enhypen fluff #jay fluff #enhypen fanfiction #jay fanfiction #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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remuslupinfarts · 2 years ago

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The horrors are too intense right now.

#By this i mean like four missing english assignments + a missing lab report + two missing math tests and a bunch of math hws #And a messy messy room and work tomorrow and the first track meet of the season on thursday #And i have to move on Saturday while my house gets remodeled #I mean only for 3 months (hopefully) and i'll be like 6 mins away from my current house but still.#Anyway the list could go on...#The school situation is soooo bad rn like semester two has been a STRUGGLE #lalala

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hollyoongs · 5 months ago

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Write it on my neck, why don't ya? And I won't erase it (camila cabello - shameless)

ᨓ 。park jongseong x fem reader ꒰📅꒱﹕smut with fluff ﹕+18.0k contains: mix of tropes (university academic rivals/enemies to lovers, she fell first, but he fell harder), slowburn, lots of tension, both are super smart but completly dumb when it comes to love, choking on cock, size kink, buldge kink, bredding, hair pulling, petnames (slut, good girl, etc), daddy kink, pain kink, squirting, reader is on the pill (stay safe). ┈─★

𝓈𝑖𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠:

An opportunity comes to you when they offered to be part of a project that will give you recognition and put you in the map as a rising star even before graduation, but you didn't coun it was a pair project, and that you partner was Park Jongseong, sadly.

[五] Park Jonseong, mostly known as Jay, and you had been at odds since you met him in school; even after all those school years, the two of you matched at the same university and had the same career. Even at university, you were both top of their class, fiercely competitive, and always striving to outdo each other. Jay was known for his analytical mind and exceptional problem-solving skills, while you excelled in creativity and innovation.

Despite your differences, you and Jay were assigned as project partners for the really big projects every single time, which always led to fights and the two of you working on their own. Both of you were in class, solving each question of a test as fast as you could. You stood up as fast as you could to give the paper, but Jay was faster, and he did it first, making you roll your eyes while the teacher watched both of you playfully and slightly annoyed.

"You know the rules; stay in your seats and wait until the end of the class, but the principal needs to talk to both of you in his office; please go and take your backpacks with you."

You scrunched your face, intrigued. "Sorry about the question, but why is he calling us?"

"It's not in my hands to say, but you better get going."

"Thank you, professor. We will take it from here." You hear Jay's voice, and you see him holding your backpack in his hand. You both bowed and left the classroom. Once the door was closed, you saw your backpack being dropped to the ground. You saw the person who did it. Jay had a small smirk on his face and started walking out. You reached him and slapped the back of his head after picking up your stuff.

There was silence, a sufficient one for you; you didn't do anything wrong, and as far as you know, neither did Jay.

"Come on, loser. This is not a runway."

"Can you shut up? I'm a little bit nervous."

Jay snorted and glanced at you with an amused expression. "Nervous? Since when do you get nervous?"

You shot him a glare. "Maybe because we're being called to the principal's office for something we don't even know about."

"Relax," Jay said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "We've faced worse."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. "I know, but this feels different. What if it's something serious?"

Jay shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it, like we always do."

The two of you continued walking in silence until you reached the principal's office. Jay knocked on the door, and a voice called from inside, "Come in."

You exchanged a quick glance with Jay before pushing the door open. Principal Kim was seated behind his desk, his expression unreadable. He gestured for you both to sit down.

"Thank you for coming," Principal Kim began, folding his hands on the desk. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here."

Jay nodded. "Yes, sir. We are."

Principal Kim leaned back in his chair. "It's come to my attention that your constant rivalry, while academically beneficial, has created a somewhat hostile environment."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "We didn't mean for it to get out of hand, sir."

Principal Kim raised a hand to stop you. "I understand that competition can drive excellence, but it can also lead to unnecessary conflict. That's why I've decided to assign you both a special project."

Jay's eyes narrowed. "A special project?"

"Yes," Principal Kim confirmed. "One that will require both of your skills to complete successfully. You'll need to work together and truly collaborate if you want to succeed and carry the name of our university."

You exchanged another glance with Jay, this time with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "What kind of project?" you asked.

Principal Kim smiled. "The contest is about the topic of your choice, but it needs to be a solution to one of these three options: better education, a sustainable environment, or better health. If you guys win, you will have two weeks off to the Maldives to present this project and gain recognition."

Jay leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Recognition"

Principal Kim handed each of you a folder. "All the details are in there. You have the rest of the semester to complete it. I expect nothing but your best work. But there's a catch."

You and Jay exchanged wary looks before turning your attention back to Principal Kim.

"A catch?" you echoed.

Principal Kim nodded, his expression serious. "Yes, a catch. You must work together on every aspect of this project. No dividing tasks and working separately. And since we know how both of you work individually, we will certainly know if you work separately."

As you both opened the folders, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread. This project was unlike anything you had ever tackled before, and it was clear that it would require both of your strengths to succeed.

"Good luck," Principal Kim said as you stood to leave. "And remember, this is an opportunity to learn from each other, not just compete."

Once outside the office, you turned to Jay. "So, what do you think?"

Jay smirked. "I think this is going to be interesting; just try to keep up with me; I'm tired of beating you."

"Yeah, right. Says the sore loser that it's still mad for a junior science fair."

Jay raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're still bringing that up? Face it, I had the better project."

You rolled your eyes. "Better project, my foot. You won because the judges didn't understand my advanced methodology."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Jay retorted, but there was no malice in his tone, just the familiar banter that had defined your relationship for years.

As you both walked out of the principal's office and down the hallway, the tension began to dissipate. You flipped open the folder to check the rules and all the information in it. "So, what's it going to be? Better education, a sustainable environment, or better health?"

Jay went near you and glanced at the topics, considering the possibilities and not stopping the walk. "Each of these has its own challenges. What do you think?"

Jay tapped his fingers on the paper thoughtfully. "Well, a sustainable environment is broad. We could focus on renewable energy or waste management."

You nodded, appreciating his analytical approach. "True, but better education could be interesting too. There's a lot we could innovate there, especially with technology."

Both of you felt the weight of the project settle on your shoulders. "So, where do we start?" Jay asked.

You bit your lip, thinking. "How about we grab a coffee and brainstorm? We need to find common ground."

Jay smirked. "Coffee? Since when do you invite me for coffee?"

You rolled your eyes, regretting it at the same time. "Since we became project partners who needed to collaborate,"

Jay chuckled, a genuine sound that surprised you. "If you love me, say it already."

"There's a café nearby that's quiet enough for us to think." You ignored him as you walked faster to stop listening to his bullshit.

The walk to the café was filled with tense silence. Once inside, you both ordered your drinks and found a corner table.

"So," Jay began, opening the folder again. "Let's list the pros and cons of each topic."

You nodded, pulling out a notebook. "Okay, for better education, we could focus on integrating technology in classrooms, personalized learning plans, or improving teacher training."

Jay leaned forward, jotting down notes. "For a sustainable environment, we could look at renewable energy solutions, waste reduction strategies, or even urban farming."

"And for better health," you added, "we could explore mental health awareness, access to healthcare, or innovative medical technologies."

Jay looked up, meeting your eyes. "I think a sustainable environment could be our strongest angle. It's something that impacts everyone, and there's a lot of potential for innovative solutions, plus, you're very creative when it comes to ideas despite your stupidity."

You looked away for a moment, sipping your latte. It was actually the very first time that Jay had ever said something nice to you (ignoring the fact that he almost called you stupid). Jay also looked at the folder in his hands after what he said.

"I agree. Plus, we can leverage both our strengths. Your analytical skills for the technical aspects, I must say, say you are...good."

Jay smiled—a rare, genuine smile. "That I am what?"

"Nope, not saying it anymore. Don't push me."

Jay's smile never left his face. "It looks like we finally agree on something."

For the next few hours, you and Jay brainstormed ideas, drawing on each other's strengths and perspectives. The initial tension between you began to ease as you realized that working together wasn't as bad as you had imagined.

As the sun set, Jay stretched and yawned. "I think we have a solid plan to start with. Want to meet tomorrow to start diving into the research?"

You nodded, feeling strange to this new picture. "Sounds good. Let's meet at the library after class."

Jay gathered his things and stood up. "Alright, see you tomorrow then, idiot."

"Sadly."

— : ☆

"So... you and Jay?"

"Cut the crap; it's my last straw." You bite your green apple. You were telling everything to your friend Karina since she was absent yesterday and missed the whole thing.

The whole university knew about you and Jay fighting over the first spot on everything.

Karina, being your closest friend, always had the front-row seat to your battles. She laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I can't believe you two are actually working together. Wonders never cease."

You sighed, taking another bite of your apple. "Yeah, it's a nightmare. But we have no choice. If we want that trip to the Maldives and the recognition, we have to make this work."

Karina shook her head, still smiling. "Who knows, maybe this will be good for you both. You might actually become friends."

You snorted. "Jay and I? Friends? I don't think so. We can barely stand each other."

"People change," Karina said, leaning back in her chair. "And sometimes, rivalry can turn into respect."

You rolled your eyes but didn't say anything. The idea of respecting Jay was still too far-fetched. Yet, you couldn't deny that the brainstorming session had gone surprisingly well.

"I've got to admit that his way of thinking surprised me, but that's it?"

"Quick question! Did he wear his glasses?" You looked at Karina in confusion.

"He wears glasses?" Karina blinks a few times in disbelief.

"The clear, thin ones, the rectagular ones? You're so blind to even see him because he's your rival."

"He wears glasses. So what."

"He literally became a topic of discussion for like a week for those glasses. He looked handsome as fuck."

You couldn't help but feel a mix of irritation and curiosity at Karina's comment. "Handsome? Jay? Are we talking about the same Jay?"

Karina rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yes, the same Jay. You're just too busy trying to outdo him to notice."

"Please. And for the record, I'm not trying; I just simply outdo him." You muttered, but you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. Had you really missed something so obvious?

Your conversation with Karina drifted to other topics, but the thought of Jay and his glasses lingered in the back of your mind. You saw your watch and cursed under your breath. "I gotta go, meeting Jay at the library."

"Oh! Go to the way back of the library; nobody listens, and the noise is blocked by the pile of books."

"Why would I go?" You stopped yourself to think about it and hit Karina with your hand, the girl laughing so hard that she almost fell. "God, you're nasty sometimes."

You ran to the library as fast as you could, the feeling of your warm cheeks being very present. You arrived at the library a few minutes early, determined to get a head start on the research after resting for a bit. You spread out your notes and started organizing your ideas as soon as you felt your heart calm down.

"Hello, loser."

You looked up to see Jay standing there, and for a moment, you were taken aback. There he was, wearing the thin, rectangular glasses Karina had mentioned; they accentuated his sharp features and gave him a more approachable and mature look. You quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. "Hey, idiot."

Jay smirked and sat down across from you. "Let's get to work."

As you dove into the research, you found yourself stealing glances at Jay, blaming Karina in your mind. Despite that, you also thanked her because you never really looked at Jay as a whole.

He was wearing silver jewelry, a black-fit yet loose plain sweater, fitted black jeans, and shoes of the same color. His hair was a dirty blonde color, which actually suited him. You had to admit, grudgingly, that Karina might have had a point. Jay did look handsome. But there was no way you were going to admit that out loud.

"So, where should we start?" Jay asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus. "Let's divide the topics we need to research. I'll take renewable energy, and you can start with waste management strategies."

Jay nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Sounds good. Let's aim to have a preliminary report by next week."

As you both got to work, the competitive edge in your dynamic seemed to fade, replaced by mutual respect. Maybe, just maybe, this collaboration would be more than just a necessary evil.

After a while, you took a break, stretching your arms above your head. Jay looked up from his notes, catching your eye. "Tired already?"

"I'm just taking a break," you said, trying to sound casual. "We've been at this for hours."

Jay nodded, leaning back in his chair. "True. But we're making good progress."

You smiled, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. "Yeah, we are."

Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, you saw a side of him you hadn't noticed before. Maybe Karina was right. Maybe there was more to Jay than just the competitive facade.

"Can I ask you something?" you said, surprising yourself with the question.

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Why do you wear glasses sometimes? I've never seen you with them before."

Jay shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "I usually wear contacts, but sometimes my eyes get tired. Why do you ask?"

You hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed. "No reason. Just curious."

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." You put your pen down and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"Tell me one of those moments. I dare you."

"The moment I told you if you didn't want to be part of the president's council as a vice president after your sad and pathetic loss,"

"We were two votes apart."

"And you said to me, and I quote, "I would rather die than take part in your team," but Mr. Kim told me that you went to him to ask if the vice president position was still open for you."

"How can you remember things from like three years ago?" He went silent, opening up a notebook once again without looking, turning the look away shortly after to his notebook.

"I have a good memory, you idiot." You looked at him for a few more seconds before going back to your business, accidentally cracking a side smile that you hurried to hide from his eyes in case he was looking at you. "Also, I won't be available the next week."

"Why is that?"

"We have a basquetball tournament, and the coach wants to have a whole practice week."

"But we will get behind everything."

"Are you dumb? This project has been around for like 2 months, and it came to us yesterday."

"But we need every single day to be prepared. I don't want to lose just because you have a game," you retorted, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice.

Jay leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I don't know that? I already have a plan. We'll work extra hours today and tomorrow. I'll do my part in the evenings after practice, and we'll check in every night to make sure we're on track."

You raised an eyebrow. "You made a plan without telling me?"

Jay shrugged. "I figured you'd be too busy panicking to come up with one yourself."

You scowled at him, but deep down, you were relieved. Despite his arrogance, Jay was dependable. "Fine. Let's see your plan."

Jay pulled out his notebook and slid it across the table to you. You scanned the pages, impressed despite yourself. He had outlined a detailed schedule with specific tasks for each of you, along with deadlines and check-in points.

"This is actually good," you admitted reluctantly.

Jay smirked. "I know. Now, let's get back to work."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of research and note-taking. By the time you left the library, the sun had long since set, and the campus was quiet. You walked out together, feeling a strange sense of peace with Jay.

"See you tomorrow, loser." He started to walk to the boys side of the dorms, getting out his headphones from his backbag.

"Hey, Park!" he stopped once you called him, the landscape making him look like he was part of a coming-of-age movie scene. You cleared your throat before speaking. "Good job today."

You saw his surprised face, but you were then surprised to see a soft smile coming from him.

"Thanks; same to you," Jay replied, his tone more sincere than you'd ever heard. He raised a hand in a casual wave before turning and continuing his walk.

The walk back to your dorm was filled with mixed thoughts and feelings. This project in just two days had somehow shifted your relationship with Jay, and you weren't sure how to process it. You couldn't deny that you were starting to see him in a different light, beyond the rivalry that had defined your interactions for so long.

When you got to your room, Karina was waiting, her curiosity evident on her face. "So, how was it?"

You sighed, dropping your bag onto your bed. "Surprisingly productive. We actually managed to get a lot done."

Karina grinned. "See? I told you it wouldn't be that bad."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get too excited. It's just one day."

Karina laughed, walking to you to give you a warm back hug. "One day is all it takes to start something new. It's the start of something new. It feels so right to be here with you."

You changed into more comfortable clothes and sat down at your desk after slightly slapping your best friend for the second time, flipping open your notebook. As you reviewed the notes from today, you couldn't help but think about the moments you had shared with Jay. The way he had smiled, the way he had been genuinely helpful, and the way he had planned everything so meticulously.

Maybe Karina was right. Maybe this project was an opportunity for you and Jay to learn from each other and grow, not just as students but as individuals. You shake your head before your thoughts can go another way, feeling your heart beat faster than usual.

The next day, you arrived at the library to find Jay already there early, surrounded by books and papers. Both of your professors cancelled the class, and you both decided to continue to work after you told him via message.

He looked up and smiled. "Ready to get to work?"

You nodded, taking a seat beside him. "Let's do this."

As you settled into your seat, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite your initial reservations, you were beginning to see the value of working with Jay. He was thorough, dedicated, and—most surprisingly—supportive.

The morning passed quickly because of the productive collaboration. You tackled different aspects of your project, occasionally bouncing ideas off each other. Jay’s analytical mind paired well with your creative approach, and together, you started to shape a solid foundation for your project on sustainable environments.

By lunchtime, you both had made significant progress. Jay leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "I think we deserve a break."

You nodded, closing your notebook. "Agreed. Let's grab something to eat."

At the cafeteria, you both grabbed your food and found a quiet corner to sit in, far from everyone. As you ate, you saw a couple in the distance, identifying the girl as Jay's ex-girlfriend, who cheated on him throughout the whole relationship.

The sight of her stirred a mix of emotions in you. Jay can be your enemy for as long as you remember, but you felt a strange sense of protectiveness towards Jay when you heard about their breakup. Aerum dated Jay for a whole year just to make him do all her assingments, everything while cheating him with another guy as dumb as she was.

No one should be cheated on, especially after knowing everything that Jay did for her, and she just embarrassed him to her whole group of friends.

Jay noticed your gaze and followed it. His expression hardened slightly when he saw her, but he quickly composed himself, turning back to his food. "Ignore her," he muttered, but you could tell he was trying to convince himself more than you.

"Does it still bother you?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Jay shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Not really. It's just... irritating to see her acting like nothing happened."

You nodded, understanding his frustration. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're doing great. She's the one who missed out."

Jay glanced at you, surprised by your words. "Thanks," he said softly. "That means a lot coming from you."

"Shut it," you added, rolling your eyes, trying to hide a small smile.

"No, I won't. I want to sink in that you really care for me."

"Oh God, please stop."

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, I'll stop. But seriously, thanks."

You shrugged, feeling a bit awkward at the sudden sincerity. "Don't mention it. Just listen and don't say anything." He looked at you in a friendly manner, his hand placed behind his ear, as you once again rolled your eyes. "I mean it, though. You're talented, driven, and honestly, way too good for her."

The rest of the lunch passed in a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier dissipating as you both focused on your food. As you finished eating, Jay stood up, gathering his tray. "Ready to get back to work?"

You nodded, following suit. "Let's do it."

Back at the library, you both dived back into your project with renewed determination. The afternoon flew by as you continued to brainstorm and refine your ideas. By the time the sun began to set, you had made significant progress.

As you packed up your things to leave, Jay turned to you with a small smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You looked at him, confused. "We won't see each other tomorrow; you have practice."

Jay's smile widened. "Actually, practice got cancelled. The coach had some emergency meetings or something. So, we have the whole day to work on the project."

You couldn't hide your surprise. "Oh, that's… unexpected."

"Yeah," Jay said, his tone casual. "But I'm not complaining. We can use the extra time to get ahead."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of anticipation at the prospect of spending another day working with Jay. "Yeah, let's make the most of it."

The two of you left the library together, falling into step as you walked towards the dorms. The air was warm and filled with the chatter of other students heading home for the evening.

As you reached the entrance of the dorm building, Jay turned to you. "I'll see you tomorrow then, loser."

You couldn't help but smile at the familiar insult. "See you tomorrow, idiot."

With a final wave, Jay disappeared into the building, leaving you standing outside with a strange warmth spreading through your chest.

The walk back to your room was filled with a mix of emotions and thoughts swirling in your mind. Jay's unexpected sincerity and the ease with which you had worked together today left you feeling oddly content.

Upon entering your room, you found it empty; Karina's absence was noticeable. You took a seat at your desk, pulling out your notebook to review the progress you had made today.

As you flipped through the pages, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jay. He wasn't just your competitor anymore; he was a teammate, someone you could rely on.

But even as you acknowledged this shift in your dynamic, you couldn't shake the lingering doubts and insecurities. Could you really trust Jay? Was this newfound camaraderie genuine or just a temporary ceasefire in your ongoing battle for superiority?

Pushing aside these thoughts, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You had a project to complete, and dwelling on hypotheticals wouldn't get you any closer to your goal.

As you immersed yourself in your work, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within you. Despite the challenges ahead, you were determined to make this project a success.

With that resolve in mind, you dove back into your research, ready to tackle whatever obstacles came your way. And as you worked, you couldn't shake the feeling that, perhaps, this collaboration with Jay was the beginning of something truly remarkable.

— : ☆

You entered your classroom and saw Jay and the teacher discussing a problem with the homework. When the teacher saw you, he called you with a hand gesture.

"Miss, your partner Jay says that a problem that I created in the assignment is wrong."

"The number 6? Yeah, it's wrong. Morning Jay."

"Morning loser." You slapped his arm and extended the paper, leaving marks of all the times the eraser passed it because there was no answer, ignoring the shocking look on your teacher's face at the rare sight of you two even saying "good morning." to each other. Jay took the paper from you, his expression turning thoughtful as he examined it.

"You're right," he said after a moment, looking up at the teacher. "There seems to be a mistake in the problem. It's not solvable as it's currently written."

The teacher frowned, taking the paper from Jay to inspect it himself. "Hmm, you're correct. My apologies for the oversight. I'll make sure to correct it for future assignments."

You exchanged a satisfied glance with Jay, feeling a sense of camaraderie in the small victory. Despite your ongoing rivalry, it was moments like these that reminded you of the mutual respect you had developed for each other.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," the teacher said, nodding at both of you. "I appreciate your diligence."

With that, he dismissed you both, allowing you to return to your seats. As you settled in, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the way you and Jay had worked together to solve the problem.

"Nice catch, loser," you murmured to Jay as he passed by your desk.

He flashed you a quick grin. "Teamwork makes the dream work, you idiot."

After class, you both went to the library together, getting surprised looks from a few students at the sight of both of you not fighting. Jay went to the usual spot and slid a chair. You almost sat on it, but Jay was faster as he put his backpack in it. You went to the spot where you usually sit and looked at him setting things down with his mouth closed, as if he were holding a smile or a laugh.

"Let's work; remember, you will not see me due to practice the next few weeks."

"Thank God, you're annoying."

And that was actually what happened. Both of you are working, saying good-bye, and only seeing each other in class, but not after. Jay actually played the role he said he would; he sent his parts after reading your awfully long documents with the information you researched.

— : ☆

For the next few weeks, you and Jay worked tirelessly on your project. There were moments of frustration and disagreement, but there were also moments of genuine collaboration and respect. You began to see a different side of Jay, one that was passionate, dedicated, and even kind.

In a blink of an eye, you encounter a problem. You tried to do it on your own, but you could swear the library lady was starting to get worried about your leg-shaking movements and how you were constantly massaging your head. You saw the clock. Jay's practice finished in one hour and ten minutes, and you growled low, picking up your stuff and going to the other side of the university to the courts.

As you were walking, you looked at your surroundings, the view making you take a deep breath in order to relax yourself. You have not taken a moment to relax yourself, even with your period. No matter how much it hurts, you keep on pushing yourself.

"Hey!" you heard a female voice, making you stop and roll your eyes at the view of Aerum, the person that called you. She was in front of you a few seconds later, making you impatient.

"What do you want, Kim?" She put a fake pout on her face.

"Oh, come one. I wanted to say hi to my ex-neighbor." You sighed. It was true that both of you were neighbors and childhood friends for a few years, until she started to get mean to you in order to fit into the popular group, a personality that she couldn't escape from.

"Come on, I don't have time." Her face changed, but you remained still, your poker face as still as you were.

"I saw you were doing a project with Jay, and I just wanted you to play cupid for both of us. You know we have history."

"No way, get lost."

"Come one! I miss him."

"You mean you miss having good grades? Why don't you go with that dumb quarterback you were sleeping with when you dated him?"

"Wait a minute, am I seeing you being defensive over Jay?"

"Yeah, because despite my hatred for him, he doesn't deserve to be treated like shit."

"Like you were treated because of your mother?" You stood there, frozen in place, and felt your heart ache at the still-vivid memory.

"Don't go there." You pointed your index finger at her, and Aerum just laughed straight at your attitude.

"Oh please!" Her voice got higher, and some students there were already looking at you two. "You started to be the smarty pants, so your mom gave you some validation or a little respect! That's why you're so pathetic."

"What is pathetic is you trying to fit in with the popular crowd by using people and treating them like garbage," you retorted, your voice low but firm. "You're the one who's pathetic, Aerum. You've always been jealous of anyone who's smarter or more talented than you."

Aerum's expression turned ugly, a mixture of anger and frustration contorting her features. "You think you're better than me, huh?"

"I don't have to think about it, Aerum. It's a fact," you replied coolly, refusing to back down. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. And forget about Jay, unless you change for good and value what a great heart he has."

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Aerum seething behind you. Or so you thought. You felt a hand on your shoulder, turning you around, and a strong punch in your mouth. You looked at Aerum, who was massaging her hand in pain. Your fingertips went straight to your lips, blood coming out of them due to her ring cutting you.

"Please, don't continue the fight." Karina's voice came into the picture, and in a few minutes, she was a few meters next to you.

"Just hold this, Rina." You extended your belongings to her as you polished your shirt and low ponytail. You grabbed Aerum by the collar of her blouse and smashed her to a nearby wall, her right side being punched by it.

As you held Aerum against the wall, you could feel the anger boiling inside you. All the pent-up frustration and resentment towards her came rushing to the surface, fueled by her cheap shot and her venomous words. But as you looked into her eyes, filled with fear and desperation, a small voice in the back of your mind urged you to stop.

Taking a deep breath, you loosened your grip on Aerum's collar, stepping back and releasing her. Despite the pain throbbing in your lip, you refused to let her drag you down to her level. "This isn't worth it," you muttered, turning away from her and walking away.

Karina followed closely behind you, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, wiping the blood from your lip with the back of your hand. "I'll live."

Karina sighed, glancing back at Aerum, who was still standing there, nursing her hand. "What was that all about?"

"Just Aerum being her usual charming self," you replied bitterly, trying to shake off the anger that still lingered within you. "Let's just go."

"Hey! Both of you!" You heard the principal's shout in the distance. "Office, now"

— : ☆

When you went outside of the office with only your phone in hand, you sighed. You forced Karina to leave the dorms in order to not get involved in this. Aerum got in there and actually stayed there when several people got brave enough to tell her everything she had done, while you only got a warning, and that was written on your permanent record.

You looked at the time, cursing when you saw that Jay probably left minutes ago. You walked through the hallway with your head low to the bathrooms, looking yourself in and letting that tear escape from your eye.

What Aerum said was the truth: being the only child and having a not-loving mother had their consequences. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The confrontation with Aerum had left you shaken, and the principal’s office visit had only added to your stress. You splashed some cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear your mind.

As you looked at your reflection, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. The memories of your mother and the constant pressure to excel weighed heavily on you.

You took a small piece of paper to put on your wound and hid your phone in your jacket as you got out of the bathroom, seeing a few guys in front of you. You froze in place when you could recognize that dirty blonde hair turning around at the sound of the door.

He looked at you and then your lips; your only solution was to turn around and run to your place, not wanting to confront him.

"Hey! Please stop!" You heard him scream, and you felt so sensible still that your eyes got watery again, making you slow down as you started to see blurry.

Jay caught you up and placed himself in front of you, holding your head high. The moment you tried to lower it again, he looked at your lip, and his face hardened.

"Jay…"

"Who the fuck did it?" His voice sounded angry, and you just moved your head.

"Jay, don't make a fuss."

"Who should I punch? Tell me." Tears started to wet your cheeks, and your hands were trembling while you hugged yourself.

"Jay, please don't say anything. I… I need you to hug me; please, I'm begging you."

Jay’s expression softened as he saw the tears streaming down your face. Without another word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as you sobbed into his chest. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you could feel the warmth and comfort of his presence.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, gently stroking your hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You clung to him, feeling the weight of the day’s events slowly start to lift. Jay’s steady heartbeat and soothing words helped calm your racing thoughts, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go of the stress and pain.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you, Jay."

"I'm taking you to my dorms; I'm cleaning your wound." It was like both of you forgot that you hated each other. The moment he held your hand, it sent you shivers as he walked with you to his dorms, a five-minute walk to his shared room, and a solid three-minute walk without anybody noticing it.

Once he opened the door, you were welcomed by a clean environment and a two-bed room. You raised an eyebrow at the view after Jay placed you on one of the beds.

"My ex-roomate left for his house; it was cheaper."

Jay rummaged through a small first-aid kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes and a bandage. He sat down beside you on the bed, his touch gentle as he cleaned the cut on your lip. You winced slightly at the sting, but his careful attention made it bearable.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes focused on the task at hand. “I just don’t want it to get infected.”

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, watching him work. The closeness between you felt strange yet comforting. It was a stark contrast to the animosity that usually defined your interactions.

Once he finished, he looked up at you, his eyes searching for yours. “Uhm, do you feel ready to tell me what happened?”

A brief silence made its way into the conversation, making you lower your head after you got cured.

"Aerum wanted to get back with you, and I kind of defended you."

Jay’s eyes widened in surprise. “You defended me?”

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yeah, I don't like you that much, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her using you again.”

Jay’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Wow, thank you, loser,” he said sincerely. “That means a lot to me.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, and the sincerity in his eyes made your heart race. “Teamwork makes the dream work, right?” You admitted that your voice was barely above a whisper.

Jay’s thumb brushed against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “It does,” he said, his voice soft and contemplative.

You looked into his eyes, feeling a connection that you had never acknowledged before, and it was scary. The tension between you seemed to dissolve, replaced by a warmth that you couldn’t ignore. Without thinking, you both leaned in, your lips meeting his in a gentle, tentative kiss.

The kiss was soft at first, but it quickly deepened as you both gave in to the emotions that had been building between you—emotions both of you didn't know you had. Jay’s hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as your arms wrapped around his neck. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

"Look, I-"

"Jay, can I have today's class notes?" A knock on the door made your guys eyes wide open, separating almost immediately.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Jay said hurriedly as he stood up, and you did the same. "Well, that was interesting."

"Very." You both walked to the door, but before, you two locked eyes for a moment.

"See you tomorrow, idiot."

"Sure thing, loser." You opened the door, not even looking at the person as you practically ran to your dorms at the speed of light. You literally opened the door so fast that Karina got scared.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” She asked, concern lacing her voice.

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath. “Nothing, I... think I just kissed Jay,” you mumbled, watching a dead point in the wall. Karina stopped herself, watching you with her big eyes.

"You what?"

"I. Think. I. Kissed. Jay." Karina literally jumped up from her seat, her eyes wide with excitement.

“You kissed Jay?! Oh my gosh, tell me everything!”

“It just happened. He cleaned my wound, and then we kissed. It was… intense.”

Karina squealed, clapping her hands together. “This is huge! I knew there was something between you two. So, what now?”

“What do you mean by "what know?"”

"You guys didn't even talk about what you were after that?!"

"It should be talked about." Karina held her head in her hands, and she breathed when you said that.

"Yes! I mean, you guys can’t just kiss and then pretend nothing happened, right?” Karina exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

You sighed, flopping onto your bed. “I don’t know, Karina. Everything is so confusing right now. One moment we hate each other, and the next..."

Karina sat down beside you, her expression softening. “Look, I know it’s complicated. But you need to talk to him. Figure out what this means for both of you.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. “You’re right. I just… I need some time to process everything.”

Karina smiled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Take your time. But don’t wait too long, okay?”

As the night wore on, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything other than the events of the day. The kiss with Jay played on a loop in your mind, each detail vividly etched into your memory. The touch of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the intensity in his eyes—it all made your heart race.

Karina, sensing your distraction, eventually left you alone to process your thoughts. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over. You wondered what it meant for the two of you. Was it just a spur-of-the-moment thing, or was there something deeper behind it?

When you entered class, you didn't even look up at Jay; you went straight to the desk and started taking your stuff out. You couldn't even sleep properly because you were overthinking, and overthinking led to conclusions. A conclusion that made you afraid, but you realized it was just the truth.

You liked Park Jongseong. You liked your nemesis.

When did it happen? You didn't even know. Maybe it was during one of those intense debates where his passion matched yours in high school that the fire in his eyes ignited something within you. Or perhaps it was the rare, fleeting moments when you saw him vulnerable, a crack in his confident facade revealing a depth you hadn't anticipated. It was in those shared silences that the competitive tension melted into something inexplicably intimate.

— : ☆

As the days passed, you found yourself drawn to his brilliance, his unwavering determination, and the way he challenged you to be better and sharper. The rivalry that once felt like a battle now seemed like a dance, a complex, beautiful interaction where every move he made pushed you to discover new strengths within yourself.

The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating. You had always prided yourself on your independence and your clarity of purpose. Yet here you were, your heart racing at the thought of Jay, feeling a pull that defied logic and reason. In acknowledging this truth, you confronted a vulnerability you hadn't allowed yourself to feel before.

Jay was more than an adversary. He was a mirror reflecting not only your ambition but also your capacity for deep, unexpected connection. This newfound awareness made you question everything—your goals, your path, and the very nature of love and competition.

In that moment of clarity, as you sat there pretending to focus on your notes, you understood that this love wasn't a distraction or a weakness. It was a profound, transformative force, one that had the potential to reshape your world and redefine the boundaries between rivalry and romance.

But the thing was, were you ready to actually tell Jay? Hell no.

After class, you hurried to gather your things, hoping to escape before Jay could catch up with you, but it could be a stupid thing to do since you were both meeting at the library for the project. But as you reached the door of the library, you felt a hand gently grab your arm. You turned to see Jay standing there, his expression a mix of something you couldn't describe.

“Hey, can we talk? Before entering,” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to respond. You stood there, both of you silent for a moment, as you tried to find the right words.

“About yesterday,” Jay began, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I didn’t expect that to happen.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It just… it just did.”

Jay nodded, looking down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “But it happened."

"It did," you said, the air getting thicker as you both didn't know what to say.

"Please don't take this too deep, but can we actually put this talk on hold and straight-up focus on the project?"

"Please." The words came immediately, and that made Jay throw a nervous laugh mixed with yours.

"Okay, then… Let's get to work. The paper is in a few days."

The next few days were a whirlwind of research, late-night study sessions, and endless discussions about your project. Despite the unresolved tension between you and Jay, you both managed to stay focused and work together effectively. The looming deadline was a constant reminder of the importance of your task, pushing any personal distractions to the background.

In the library, you and Jay sat side by side, surrounded by books and papers. The atmosphere was charged with a mixture of urgency and unspoken emotions. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you reached for the same book or piece of paper, sending jolts of electricity through you both. Each time, you would quickly pull away, exchanging awkward glances, before diving back into your work.

You two didn't even fight anymore, mostly because of that incident.

— : ☆

“Hey, Jay?” You said it softly, breaking the silence. You were both waiting for the call from the principal after a small meeting he had in his office, and your hearts were beating faster than usual. Jay looked at you, the big folder in his hands with all the projects printed, forgetting to pay attention to you.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. You’ve been really great.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, loser. You too.”

The moment hung between you, heavy with the weight of unsaid words. You rolled your eyes at the very usual nickname he gave you.

"Both of you have been called; you can enter now." You did what she said and went inside. You took a deep breath before going in. The principal gave a big smile to you two and welcomed you with open arms.

"Did you guys bring the presentation?"

"Yes, we did. Not only printed, but we also have a presentation, the document online, sketches that support some of the information there, and notes that complement the information on the official document," you said while Jay was putting everything on the big desk. The principal smiled bigly at the papers and later at both of you.

"We'll keep you guys informed; you are probably the first ones to send this, so we will have a response soon if this is the winner or not. The judges of the school will verify what we said, and we will send them to the contest."

"Thank you so much for this opportunity; we are really confident." Jay said it with a smile on his face, and you did the same.

"You guys are dismissed."

You both left the principal’s office with a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. The weight of the project had been lifted, but the unresolved tension between you and Jay lingered in the air. As you walked side by side through the hallway, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, unsure of what would come next.

"Well, that’s done," Jay said, breaking the silence. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah, finally," you replied, trying to muster a smile. "Now, we just wait."

Jay nodded, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The unspoken emotions from the kiss still hung heavily between you, creating palpable tension.

"Listen," Jay began, his voice hesitant, "about the kiss. We should probably talk about it. I mean, we can’t just ignore it forever, right?"

You felt a knot form in your stomach. "I know. It’s just... complicated."

"Yeah, it is," Jay agreed. He stopped walking and turned to face you. "But I think we need to figure out what it means for us."

You looked into his eyes, seeing a mix of uncertainty and determination. Taking a deep breath, you nodded. "You're right. We do."

"How about we go somewhere more private? My dorm is free if you want to talk there," Jay suggested, his tone gentle.

"Okay," you agreed, feeling a mixture of anxiety and relief.

The walk to Jay’s dorm was quiet; both of you were lost in your own thoughts. When you arrived, Jay opened the door and gestured for you to enter first. The room was tidy, and you both sat down on the bed you had shared earlier when he cleaned your wound.

"So," Jay began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "where do we start?"

"I guess we start with how we feel," you said, feeling your heart race. "I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out myself."

Jay nodded, his eyes focused on you. "Me too. And I think I know how I feel, but I want to hear from you first."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "Jay, I feel the kiss was an impulse, the moment, the tension mostly. I was very sad and hurt that day, and that was just. unexpected on my part. I'm really sorry if that kiss made you grossed out."

Silence once again filled the room. You saw Jay's eyes; they were simply blank, not showing any signs of emotion, and that just made you even more nervous. You actually didn't know why you even said that, but it was too late to take it back now. You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze and waiting for his response.

Jay sighed, his shoulders tensing a bit. “You think it was just the moment?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. “I think so. It was intense, but it was also confusing. I was emotional and... I’m sorry, Jay.”

Jay looked at you for a long moment. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand. It’s been a stressful time for both of us. I was also about to tell you that.”

You felt a wave of relief, but also a hint of sadness. You had expected him to say something different—maybe even confess that he felt something more. Instead, he was letting you off the hook, making it easier for you to retreat back into the safety of your previous dynamic.

Jay stood up and moved to his desk, picking up a book and pretending to flip through it. “So, what now? Do we just go back to how things were?”

You stood up as well, feeling a surge of frustration. “I don’t know, Jay. I just… I need some time to figure things out.”

He nodded, still not looking at you. “Okay. Take all the time you need. We’ll figure it out.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you forced a smile. “Thanks, Jay. And... thanks for being understanding.”

He finally looked up, giving you a small, sad smile. “Anytime, loser.”

You chuckled, the nickname bringing a sense of normalcy back to the situation. “See you around, idiot.”

With that, you left his dorm, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions. You needed time, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake by pushing him away. The truth was, you did feel something during that kiss—something more than just a momentary impulse. But admitting that to Jay and yourself was terrifying.

— : ☆

Over the next few weeks, probably the two longest weeks you've ever had, you threw yourself into your studies and extracurricular activities, trying to distract yourself from thoughts of Jay. You saw him in class, but the tension between you was still palpable. He was polite, even friendly, and his mean demeanor toward you didn't change too much, but there was a distance that hadn’t been there before.

You were walking back to your dorm, reading the notes you took in class for a test the next day.

“Hey, loser!” You heard Jay's voice, and you turned so quickly for something. He was running to you with a smile on his face, holding a paper in his hand as he excused himself from the students walking in the same direction as you.

“What?” you asked, trying to muster some enthusiasm from him once he stood in front of you.

"Read." You took the paper once you realized this, and your mouth gradually opened in shock.

""We would like to inform you that HYBE University won first place and are going to be welcoming with open arms to present their project and get the deserved award...""

"We are going to the Maldives!" You jumped to Jay, and he held you tight, your legs getting locked in his waist since you jumped too high. He laughed, spinning you around before gently setting you back down. The excitement of the moment washed over both of you, momentarily erasing all the tension and confusion.

"This is amazing!" you exclaimed, your eyes shining with joy. "I can't believe it!"

"Me neither," Jay agreed, his smile just as wide. "We did it, loser."

As the initial excitement began to settle, you both stayed that way, the weight of everything that had happened between you lingering in the air. You could feel the unspoken emotions bubbling just beneath the surface, but for now, the happiness of your shared success took precedence.

"Now, we need to get prepared for those two weeks."

"We sure do," he said. Your eyes scanned his face. His not wearing glasses again made you see his eyes, glazed by the excitement. His cheeks were a slight shade of pink, and his lip was with his characteristic lip slit of how he used to peel a part of its skin when he was anxious, something you caught when you started to see him in another light.

"How do we even start?"

"Probably by putting me back to the ground first."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry." He then did what you said gently, his fingertips traveling quickly by your waist, making your heart beat slightly faster. You looked at the paper and saw some details that you missed during the moment.

"Appearantly, we only need to pack enough, talk with our teachers, and get our passports ready."

"Want me to do that for you? You can't do things well on your own."

"Cut the crap, clown."

"Finally, a new nickname is coming from you." You rolled your eyes as you opened your back and put your stuff there.

"We will see each other next week in an airport; keep in contact with me if you want me to do anything in case you can for that other occasion."

Jay looked at you in surprise. "You know."

"You won the last three games; this is the final, right? Everyone has talked about it; I have been trying to escape from it."

"Oh yeah, it's actually in a few minutes."

"Then why aren't you in uniform?"

"I have to rush to my dorm; I cleaned it up."

"Good luck in your game."

"You… yeah, thanks. Gotta rush, loser. I need more extracurriculars than you!" You watched him disappear, a mix of relief and something else you couldn’t quite identify settling in your chest. The weeks ahead were going to be intense, not just because of the trip to the Maldives, but because you had no idea how things would unfold between you and Jay.

You went to your room. Karina was getting ready to watch the game and support her boyfriend, Jaewook. You put all your stuff on top of your bed as you started talking about the good news to Karina, and she didn't stop at all from telling you how happy she was for you.

"Are you not going to the game?"

"You know I'm not into sports."

"Please, you are the only one who can explain to me what the hell is going on there. Beside, don't even dare to lie to me after I gave you the Shaq t-shirt." You laugh for a moment.

"Just go to the game and have fun." She let out a sigh as she took her cellphone and waved goodbye. You did your normal routine: wash up, have a snack, and open your books to keep studying. You were so used to that routine that it almost felt comforting in its predictability. But tonight, something was different. Jay’s excitement about the Maldives trip, his playful banter, and his unexpected vulnerability had all left you feeling unsettled.

You tried to focus on your notes, but the words seemed to blur together. Your mind kept drifting back to Jay, his smile, and the way he had held you so tightly. You sighed and closed your textbook, admitting defeat. Maybe Karina was right. Maybe you did love Jay and need a break.

Grabbing a Seattle Supersonics t-shirt from your drawer, you quickly changed and headed towards the gym. As you walked, you could hear the faint roar of the crowd growing louder with each step. You reached the entrance, and the energy inside the gymnasium hit you like a wave. The bleachers were packed, with students wearing school colors, having their faces painted, and holding up signs.

You spotted Karina in the front row, screaming with the crowd. You made your way over, squeezing through the crowd, and sat down beside her.

“So you did come,” she shouted over the noise, her eyes shining with excitement while poking you.

“Yeah, well, I figured I could use a break,” you replied, trying to hide your nervousness, but Karina just knows you too well.

"Stop lying to yourself; you came because you wanted to finally see a game." You looked at the court, seeing Jay playing and running around with a serious face.

"I came to see someone playing in the game." You finally let it out to her, her eyes widening at you finally revealing the truth.

"You came to see Jay?!"

"You told me to stop lying to myself. I'm doing it."

The game was already underway, with the players moving fast across the court. Your eyes were always on Jay. He was in his element, focused, and determined. Despite the distance that had grown between you, you couldn't help but feel proud of him in every way possible.

As the game progressed, you found yourself getting caught up in the excitement. You cheered along with the crowd, feeling a rush of adrenaline every time Jay made a play. The tension between the two teams was palpable, with each point bringing them closer to the final buzzer.

With only a few minutes left on the clock, the score was tied. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, the air thick with anticipation. Jay had the ball, weaving through the defenders with a skill that left you breathless. He made a final, daring shot just as the buzzer sounded.

The ball sailed through the air, time seeming to slow down as everyone held their breath. Then, with a perfect swish, it went through the hoop. The gym erupted in cheers, the crowd going wild. Jay’s team had won.

You jumped to your feet, screaming and clapping along with everyone else. Jay was mobbed by his teammates, their faces alight with joy. He looked up into the stands, his eyes searching until they found yours. For a brief moment, your eyes locked, and he gave you a small, almost shy smile.

After the game, you and Karina made our way down to the court. Jaewook was already there, lifting Karina off her feet in a celebratory hug. You stood back, watching the happy scene unfold around you.

Jay was surrounded by his teammates, all of them laughing and patting him on the back. He looked like he was on top of the world, but when his eyes found you again, you could see a different kind of excitement there, one that seemed to be just for you.

He broke away from the group, jogging over to you. “Hey, loser.” he said, but his voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

“Hey, champion,” you replied, a teasing smile on your lips. “Nice game.”

“Thanks.” He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking almost nervous. “I saw you in the stands. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Well, I figured it was time to see what all the fuss was about,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly, even though your heart was pounding.

Jay laughed, a sound that seemed to lighten the air between you. “I’m glad you did.” He hesitated, glancing around at the bustling crowd before turning back to you. “So, Maldives, huh? I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

"Yeah, it looks like it.” You met his gaze, the unspoken tension swirling between you. “I’m sure we can handle it, right?”

“Of course. Just keep your distance, and we’ll be fine,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed the words. There was something deeper there, something he wasn’t saying.

“Same goes for you,” you shot back, the familiar banter masking the undercurrent of emotions.

— : ☆

A week later, you found yourself at the bustling airport, rolling your suitcase behind you. The excitement of the upcoming trip was mixed with a sense of nervousness, mostly because you knew Jay would be there too, but the excitement of getting yourself known in such a community where opportunities will arrive just puts you in such a good mood. You scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces among your classmates and professors.

“Hey, loser,” Jay’s voice called out from behind you. You turned to see him striding toward you, a grin on his face. He was dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and his glasses. Even in a casual outfit, he looked good in every aspect.

“Hey, clown,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “Ready for the Maldives?"

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He adjusted his backpack, glancing around. “Checked in already?”

“Yeah, just waiting for the other teachers,” you said, nodding toward the rest of a group of other universities from South Korea that were attending too. “You?”

“I just got here. I almost missed my ride,” he said with a chuckle. “Typical, right?”

“Very typical,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling. “Let’s get in line for security. We don’t want to be the ones holding everyone up.”

As you made your way through security and to the gate, the conversation was surprising easy, filled with the usual teasing and playful jabs that some teachers were preventing due to your habit of slapping someone. The flight itself was uneventful and quiet since both of you wore your headphones and Jay went to sleep while you revised the content. Soon enough, you were landing in the Maldives, the excitement of the new surroundings washing over you.

After going through customs and collecting your luggage, you and Jay found yourselves standing side by side, waiting for the bus that would take you to the hotel.

“First time in the Maldives?" Jay asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you said, looking out at the busy airport. “You?”

“Same here. It should be interesting.” He looked at you, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Hope you don’t get lost.”

“I won’t if you don’t get in my way, idiot.” You shot back, but there was no bite in your words.

The bus ride to the hotel was filled with chatter and laughter from the other groups, everyone buzzing with excitement. Jay sat next to you, both of you quietly taking in the sights as the city unfolded around you.

As you and Jay approached the front desk to check into the hotel, the clerk greeted you with a polite smile.

“Welcome to our hotel,” she said, typing away at her computer. “Let me check your reservations. Ah, it looks like we have a slight issue.”

Your heart sank. “What kind of issue?” you asked, exchanging a worried glance with Jay.

“Well, it appears that your school made the reservations quite late, and due to the high demand, we only have one room left for you two,” she explained, looking apologetic. “It’s one of our best suites, but it only has one bed.”

You felt your face heat up, and from the corner of your eye, you could see Jay shifting uncomfortably. “Are you sure there aren’t any other rooms?” you asked, trying to keep the panic out of your voice.

“I’m afraid not,” the clerk said, shaking her head. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I assure you it’s a very spacious room.”

Jay cleared his throat, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Well, I guess we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”

You sighed, feeling flustered but trying to stay composed. “I guess not,” you muttered. “Let’s just get our keys.”

The clerk handed you the key cards and offered a sympathetic smile. “I hope you enjoy your stay. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You and Jay headed to the elevator in silence, both of you clearly uncomfortable with the situation. As the elevator doors closed, Jay finally broke the silence. “This is going to be interesting,” he said, his tone dry.

“You can say that again,” you replied, feeling a mix of frustration and nervousness. “Let’s just try to make the best of it.”

When you reached the room, you swiped the key card and pushed the door open. The suite was indeed luxurious, with a large bed dominating the center of the room, a sitting area, and a balcony with a breathtaking view of the city. There was palpable tension in the air as you both took in the room.

“Well, at least it’s a nice room,” Jay said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Yeah,” you agreed, setting your suitcase down. “I guess we should figure out how to make this work.”

Jay nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. “We can set some boundaries. I’ll take the couch if you want.”

You glanced at the couch, which looked plush but not exactly ideal for sleeping. “That’s not necessary. The bed is big enough for both of us, as long as we stick to our sides.”

“Deal,” Jay said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Let’s just focus on the project and not let this get weird.”

“Agreed,” you said, though you couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

After unpacking a few things and freshening up, you saw a letter with today's date. You reached for it as you opened it.

"You guys are invited to the welcome dinner tonight at 7 p.m. in the main banquet hall. We hope to see you there as we kick off this exciting week. Sincerely, The Conference Committee."

You read the invitation aloud, and Jay glanced at his watch. “That’s in a few hours. It should give us enough time to settle in and maybe explore a bit,” he said.

“Good idea,” you agreed, feeling a bit more relaxed now that there was a plan. "Let's go and check out the beach"

Jay’s face lit up. “Absolutely. I’ve been dying to see the water.”

After changing into more casual, beach-friendly attire, you both headed down to the lobby and out towards the hotel’s private beach. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the sand and waves. It was picturesque, like something out of a travel magazine.

“Wow,” you said, taking it all in. "The view is amazing"

Jay nodded, his eyes on the horizon, and later on, without your noticing it, your beauty was breathtaking to him. “It makes the awkward room situation a bit more bearable, doesn’t it?”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease even more. “Yeah, it does.”

You walked along the shore as the sky turned pink and purple with the setting sun. You both found a spot to sit and watch the waves roll in. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the bustling airport and the initial stress of the room mix-up; everything felt beyond different. If someone had ever told you that in a few years you and Jay would have a peaceful moment on a beach without saying mean things to each other, you would've laughed so hard that your stomach would hurt.

“Do you think this conference will really open doors for us?” you asked, voicing a thought that had been lingering in your mind.

Jay looked thoughtful. “I think it’s what we make of it. If we put ourselves out there, network, and showcase our best work, then yeah, it could lead to some great opportunities.”

You nodded, appreciating his optimism. “I guess it’s just a bit intimidating, you know? There are so many talented people in one place.”

“True,” Jay agreed, “but you belong here as much as anyone else. Don’t sell yourself short.”

His words were comforting, and for the first time, you looked at him with red cheeks, his gaze already at you and not even breaking eye contact.

After a while, you both headed back to the hotel to get ready for the welcome dinner. The suite felt less awkward now; the initial discomfort was replaced by a budding sense of friendship. As you dressed up for the evening, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves about what the night would bring.

When you and Jay arrived at the banquet hall, it was already buzzing with activity. Professors, students, and industry professionals mingled, and the air was filled with lively conversation and laughter. You spotted your classmates and professors and waved, feeling a bit more at ease in the familiar company.

“Ready to dive in?” Jay asked, offering a reassuring smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, taking a deep breath.

As you and Jay entered the bustling banquet hall, you were immediately swept into the lively atmosphere. The room was filled with the buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You and Jay made your way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and introducing yourselves to various professors and students from universities around the world.

At one point, you found yourself deep in conversation with a group of students discussing their projects. Jay was beside you, engaging with a professor who seemed particularly interested in his work. As the night progressed, you both mingled separately, meeting new people and making connections.

It was during one of these moments that you met Doyoung, a student from another university.

His tall, lean frame was draped in a tailored suit that accentuated his poised elegance. Dark, almond-shaped eyes, deep with intellect and warmth, scanned the room, each glance imbued with a sense of calm assurance. His jet-black hair, perfectly styled, framed a face that was striking in its symmetry—high cheekbones, a slender nose, and lips that hinted at a perpetual, gentle smile. There was an aura about him—an effortless blend of sophistication and approachability—and you quickly found yourself engrossed in a conversation about your shared interests. Doyoung had a way of making you feel at ease, and you enjoyed the easy flow of dialogue between you.

“So, what’s been your favorite part of the conference so far?” Doyoung asked, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.

“Well, it’s only just started, but I’d say the welcome dinner is pretty high up there,” you replied with a laugh. “It’s been great meeting so many passionate people.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a great start,” Doyoung agreed, smiling warmly, his eyes eyeing you up and down. “I’m looking forward to seeing what the rest of the week brings.”

As you continued to chat, you were unaware of Jay’s gaze from across the room. He had finished his conversation and was scanning the crowd, his eyes landing on you and Doyoung, far away. There was an unfamiliar feeling gnawing at him as he watched you laugh and engage so effortlessly with this new acquaintance.

Jay felt a twinge of jealousy, though he tried to push it aside. He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing you with someone else, someone who seemed to be getting along with you so well, made him feel uneasy. He took a sip of his drink, trying to refocus his attention on the conversations around him, but his eyes kept drifting back to you and Doyoung.

Meanwhile, you were oblivious to Jay’s inner turmoil.

As the evening wore on, Jay found himself standing on the periphery of the room, his gaze still occasionally drifting toward you and Doyoung. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined, despite his own successful interactions throughout the night. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but the jealousy lingered.

Finally, you noticed Jay standing alone and excused yourself from Doyoung. You walked over to Jay with a concerned look on your face. "Hey, are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

Jay snapped out of his thoughts, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking a breather.”

“Come on, let’s go to eat; it looks like they are about to serve,” you said, tugging at his sleeve. “And we’ve still got a lot of people to meet.”

Eventually, hours passed, the nipght began to wind down, and people started to head back to their rooms. You and Jay walked back to your suite, the comfortable silence returning between you.

“That Doyoung guy seems nice,” Jay remarked casually as you entered the room.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed, setting down your things. “It was great meeting him.”

Jay nodded, not saying anything further, but having that weird feeling inside him. You both settled into your places, backs facing each other.

“Goodnight, Jay,” you said, feeling a sense of contentment.

“Goodnight, dumbass.”

— : ☆

One week later, the day of the presentations and award ceremony had finally arrived. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation as participants milled about, reviewing notes, and giving each other last-minute pep talks. You and Jay were backstage, waiting for your turn to present; the presentation was only about the winners, going from third place to first.

You felt a knot of nervousness tightening in your stomach as you watched the other presenters go up on stage. You tried to focus on your breathing and keeping your outfit perfect—a tight, elegant, short black dress that matched Jay's suit—but the anxiety was creeping up on you, making it hard to concentrate on both actions.

Jay noticed your fidgeting and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you’ve got this,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “We’ve practiced a million times. You know the material inside and out.”

You managed a small smile, appreciating his support. “Thanks, Jay. I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “Just remember to breathe and take your time. We’re a team, and we’ll get through this together.”

Before you could respond, Doyoung appeared, a wide grin on his face. “Hey! Ready to wow everyone?” he asked, his tone a bit too enthusiastic.

You nodded, trying to muster up some confidence. “Trying to be.”

Doyoung got near you, his hand on your waist and lips on your neck, surprising you the innapropiate action. “You’ll be great. Just remember, no one will notice if you mess up a little. Besides, even if you do, it’s not the end of the world. Right, Jay?”

Jay’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the unhelpful tone in Doyoung’s words and action. “Right,” he said, his voice cool as he got closer to you, his back facing you and looking straight up to Doyoung's eyes. “But we’re not planning on messing up, are we?”

Doyoung laughed, seemingly oblivious to Jay’s irritation. “Of course not. Just saying, there is no need to be too stressed. Anyway, break a leg!” With that, he sauntered off, leaving you feeling more jittery than before.

Jay turned back to you, his expression softening. “Ignore him,” he said gently. “You’re going to do amazing. Just focus on what we’ve practiced. You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more centered thanks to Jay’s words. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

When it was finally your turn, you and Jay stepped onto the stage. The bright lights momentarily blinded you, and the sea of expectant faces made your heart race. But then you glanced at Jay, who gave you an encouraging nod.

As you began your presentation, the initial nerves started to fade. The familiar rhythm of your practiced lines and the supportive presence of Jay beside you helped you find your footing. You presented your project with clarity and confidence, your voice growing steadier with each passing moment.

Jay’s part of the presentation flowed seamlessly, his calm demeanor and articulate delivery complementing your own. Together, you made a strong team, and by the time you finished, the audience was clearly impressed, responding with enthusiastic applause.

Backstage, you let out a relieved breath, feeling a wave of accomplishment wash over you. “We did it,” you said, turning to Jay with a grin.

Jay smiled back, his eyes shining with pride. “I told you we would. You were incredible.”

“Thanks to you,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his praise.

Doyoung reappeared, clapping his hands. “Great job, you two! I knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks, Doyoung,” you said, though you couldn’t help but feel a bit of annoyance at his earlier comments.

Jay, however, remained polite but distant. “I appreciate it,” he said, steering the conversation back to you. “Now let’s go enjoy the rest of the event and see what awards we’ve earned.”

As the evening progressed, the awards ceremony began. Your name was called, along with Jay’s, for the excellence in research award. Walking up to the stage to accept it was a surreal moment, filled with pride and satisfaction. The hard work had paid off, and the recognition felt incredibly rewarding.

Afterward, you and Jay stood together, holding your awards and basking in the glow of your achievement. As the awards ceremony concluded, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement and celebration. You and Jay stood side by side, clutching your awards, surrounded by a crowd of congratulatory peers and organizers. The sense of accomplishment was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in what you had achieved together.

All of you went to another venue for a small party for the young people, but before you could even get a snack, you were called by one of your teachers to present you to the CEO of one of your favorite companies, leaving Jay and Doyoung.

"Okay, what's your deal with her?" Jay asked Doyoung to put one of his hands in his pocket while the other held a drink.

Doyoung chuckled lightly, taking a sip of his drink before responding. "My deal? Just being friendly. She's cool, isn't she?"

Jay's jaw clenched slightly, his patience wearing thin. "Yeah, she's cool. But you're being a bit too friendly, don't you think?"

Doyoung raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Hey, I'm just being supportive. You two make a good team."

Jay's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a low, controlled tone. "Supportive? Or are you trying to get under my skin?"

Doyoung smirked, his casual demeanor faltering slightly. "What, jealous, Jay? I didn't think you had it in you."

Jay took a step closer, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Watch yourself, Doyoung. She's not just some girl you can flirt with."

Doyoung straightened, his own patience wearing thin. "Relax, man. I'm just having fun. Besides, it's not like you've made a move."

Jay's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching involuntarily. "She doesn't need you making moves on her either."

Before the tension could escalate further, a voice interrupted from the side. "Is everything okay here, guys?"

It was a mutual friend who had been observing the tense exchange. Jay took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "Yeah, everything's fine," he replied through gritted teeth, shooting a final glare at Doyoung before walking away.

"Don't worry, Jay, I'll bring it to your room after she's done with me!"

As soon as Doyoung's words hung in the air, Jay's expression darkened. The comment hit a nerve, pushing Jay over the edge of restraint. Without another word, Jay's fist swung swiftly, catching Doyoung off guard and connecting squarely with his jaw.

Doyoung staggered back, surprised by the sudden blow. He recovered quickly, his own anger flaring as he lunged forward, fists clenched. The two young men grappled, exchanging heated punches as they wrestled against each other.

The room around them erupted into chaos as people shouted and tried to intervene, but Jay and Doyoung were locked in their own battle. Jay's determination to protect you fueled his strength, while Doyoung fought back fiercely, fueled by wounded pride and anger.

Amidst the chaos, you returned from meeting the CEO, your eyes widening in shock as you took in the scene unfolding before you. "Stop it!" you screamed, rushing forward to try and separate them.

It took several people to finally pull Jay and Doyoung apart, their chests heaving with adrenaline and fury. Jay's knuckles were bloodied, and Doyoung nursed a bruised jaw, both glaring daggers at each other.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" someone shouted, their voice filled with disbelief.

Jay took a step towards Doyoung, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth when you talk about her."

Doyoung straightened up, wiping blood from his split lip. "You think you're so righteous, huh? She doesn't belong to you."

"She doesn't, but she deserves respect," Jay shot back, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Something you clearly don't understand."

The tension in the room was palpable as the aftermath of their fight settled in. You stood between them, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. "Enough," you said firmly, your voice shaking. "Both of you, just stop."

Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, the storm of emotions in his gaze slowly calming. You felt ashamed; your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and frustration. Jay followed closely behind you, his steps uncertain at first, then quickening to catch up. The cool night air did little to ease the tension that crackled between you both.

"I'm sorry," Jay began quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "I shouldn't have let it get to that point."

You stopped abruptly in the hallway of the room, turning to face him, your expression a mix of hurt and anger. "Jay, what was that back there?! Punching Doyoung like that?!"

"I put him in his place! He was about to take advantage of you!" You growled in anger, opening the door, throwing your stuff somewhere, and leaving your cellphone on the bed, hands on your head.

"He was not! He was being friendly!"

"Oh my god, you're such an idiot!"

"Oh! Okay! Tell me why the fuck I'm an idiot." You got near to him, head high despite the high difference, you being shorter than him just did something to both of you. He took off the jacket of the suit, messing his hair a little bit in frustration.

"Because you see good in people who have zero good intentions, you're naive and a fool!" His words were like darts to your heart. "I was trying to protect you because only God knows when the time will come when you will regret it!"

"You know the opportunities you blew up right now for your future?! I told you to not do something you'll regret later!" Jay saw you after your words, his fierce gaze on you.

"I don't care! I wasn't even thinking straight!"

"Because you never listen!" you shouted, frustration tingling at the edge of your voice.

"And you never shut up!" Jay's retort was sharp, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you two. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, your breaths mingling in the scant space between them.

"Maybe if you weren't so stubborn—" Your words were abruptly cut off as Jay’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him. The world seemed to tilt, time slowing to a crawl as he leaned in, his lips a hair's breadth from hers.

"Shut up," he whispered, his voice rough and urgent, his hand firmly place at the back of your head.

Before you could react, his mouth was on yours, demanding and desperate. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up emotions they had been denying for so long—anger, frustration, longing. Your mind raced, trying to process the sudden shift from hostility to this overwhelming connection. His lips were warm, firm against yours, and for a moment, you fought it, your hands pushing against his chest.

But Jay held firm, his kiss unyielding, until gradually, you felt the tension seep from your body. His touch became gentle, almost pleading, as if asking for forgiveness without words. Your resistance melted away as you began to respond, letting the kiss deepen.

It was a tumultuous mix of emotions—anger still simmering beneath the surface, confusion over the intensity of your feelings, and an undeniable pull towards Jay that defied reason. His lips moved against yours with a rawness that mirrored his earlier aggression, yet now it carried a desperate longing.

As the kiss lingered, you found yourself surrendering to the wave of emotions crashing over you. The fight, the shouting, and the chaos of the evening faded into insignificance. There was only the sensation of Jay’s arms around you, his touch both possessive and tender, pulling you closer as if afraid to let go.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Jay’s forehead rested against yours. His eyes, once filled with fiery determination, now held a vulnerability that mirrored your own. Neither of you spoke, words unnecessary in the charged silence that enveloped you.

"I want you to stay silent and listen to me," Jay began, his voice a hoarse whisper that carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words. You stood there, captivated by the intensity in his eyes and the vulnerability laid bare in his confession.

"Our kiss before this one?" His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. "It shattered the walls I've built around my heart. It made me realize all the love I've been hiding from you, because, damn it, I love you. More than I ever thought possible. More than I fucking love myself."

His admission echoed in the silence that followed, each syllable dripping with raw honesty and a passion that shook you to the core. Jay took one of your hands, locking it and kissing it, his free hand trembling as he reached out to gently trace the curve of your cheek.

"I've fought it, pushed it away, and denied it to myself," he confessed, his voice breaking with emotion. "But every time I see you, every moment we've clashed, it's been because I couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt. Not by me, not by anyone."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into your soul. In Jay's eyes, you saw a lifetime of unspoken desires, of battles fought and wounds healed, all in the name of a love that had defied their turbulent history.

"You're not just someone I want," he continued, his voice trembling with the depth of his emotions. "You're the one I need. The one who challenges me and makes me question everything I thought I knew."

Tears welled in your eyes as Jay's words washed over you, a torrent of passion and devotion that threatened to overwhelm. He brushed a gentle thumb across your lips, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter than any conflict they had faced.

"I want to be with you," Jay whispered, his forehead resting against yours and his breath mingling with yours in the hushed stillness of the moment. "Not despite our differences, but because of them. Because in you, I've found a love that's worth fighting for, worth risking everything for."

His declaration hung in the air, a promise woven with threads of longing and hope. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and feeling the tremors of his vulnerability beneath your fingertips.

"I love you too."

"You are not joking, right?" Jay said, his eyes revealing happiness despite the tears.

"Of course not, dumbass. I've liked you too."

"Good, because I'm not willing to stop kissing right now."

"God, you're such a loser."

As your lips met again, thanks to you, the intensity between you soared to new heights. The anger and frustration of moments ago were replaced by a consuming desire, each kiss deepening the bond that had been waiting to surface for so long. Jay held you close, his touch conveying both urgency and tenderness, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

The world outside their embrace faded into insignificance as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. There were no more words needed, only the language of touch and the shared understanding of what this meant between you.

You found hidden strength within you when you accidentally ripped open Jay's shirt, making him smirk into the kiss while he slid down the zipper of your dress, revealing the tantalizing curves beneath. The fabric slipped to the floor in a hushed whisper, joining the symphony of desire that filled the room. Jay's hands traced the contours of your body with reverence, igniting sparks of pleasure that danced along your skin.

"I want all of you," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with need.

"Then have me."

With each touch and each caress, the bond between you deepened further, transcending words and doubts. All the clothes fell away and inhibitions melted; you surrendered to the rhythm of your desires, entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

Jay took off his glasses and threw them with your clothes, gettin glower to grab the back of your knees, his covered cock touching your core that made you hiss in the middle of the kiss. He left you below him on the bed, your nails slightly digging his shoulders as his lips traveled his way to your neck. You could almost feel his breath quicken with each moment. His hands explored every inch of your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume all reason. With a soft growl, he pinned your wrists above your head, asserting his dominance in a way that made your pulse race even faster.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jay admitted, his voice a mixture of reverence and raw desire. "To taste you, to feel you completely mine."

You gasped as he teased your sensitive skin with his lips and tongue, his movements deliberate and intoxicating. Every touch and every caress sent a jolt of pleasure through you, amplifying the connection between you to a fever pitch.

His fingers trailed down, teasing the edge of your pants before sliding them off, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as he settled between your legs, his breath hot against your inner thighs.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his eyes dark with need.

"I want it," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, your big doe eyes looking at his down there. "Please, daddy... I want it so bad."

His tongue flicked over your clitoral area, groaning at the newly discovered kink and sending waves of sensation through your body. You arched against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him on. He felt a little bit of pain, but it motivated him. Jay's mouth moved with purpose, his skillful ministrations pushing you closer to the edge with each passing second.

"Please, daddy, it's so good." You moaned, unable to hold back the plea as pleasure coiled tight within you.

He gave a throaty chuckle against your skin, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "Get up."

His hair grabbed a handful of yours, and you felt ashamed of how much you liked it.

"You want to be a slut? Then fucking act like one." Another kiss began, but this time was just messy. His teeth pulled your bottom lip, and you kept your mouth open, his saliva passing to your needy tongue and tangling with his in a frenzied dance. The passion between you was electric, with every touch and kiss igniting a wildfire of desire. Jay's hands roamed your body with an urgency that matched your own, his grip firm and unrelenting.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice rough with need.

You obeyed without hesitation, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine. Jay stood before you, his eyes dark with desire as he took off his underwear. The sound of the movement echoed in the room, heightening the tension between you. He pulled it down, revealing his arousal, and your mouth watered at the sight.

"Open wide," he said, his tone a mix of dominance and lust.

You parted your lips, your eyes locked on his as he guided himself to your mouth. The first touch of his hardness against your tongue sent a jolt of excitement through you. You took him in eagerly, your lips wrapping around him as you began to move, your hand stroking the base in rhythm with your mouth.

Jay groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as he guided your movements, sometimes even choking with his pretty cock, making you gag on it and sending vibrations all over his body. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all."

You moaned around him, the vibration making him twitch in your mouth. His hips began to thrust gently, matching your rhythm, each movement bringing him deeper into your throat. You relaxed, allowing him to push further, your eyes watering as he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

The intensity of the moment left you breathless, your heart racing as Jay's moans left his mouth, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt about his intentions. You started to slow down your movements, now making him whine. You took it out of your mouth, and he gave you a serious look.

"Don't play with me."

"Do you want to cum, baby?"

"Stop..." you licked his dick fully, his head falling back in pleasure. "Please, princesse."

"Please, what?" He took your hands, squeezing them as he looked at your state.

"Please make me cum. I'm about to cum."

"God, you're so pretty." That was the last thing you said after going back to give him his head; his whimpers and cries were becoming louder, and you could feel your entrance getting wetter. "Fuck, don't stop. I'm going to cum all over your pretty face."

You moaned at the thought of it, and you just stopped, gaining another whine as you stood up and removed your bra in front of him, making him forget everything and just admire your beauty.

Fuck your imperfections; he fucking loved you just the way you were.

His hands roamed your whole body, exploring every curve and dip with a reverence that made you shiver. The contrast between his rough touch and the tenderness in his gaze sent shivers down your spine. As he pressed his hard body against yours, you could feel his desire, hot and demanding, against your bare skin.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with need. "Beyond beautiful"

You breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please make me yours, Jay."

With a growl, he flipped you over, his hands guiding your hips as he positioned you on all fours. The anticipation built to a fever pitch as you felt his weight settle behind you, his hands caressing your back before gripping your hips firmly. He teased your entrance with the head of his cock, eliciting a gasp from your lips as he slowly pushed inside, stretching you with a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

You moaned in response, pushing back against him as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. The rhythm of your bodies synced—a primal dance of pleasure and connection that left you both gasping for breath. Jay's hands roamed your body, one sliding down to tease your clitoral area while the other held your hip in a possessive grip, guiding your movements as he drove you closer to the edge.

"Please, daddy," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. "Don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, his thrusts becoming more urgent and demanding. "Not until you come for me, and because I'm not as mean as you."

You bite your lover's lip in a way to hide your smile; even in this situation, he wanted to be better than you. You're going to let him have that.

"God, you feel so good," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he picked up the pace. "So tight, so perfect. I'm going to fuck you dumb."

You could only moan in response, your mind consumed by the pleasure he was giving you. Every thrust, every touch, and every whispered word of praise drove you closer to the edge.

"Harder," you managed to gasp, craving more, needing more. He obliged, his movements becoming more urgent and forceful. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. The pain was exquisite, and that could also be told by the way you were clenching around him.

"You're mine," he declared, his voice rough and clear. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you cried out, your body shaking with the intensity of the pleasure. "I'm yours, Jay."

The words seemed to ignite something in him; he turned you around so you faced him as his thrusts became almost frantic as he chased his own release. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You looked down and saw the bulge of his cock, and you rolled your eyes. It was too much, and Jay knew it.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his voice a mix of command and plea. "Cum for me, now."

You could see white dots in your vision, and you felt all your legs being wet by your squirt, your back arching as the pleasure ripped through you, and your orgasm hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your cries of ecstasy filled the room, and Jay's name fell from your lips like a mantra as you rode out the intense waves of pleasure.

Jay's grip on your hips tightened, his own release following closely behind yours. With a few final, powerful thrusts, he groaned your name, his release washing over him as he buried himself deep inside you. He held you close, his body trembling with the force of his climax, and you both collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and shared breaths, he couldn't hold the groan when he left you, he watched all his cum mixing with the squirt, putting everything back inside you and made you shut your legs together..

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the heavy, shared breathing as you both tried to recover from the intensity of the experience. Jay's arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as if he couldn't bear to let you go. His fingers gently traced patterns on your skin; his touch is now tender and soothing.

You both cuddled on the bed, hugging him fully as he took all the hair from your face. You both remain silent, your breathing being the only noise you heard. You look at Jay.

"It took one stupid guy and a damn project to actually have this moment of realization." Jay gave you a small laugh mixed with yours, pulling you close to him.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, concern lacing his voice despite the rawness of his earlier dominance.

You nodded, nuzzling into his chest. "Yeah. More than okay."

Jay smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Good. I don't ever want to hurt you."

"You didn't, idiot," you assured him, reaching up to cup his face. "It was perfect."

He sighed with relief, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. "I love you," he said again, this time with no hesitation or doubt.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with the truth of those words.

The two of you lay there for a while, just holding each other and basking in the afterglow of your shared passion. The intensity of the moment had melted away, leaving behind a sense of deep contentment and connection.

After a few minutes, Jay gently disentangled himself from you and stood up. "Stay here," he said, brushing a kiss against your lips. "I'll be right back."

You watched him go with his cheeks, realizing he was still naked. When he returned, he carried a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. He cleaned you gently, his touch tender and caring, before offering you the water.

"Here, drink," he said, his voice soft.

You took the bottle, sipping gratefully as he continued to clean himself up. Once he was done, he climbed back into bed with you, pulling you into his arms.

"Thank you," you whispered, nuzzling into his chest.

"For what?" he asked, his fingers stroking your hair.

"For everything," you replied, your eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion of the evening caught up with you.

Jay smiled, his hold on you tightening. "Anytime, baby," he murmured. "Anytime."

With that, you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, knowing that whatever the future held, you would face it together, stronger than ever before.

— : ☆

Returning to South Korea brought a sense of normalcy back to your lives, but the connection between you and Jay had deepened irrevocably. The vibrant hustle of Seoul’s streets, the familiar scents from food stalls, and the comforting routine of university life felt different with Jay by your side. Every shared glance, touch, and smile carried the weight of your newfound closeness.

Despite the demands of classes and assignments, Jay never missed an opportunity to show his affection. His little gestures—leaving notes in your textbooks, bringing you coffee before a lecture, or walking you to your dorm—became the highlights of your days. You couldn't help but feel that something bigger was building up.

One evening, as the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the campus, Jay led you to the rooftop garden. You followed him, curiosity piqued by the mysterious smile on his face.

"Jay, what's going on?" you asked, trying to read his expression.

"You'll see," he replied, squeezing your hand.

As you reached the rooftop, you were greeted by a breathtaking sight. Fairy lights twinkled around the garden, casting a soft glow over the carefully arranged flowers. A small table was set up with candles and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was beautiful, almost magical.

"Jay, did you do all this?" you gasped, turning to look at him.

He nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to make this moment special for us."

Jay guided you to the table, pulling out a chair for you. Once you were seated, he sat down opposite you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I know we've been through a lot," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "And I know our journey started off as rivals, always trying to outdo each other. But somewhere along the way, I realized that what I felt for you was so much more than competition."

He took a deep breath, reaching across the table to take your hand. "I remember the first time you beat me in a debate. You were so fierce and passionate, and I was so frustrated but also... impressed. I remember the way you always challenged me and pushed me to be better. And I realized that those moments weren't just about rivalry. They were about admiration. And maybe even something more."

You felt your heart swell at his words, your eyes brimming with tears. "Jay..."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes intense as he continued. "There were so many moments I kept to myself. Like the time you stood up for me in that group project, even though we were supposed to be enemies. Or the way you always seemed to understand me, even when I didn't understand myself. I kept those moments close because they meant everything to me."

Jay stood up then, moving to kneel in front of you. He pulled a small, intricately wrapped box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a delicate necklace with a pendant shaped like a heart.

"I want to be your boyfriend," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Not just in secret, not just in the moments we steal away from everyone else. I want everyone to know how much you mean to me and how much I love you. Can I be yours? Sorry it took me too long to realize."

Tears streamed down your face as you nodded, unable to find the words to express how you felt. "Yes, Jay. Yes, you can be my boyfriend. And I am sorry too"

He grinned, his eyes shining with happiness, as he stood up and placed the necklace around your neck. Then he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you both soaked in the significance of the moment.

"I love you, loser," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear in a playful demeanor.

"I love you too, idiot," you replied, your voice also following his tone.

The fairy lights around you seemed to twinkle even brighter, with the flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze. The rooftop garden, with its quiet beauty and romantic ambiance, became the perfect backdrop for the beginning of your new chapter together.

A chapter that you would like to keep writing until your last breath, and this time, your love won't be hidden anymore.

↷ 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢'𝚜 note: @heeslomll aka my birthday twin is getting old just like me, ily so much my pookie and I really hope you have a great birthday with all your loved ones. Happy Nessa Day and Gemini's riize! 🎀💗

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦'𝑠 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ #𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗒'𝗌 ‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧ 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒔!#holly's twin 👭#enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jay hard thoughts #enhypen jay hard hours #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours #enhypen jay smut #jay smut #jay x reader #jay #enha smut

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sitepathos · 1 month ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

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saerins · 11 months ago

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°୨୧ INEVICABLY, UNDENIABLY

+ gojo satoru x f!reader | wc 3.3k | content: fluff, modern au, friends to roommates to lovers, timeskip thing; from high school -> adulthood, alcohol, implied sex, children, marriage, gojo is mostly clingy and annoying and we love him for it, the years and age correspond to his actual birthdate, take this as my birthday fic for him <3

summary: despite seemingly having it all, gojo satoru’s goal has always been the same all these years you’ve known him—all he wants in life is you, and only you. during his birthday this year, gojo counts his blessings.

2006; seventeen.

the day you agreed to be satoru’s partner in homeroom class is the day you signed away your sanity. not because satoru’s hard to get along with or that he’s rude or slacks off, but because it’s hard not to fall for a boy with such pretty eyes and even prettier lips who likes to say the most beautiful things.

getting to know satoru is like taking a deep in the clearest, coldest ocean after an entire lifetime of being dipped in molten lava. he’s annoying, refreshing and eye-opening all in one.

satoru shows promise in the first lesson, doing fairly well at cooking and sowing, although afterwards he just falls off because you end up having to teach him how to properly use alcohol in his cooking so he doesn’t burn himself or that you’d end up patching his fingers up since he accidentally pokes himself a lot more than the average human would.

still, it’s not his fault he isn’t naturally talented in the home economics department. he is in sports, you find out, after a few months of being in the same class as him.

“hey, y/n.” he’s leaning back on his chair, depending on its hind two legs for support. it’s become his habit during class to bother you whenever the teachers aren’t in.

you were assigned the seat diagonally behind him, and it’s become a habit for you to ignore him—mostly because most of the time, it’s nonsense that falls out of those lips, especially after you’d gotten close. it’s his sign of affection, you realise.

“hey y/n, i’m being serious this time, i need to talk to you,” satoru whines, pouting and sighing in that over dramatic way that only he can.

that’s also not the first time he’s tricked you into acknowledging him so all you do is look at him, a smile appearing that you failed to suppress, and bring a finger to your lips, signalling for him to hush.

unperturbed, satoru smirks and gets to scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it (annoyingly and quickly) into a swan before handing it to you. he winks at you, and you’re immediately driven not to give him satisfaction by reading it. instead, you bow slightly and stuff it in your pencil case, making satoru pout again and giving yourself the sweet taste of victory.

the rest of your sophomore year in high school, you find yourself growing closer to satoru, an unfamiliar feeling growing inside of you. you find that you like knowing what makes him tick, and even the way he says your name, or even watching him ace every kind of sport and then having him blow a teasing kiss to you after each win.

“y/n, i’m so jealous of you, how’d you manage to get gojo satoru of all people?” one of your classmates whine, swooning endlessly over him.

you only laugh it off, deigning to think too much of it.

it’s weird; he’s most of the schoolgirls’ crushes, but you’ve never considered him to be yours. maybe it’s just a fleeting feeling that will go away with the test of time.

yeah, that should be all that is.

2007; eighteen.

“why not? we’re practically going to the same college.”

with time, you thought that maybe satoru would become a little more sane. like how growing into adults, you slowly shed the ridiculous dreams you had as a child. but he’s not, if not—he’s even more insane.

“we haven’t got the results yet, satoru.”

“i’m pretty sure we’ll get in though.”

“and what’s your basis for that?”

“i’m never wrong about these.”

as always, satoru lives in his own little bubble and you can’t help but to sigh. in his head, both of you will get into that same college you applied for and he has it all planned out: “we get into college, sign up for whatever classes, and then rent an apartment together—genius right?”

that was satoru just moments ago, elbows leaned over the grocery cart as he grins at you, beaming like a dog waiting for their owner’s approval. now he’s still doing the same, except you’ve flicked him on the forehead before turning your attention to the aisles because apparently, he says he hates the food at home and would rather have what you’re cooking.

he’s made it his life mission to invade your meals over the weekend, squeezing himself into your family, bonding with your sibling and your parents and only then did you realise what you forgot in the first place: satoru is one of the most charming people to ever walk the earth. your siblings constantly ask about the next time he’s coming over, and your parents are just waiting for you to announce that he’s your boyfriend—which he’s not, but he sure likes to make it seem that way.

another thing you notice about satoru thanks to your now-weekly grocery runs: he likes to wander around way too much, and complains afterwards when he finds you after losing you.

“y/n!”

it’s like routine by now; the way satoru rushes over to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and sticking his cheek against yours, telling you how he almost died because he thought he lost you—like the drama queen he is. by now, all you can offer him is a ruffle of his hair before you carry on like normal, as though your heart isn’t beating right out of your chest from that simple proximity.

because satoru, despite his generally icy look, is always warm; his body heat, his cheeks, the way he looks into your eyes all the time, even his fingertips when they brush against you.

you think he’s especially warm when he falls asleep beside you after watching a late night movie, his head nuzzled in your neck, hands somehow rested over your own. your favourite thing about the friendship, though, try as you might to deny it, is how satoru’s hands always find yours when he walks you home, fingers lacing around your own as if it’s second nature.

ever since then, these routines have become a staple, and perhaps even does your growing feelings. the inexplicable one.

2008; nineteen.

satoru was right.

both of you did get into the same university, and the same course, with different minors so at least there’s some differences. so of course, satoru did not let the shared apartment idea go. though, of course, thanks to your initial hesitance on the matter, the only available apartment is a 4-bedroom, entirely too big and hence you’d convinced satoru to just rent the other bedrooms out for extra change.

and no, satoru does not need extra change because his family’s loaded (which you realised you didn’t even know before this) but at least this would allow you to not dwell on whatever you’re feeling too much. university is going to be stressful enough without the added consideration of your possible feelings towards satoru.

then enters geto suguru—your new roommate who, thankfully, steals enough of satoru’s attention so you have some breathing room. turns out, they’re like two peas in a pod. but while you and satoru major in business, suguru majors in psych. so that still means satoru’s around just you most of the time.

some routines change; like how movie nights are shared amongst the three of you in the living room instead of just you and satoru in your room. or how during grocery runs satoru still runs up to you when he finds you again except this time, an exasperated suguru is beside you sighing at him, always a “how do you stand this guy?” rolling off his tongue. the most surprising one for you might be how meals include suguru now and satoru’s the one who does the cooking now, and funnily enough, he’s absolutely great at it. no ounce of hesitation as he flips the pancakes, or stirs the fried rice—no whining about how it’s too hard because he’ll get burns on his fingertips and has to ask you to tend to his wounds.

but some change in a different way. they leave no room for someone else, like how satoru always finds your hands to hold on to, keeping you within a reach too close to pass as just friends but both of you refusing to label it anything else anyways. it leaves no room for other people to butt in and whisk either of you away.

and for now, at least, both of you are okay with just that.

2009; twenty.

participating in different activities and clubs inevitably mean that you and satoru wouldn’t be attached at the hip most of the time. and of course, while that leads to satoru becoming even clingier when you’re both home (not that you’re complaining when it’s nice to feel wanted from the very guy you’re completely not having a crush on), both of you are in separate social circles.

satoru occasionally has his friends over, the ones you don’t really know that well. the one where you can only remember names like haibara because he’s extra friendly and yuki because she’s one of the prettiest people you’d ever seen and nori because she’s a mix of the two. you’re nice, and cordial to all of them, although you can’t really say the same for satoru.

occasionally you and suguru invite your friends over, because nicely enough, you both have the same interests. it’s mostly shoko and nanami, a med student and law student respectively, but both of which satoru loves to annoy to no end. lucky for you, shoko is strangely naturally tolerant of his antics and nanami shrugs it off as white noise.

“y/n, surely you’d rather spend time with me rather than that blondie?” satoru always asks, pouting as he looks at you over his shoulder during breakfast—a constant whenever you have plans that involve nanami.

it’s kind of cute.

“mmm, that’s a secret,” you’d always tell him, knowing that satoru’s pouts won’t last all day anyway. it’ll relegate to an excited grin whenever you’re back after that.

you’d never really had to face your feelings, then, until all of you gather one night, before the holidays officially start. you should’ve known that something would be different this time, especially when there’s alcohol involved. naturally, in the circle you sit in, satoru asks people to scoot over, purposely sitting beside you, as close as he can, close enough that your arms and knees practically brush.

it’s just for a simple game of truth or dare, and it’s innocent enough until someone asks nanami and he says truth, and his truth is that out of everyone he knows, he’d most likely date you. beside you, while everyone else is whooping at the declaration, satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, though he says nothing about it. and you’re not really emphatic about it until someone dares nori to kiss the guy she wants to date the most and she kisses satoru, deep and slow, in front of you, haibara letting slip that she’s had a crush on satoru for a while now.

satoru’s five shots in and tipsy and he was imagining that was you and maybe that’s why it lasted for five seconds before he pulls away.

and when it comes to satoru?

as though noticing his dilemma, suguru gives an amused smile as he states his dare, “kiss the girl you most wanna marry.”

he doesn’t waste a single second in pulling you close and kissing you, his alcohol-tainted lips pressing against yours, daring tongue teasingly prying open your lips, chuckling as he feels you kiss him back.

“not most,” satoru corrects right as the both of you pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours and both of your half-lidded pair of eyes still staring at each other.

“what?” you’re almost breathless, forgetting that everyone else is watching.

“the only girl i wanna marry.” and you think he’s never looked more handsome, genuine smile plastered on his face and pretty blue eyes threatening to pull you in.

while everyone moves on, satoru doesn’t—he keeps you there with him, telling you for the first time in four years since he’s known you, “i love you.”

the next week, after you get home for the holidays, the first time being away from satoru in a while, you manage to find your old pencil case, the folded paper swan satoru folded for you all those years ago still inside, somehow forgotten.

curious, you finally open it, finding his message enclosed inside, bringing a smile to your face.

i’m gonna marry you one day.

2010; twenty-one.

dating satoru is like finding a new hobby that you’re effortlessly good at.

despite living under the same roof, instead of finding out the ugly, you find the good in each other. even with suguru in the mix, you all live harmoniously like you have been since the start. except now, satoru likes to sleep in your room, both of you fooling around and occasionally forcing suguru to tell you to pipe down.

satoru is still full of surprises, sometimes pulling up with his car as though both of you don’t sleep under the same roof, telling you that he planned a date and to dress nice. he buys you flowers even if you’re not particularly fancy of them and surprises you by buying things that simply reminded him of you.

dating satoru is like finding out that the right person for you will always think of you and your feelings, no matter the circumstance. the way he makes sure to tell you if he has to hang around nori, or the way he asks if you need anything when he passes by the grocery store alone, or going so far as to memorise your cycle so he knows exactly what to show up back home with.

by the time it’s your one-year anniversary and his birthday comes and you ask him what he wants, all he can answer is “you” and for the first time, you can tell he isn’t trying to be annoying or cheeky or flirty—satoru is surprisingly simple and his answer always has been and somehow always will be just you.

2013; twenty-four.

you still remember the day satoru got down on one knee, his handsome smile even more radiant under the golden hour glow, those still-beautiful blue eyes gleaming even from beneath his bangs.

just an intimate proposal with your closest friends, both shoko and suguru helping to distract you in order to create a successful surprise, while nanami and haibara helped with the decorations and photography.

thanks to them, you’re laughing now, at your wedding reception, looking at all the ways you nearly found them out that day, exactly one year ago, in the form of pictures. and thanks to the best man’s toast, you find out that suguru’s always known about satoru’s feelings, and just how deep his emotions for you ran.

“i won’t forget how much he whined about y/n getting close to nanami. that was probably the one time his whining got so out of control that i wanted to stuff a pillow over his face,” suguru divulges, garnering laughs around the hall, including from you, as your new husband pouts and squeezes your hand.

thanks to that, nanami finds the need to disclose during his speech, “i have never intended to date nor had such thoughts about y/n. my truth during that game of truth or dare was simply the result of a process of elimination—” and haibara cuts him off to give a more fitting speech, fits of laughter all across the room.

that day, you steal glances at satoru, wondering how you got so lucky to be with someone who loves you so much and continuously proves so with every passing day.

“satoru?” you call to him softly that night, as you both find yourselves completely bare in the bedroom of your new apartment, one to yourselves.

his piercing blue eyes flick up to meet yours, relishing how it feels like inside of you, every time as though it’s the first. “yeah?” it’s breathy, because he’s about to lose himself.

“i love you, satoru, and only you, forever and ever,” you tell him, finally knowing that in this life, it will always be gojo satoru for you, and that it’s the same for him too.

he only chuckles, pulling you close, “forever me and you, baby, only us.”

2023; present day.

“wow, more than ten years, i think i need to give you a trophy for that, y/n.”

satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

beside him, suguru laughs at shoko’s comment. this time, the six of you find yourselves at a round table in a seafood restaurant during satoru’s birthday, talking about how it’s you and satoru’s tenth year together too.

“i’m not too much, am i?” satoru teasingly asks you, although you only shrug in amusement before drinking your glass of water as an excuse not to answer.

you’ve always been like that, but it’s part of what satoru likes about you. scratch that, he’s loved every part of you since he met you. it’s like it was meant to be; or so he likes to think. there’s an undeniable pull that always lulls him back to you. to satoru, there’s never been question that you’re the only one for him, maybe that’s why it’s so clear-cut.

“you’re just so head over heels for me, huh?” you ask him, a smug grin on your face, the conversational context something he’s missing since he’s been zoning out in his thoughts.

since the first time he saw you, he’s been drawn to you every second of every day. maybe that’s why he did all those stupid stuff like pretending not to be able to cook and ‘accidentally’ burning himself to get you to tend to him, or purposely pricking himself with the needle and asking you to put a plaster over it just to feel you close. even those times at the supermarket when he purposely loses you so he can find you again and see your helpless smile and feel the way you rub his head affectionately afterwards.

maybe it’s stupid too, how he had to silently admit he knows how to cook all too well because he didn’t want suguru to taste your cooking when he first moved in. it was something satoru felt he wanted to himself, something he wanted to keep between him and his future wife. or how a wordless stare between him and suguru during that game of truth or dare was all suguru needed to know that satoru wanted to make you his at that very second, afraid that kiss between him and nori would make you hesitant.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you though, because you know him better than most people do. there were never any pointless arguments or unrecoverable friction.

as they sing happy birthday annoyingly loud like best friends do, chanting for him to make a wish—his hands find yours again as they always did, he can honestly say that there’s no other way he’d rather live his life. you’re made for him and he has you and the little mini yous at home so really, there’s nothing that he has to wish for.

except, maybe, one thing, if he could be selfish.

in this life, and every other life, he’ll want to be with you and only you, forever.

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #૪ aeri’s fics !

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sweetbans29 · 5 months ago

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Mic'd - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You forget that your are mic'd up during practice (based on THIS request)

Warnings: ADHD reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Please don't scold me if I didn't get everything right. I tried my best, I promise.

Your mind never stops going a mile a minute. You were diagnosed with ADHD when you were a kid, it was something that your parents had to adapt to when it came to raising you. It was when you were in 4th grade when they decided to put you into sports. You started as a swimmer but your parents soon realized you were much better on land. That is when they put you in basketball and it just clicked for you. When you picked up a ball and began shooting, everything else began to make sense. It did a really good job of keeping your mind and hands busy on a singular objective.

You were put on a club and travel team when you went into middle school and continued playing through high school. It opened many doors for you including playing basketball in college. You toured a handful of schools and finally settled on Iowa.

Your freshman year was a huge adjustment as it was the first time living away from home. It took some major adjustments but you ultimately got there. The change to college classes was one of the hardest changes you faced. You were always struggling to keep your mind focused on one assignment when you had like 20 others to do at all times. It often resulted in you starting one, picking up another, and then trying to start a third before either of the first two were completed.

One of the girls on your team became your saving grace and one of your best friends. Kate had become someone who helped keep you grounded when the world was spinning and you could not be more grateful. Your friendship with her has helped you navigate the transition into college classes and playing college ball. She was always one to help keep you on task. The two of you have come up with a system to keep your mind focused when it feels like you aren't moving fast enough or don't feel like you have the control your mind needs.

Kate is also the one who was secretly working on getting you and Caitlin together. She noticed how both you and Caitlin would act around each other and took it upon herself to see two of her best friends and teammates come together in what she believed to be a perfect match. One thing led to another and you and Caitlin had begun dating towards the end of freshman year.

When the two of you got together - you decided it to keep it between the team. It wasn't that either of you was necessarily hiding your relationship, you were just both content with the world not knowing. You told the people that mattered in your lives and that was enough for the two of you. Also, nobody questioned it considering how much time the team spent together and how much time the two of you spent with Kate. To anyone looking in, the three of you were like three peas in a pod.

That leads us to today. The media team was doing a series where they were joining different sports practices and putting mics on some of the players. You had watched the series and thought seeing some of the school's all-star players behind the scenes was so fun. You were honored when they came up to you and asked if you would be the mic'd up player of the week.

They get you all set up and you are ready to go.

"Testing, testing," you say holding the mic that was pinned in your shirt up to your mouth. You then look at the camera. "We are here live from Carver-Hawkeye arena with yours truly."

You point to your number on your practice jersey and head into a huddle with the team to kick off practice.

While you are in the huddle you nudge Kate.

"Yo Kate, guess who is mic'd up for today's practice," you ask her and give the camera a knowing look. She laughs.

"Bro, I helped you put the mic on." She says and you let out an 'oh ya'.

"Do you have anything to say to the Hawkeye fans who are watching this?" You ask, pulling your shirt to catch what she is saying.

"You are too much," she begins and you hit her arm. "I would say sorry you have to listen to this one for the whole practice." She says and runs away to begin a drill.

You feign hurt and hold your hand over your heart as if what Kate just said broke you. Not two seconds later you are bouncing over to Caitlin and putting your arm around her waist.

"You ready to crush this practice babe?" You ask as she is finishing up stretching. Before she can answer you continue, "Your legs are looking extra nice today. I likey." She just laughs.

"If I just lift this a little," you say lifting the bottom part of her shorts to reveal her thigh a little more. "The team would see those little love bites you like so much." Caitlin slaps your hand and yells your name. You laugh and let her go, going to start a drill.

During the drill, you keep making comments about how fast you are and how no one can catch you.

"Speed." You say with laser focus as you are the next one to jump in the rotation. "I am speed."

Every time Caitlin does a good job you are caught yelling something along the lines of 'that a way babe' or 'that's my girl'.

During practice, Kate kept giving you weird looks but you think nothing of it.

During one of the water breaks, you walk up to Caitlin who is sipping her water. You lean against the wall.

"So, you come here often?" You ask in a flirtatious tone.

She pushes your chest and rolls her eyes. You come up behind her, wrapping your arms around her, and spin her around.

"You love me," you say as you put her down.

"You know I do," she says, kissing your forehead.

The rest of the practice is filled with little comments to your girl on how good she looks and how great of a job she is doing.

"Have you seen those edits that people are making of pigeons?” You ask one of your other teammates.

"What are you talking about?" they say back with a laugh.

"You know the ones where they draw like stick figure arms on them while they are walking around," you say. "Imagine being a bird and not having arms or hands."

You then stick your hands in your practice jersey and walk around. Someone throws a ball at you and you just let it hit you. It bounces away from you.

"Caitlin! Caity! CC!" You say running up to her with your arms still in your jersey. "Would you still love me if I was a pigeon?" You ask her.

"Of course, babe. You would be my pigeon," she says laughing her ass off.

"Good," you say. "Because you would be mine regardless of the animal you were.”

Not ten minutes later you are back in a drill.

"Oh ya, I got this," you say to yourself as you are going up for a layup. You flip it with your left hand and it banks in. "Money!" You yell and run to the back of the line.

As practice comes to a close, the team is scrimmaging. You go up to Kate and she reminds you of a very key detail you forgot about during practice.

"So, how was being mic'd up?" She asks and your eyes go wide, finding the camera that has been following you around the entirety of practice.

"Shit-fuck!" You whisper as you remember all the things you said during practice. "SHOOT - FUDGE" you yell remembering this was going to be on the media team's Youtube page.

You facepalm yourself pretty hard causing a nice slap sound to echo in the gym.

Caitlin runs up to you removing your hand from your face and kissing the place you just slapped.

"Don't slap yourself that hard babe," she says examining the slightly pink mark developing on your right eye and forehead.

"I fuc-messed up," you say and you point at the cameras.

Caitlin turns and Kate just stands there laughing.

Caitlin joins in on the laughing and brings you into her side, squeezing you and kissing your temple.

"Ehh, it was bound to happen sooner or later," she says.

After practice, you thank the media team for choosing you and you head back to your apartment with Kate and Caitlin.

"I can't believe I forgot about being mic'd up. I am so dumb,” you say as you crash on the couch. Your girlfriend comes and sits next to you, pulling your legs onto her lap.

"Don't worry about it babe - no one is going to care." She says rubbing your legs.

"Well, I don't know about that..." Kate says as she passes her phone to you.

You and Caitlin look at it and both of your jaws drop. The media team posted it and it already had 7,000 views. You scroll down to the comments and see people have attached links to their edits. You click on one and it takes you down a rabbit hole of edits that were already created shipping you and Caitlin.

"This is crazy," you say and hide your face.

Caitlin just laughs and continues to rub your legs.

"I think it's cute," she says with a smile.

"I royally messed up." You say.

"Hey," your girlfriend pulls you out of your thoughts, which she knows are going faster than you can comprehend. "If I would love you as a pigeon, I will love you through this, okay?" She says and lifts your face to meet hers.

"Okay," you say and lean in to give her a kiss.

AN: I would lowkey be the best mic'd up person out there. The thoughts that go through my brain sometimes are epic. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! And as always, thank you for your live and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark masterlist #iowa hawkeyes

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simpee9000 · 2 months ago

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Too Easily - Katsuki Bakugo -

Based off this Blurb

It was too easy, every part of it. How you met him, how you interacted with him, how quickly he got used to you. Every part of it was too easy, too good to be true. But he asked you anyway, he wanted you anyway. You figured it was just another thing in life that came easily. He showed you another way of living, the thrill of romance. The increased heartbeat that came when next to a crush. The a flutter in your stomach when he called your name. The buzz of warmth that covered your entire being after just one kiss. CW: swearing and i think that's it? Word Count: 7.4k

General Studies was no easy task. It was assignment after assignment. Making you do ten times the amount of work any other school had regular students doing. UA wasn't only a prestigious hero school, but an overall school. If you could get in, in any way possible, you were deemed important in society.

A messed up social construct because it didn't take only intelligence but also wealth and connections with people on the school board. Nonetheless, you got in and stayed at a good standpoint for your class. Within the top three overall, if you weren't first when hero students weren't involved.

You were known across the school for how you aced every test with flying colors. Maybe you weren't the most known, since the hero students got all the praise, but right out of that, you were the most known.

It used to be Shinso, due to his 'villainous' quirk. But when he was transferred to the hero course in the second year, all the talk switched to you. It was something you were used to though. Your parents were well-known CEOs so it was nothing compared to the fame they had. Just whispers being spoken wherever you were.

You were close friends with Shinso, and still are, stopping to talk with him in the halls and going to his common room to help him study every once in a while. It gave you more connections to the hero world, and with your parents' advice in life, you made any connection possible. Life was filled with stepping stones, all hard work built into any action, and profit.

When you were with Shinso, a genuine friend of yours, you took time to talk with his friends. Ones who crossed your path when in his busy common room. Normally it was Kaminari who bugged the two of you, and he wasn't much to build off. Sero as well, who mainly flirted with you quietly. Kirishima was a good one to talk with, there was actual conversation there. Same with Deku.

Avoiding conversation wasn't easy in the common area, but you and Shinso also knew only rumors would come if you went to his room. So the two of you adapted, making the people who bugged you, join in and study as well.

That's how you met the infamous Katsuki Bakugo. He was only trying to get his headphones back from Kirishima, but an interruption was an interruption. The group yelling at him to sit down, the group being Kaminari and Mina. You could care less if he stayed or went, the rule was set for the people who consistently bugged you.

"I said two fucking words," Bakugo seethed.

"Don't care," Kaminari pointed to the set, acting like a strict parent with how he raised his chin, "Rules are rules Kacchan."

"This stupid-"

"Bakugo sit the fuck down," Mina added.

"Who do you think you are?" Bakugo raised his arm at her.

You watched annoyed at the bickering, he would definitely apply to the rule now. You looked over your work as they snapped back and forth, wanting to avoid an argument with him. Throughout all three years of high school, his reputation stayed the same. As angry and explosive as ever, and that's after calming down slightly in the first year.

"Bakugo," Kirishima sheepishly spoke out, "You're only making things worse. She's had this rule set for the past month. You're going to go study anyway, just join us."

"Fucking ridiculous," the blonde grumbled, throwing his bag on the table and aggressively pulling out a seat next to you. "I'm not staying long," he bit out, towards you.

You raised a brow and looked at him, "You're disruptive anyway."

He tsked at you, opening his book and throwing down the same worksheet everyone else had out. The sheet that Shinso finished an hour ago, with your help. Shinso was now far ahead on his English essay.

The group took over their silence once again. Kaminari and Mina, the most annoying ones, deep into their math work.

"Kaminari!" you scolded, seeing him lift his phone for a math problem, "You're going to become a hero by cheating?"

"No," he pouted like a puppy.

Before you could, Bakugo took Kaminari's phone, shoving it in his pocket. "How many times do you have'ta be yelled at to fuckin' stop?" Bakugo hissed.

"Sorry," Kaminari shrunk in his seat.

"I'll help you," you sighed, getting up to stand.

Bakugo glared at you, "I can fuckin' do it."

"I've already finished the sheet, I know how to do it," you assured, acknowledging the looks from the table.

"Who the fuck even are you?" he looked you over.

You were used to the everyday person glaring at you, out of jealousy, out of disgust, it didn't matter. But from someone who was expected to be one of the top heroes, from someone in the Big Three? It was something else. You only let yourself shrink in slightly, still saying your name confidently. Surely he would have heard you're name by now, right?

"Hah?"

"I'm going to be the valedictorian? You can't be that socially blind," you blinked at him.

His face settled into recognition, turning to glare at Shinso next, "Is that how you're getting better scores?! You little shit!"

The aggression was off you quicker than you thought. Everyone else turned their attention off you now, not caring what Bakugo would say now that he was talking to a classmate. More so yelling with how Shinso was giving him a lazy smirk back at him.

Before you could get roped back into the conversation you stepped over to Kaminari to help him with the first question on the page. It didn't surprise you that he needed help, he often needed help in math.

What did surprise you though, was Bakugo grumbling to himself when you sat back down in your seat. Not letting you settle in before he poked your forearm with his pencil, nodding his head to his paper when you looked at him.

You leaned into his space slightly and looked over his paper. He moved his pencil over the question, the same one that stumped Shinso. He was looking anywhere but his paper ignoring the fact that he was asking for help.

When you took a breath before starting to talk you instantly got a sharp glare and his hand shoving paper into your hand. Scratch paper was shoved into your space, his pencil being tossed along with it. You gave him a look that read 'seriously' to his reaction. He just gave you a firmer glare. You sighed as you wrote down the steps for him, looking over his work and circling the spots he got wrong. He only messed up on the middle step, something you almost did.

Passing the paper was also a task, he waited until he was sure no one was looking before he snagged it back. His eyes lit up with a flash of annoyance as he saw his simple mistake.

"Hey," Shinso called out to you, dragging your attention away from the blonde, "I think I'm done for the day. I don't wanna write anymore."

You looked at the time, it was barely passing 8 pm, and you'd been working since six. "Fair," you nodded, knowing not everyone was up to studying for hours at a time, "How much did you do?"

"I'm only missing a page now," he stretched out, "It's not due for a week."

"The sooner you're done-"

"The sooner you can forget about it," Shinso rolled his eyes, "I know, not like you say it every time."

"I could say it more," you huffed, grabbing your textbooks and putting them in your bag. Shinso did the same, putting his stuff away much quicker before he said his goodnights, patted your back, and left.

"Am I free?" Mina gave you puppy eyes.

"Yeah, I need to get to my dorm," you smiled at her, watching as everyone at the table sighed in relief and packed up. Taking their leave soon after.

You stayed without much thought. Bakugo was still at the table, clearly wanting to finish his paper now. You didn't want to leave him in case he needed help, it was something you did for all of them.

Only when everyone was gone did he raise his head, quickly taking in that it was only you and him left.

"Thanks, Books," he said gruffly. You knew he was one to give nicknames, having heard him yell a few in the common room, hallways, or sports festivals.

You also knew he wasn't one to hand out thanks. "No problem," you nodded at him, seeing him shove his books into his bag. "You're going to rip your work if you do that, you know?"

"Like I care."

"You should, I wouldn't be surprised to know if you've had to redo homework for that reason only," you stood up, "A folder could save you from taking time out of your training."

He glared at you, showing that you read him like a book, "Whatever," he scoffed.

---

There was no surprise seeing him in the common rooms more, or him helping your small study group. It was all welcomed, he could answer all the small questions when you were already busy. Although he took a different approach than you. Rather than calmly explaining, he yelled.

The surprise only hit when he approached you right after class. Everyone lingering in the hall still debriefing from class that ended only moments ago.

He's been the talk of school recently as well. Having gone nuts when an interviewer asked him personal questions. Ranging from how his parents were to how many people he's slept with. With him being freshly eighteen, it was disgusting. It is disgusting in general but it only gives you a good look at the way society views heroes.

It spread beyond just that, everyone watching the interview and taking it among themselves. Trying to figure out who Bakugo was dating or why he wasn't dating anyone. Piecing together any action he made towards anyone. Trying to say he was dating one of his classmates or someone he was interning with. It was annoying even for you, no one wanted to talk about anything other than his dating life. It was infuriating.

So him showing up at your class out of nowhere confused you even more. With all the rumors going around you expected him to stick to himself, like he was doing for the past week.

"Bakugo?" you asked, seeing him leaning on the wall across the door to your class. You knew you were the only one that knew him personally, in your class.

"Books," he said shortly, kicking himself off the wall and walking towards you, meeting you halfway, in the middle of the hallway.

"Do you need to talk about something?" you tilted your head, confused, "We can go to your common room, I was heading there anyway."

"Nah," he shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets. Casual as ever.

You looked around at the crowd that gathered around you. "Then what do you need?" you asked quietly, wanting to avoid people hearing your conversation.

"Go on a date with me," he ordered more than asked, face plain but voice loud enough for everyone to hear. He gave you nothing to read off.

"Excuse me?" you asked meekly.

"Go on a date with me."

"Bakugo-"

"You stupid or somethin'?" he asked, now annoyed.

"No, I'm just confused," you worded slowly, trying to piece together why he did this suddenly. Is this why he started studying with you? Despite already knowing his stuff and hardly needing help.

"Will you?" he shuffled his footing, going more ridged and less relaxed.

You blinked, looking around quickly at the audience who was now holding their breath, "Yeah," you said breathlessly, "I- sure."

"Good," he relaxed again, "I'll meet you at your dorm room."

He didn't let you add anything before he was walking away, the crowd parting for his exit before rushing up to you.

"You know Bakugo?"

"He likes you?"

"Did you put a spell on him?"

"Hire him?"

"Buy him out?"

"What's your secret?"

Knowing how to manage the media, you did what you were taught. School your expression and walk away, give nothing but keep your head high.

You dealt with people bugging you until you were at your dorm, only at safety when you locked your door behind you. You didn't even tell Bakugo your dorm number, and he didn't have your number. How he was going to get to you, you had no clue.

Your phone buzzes violently in your bug, Shinso calling you.

"You and Bakugo?" he asked immediately when you answered. Word got around quick. It's only been twenty minutes and people knew.

"Apparently? I don't know?" you ran your hands through your hair, trying to think of an outfit for something you didn't even know of.

"How do you not know?"

"Shinso," you placed him on speaker, going through your closest, "He just came to my class and asked me out in front of everyone."

"I know, that's how I found out. But seriously?"

"Yeah," you settled on a semi-formal outfit, hitting the line of whatever was appropriate.

Shinso paused in thought, "He didn't act any different around you though."

"I know," you sighed in frustration, "All he did was ask my help, apparently that means he's into me?"

"He asked for help?"

"Barely," you shuffled out of your clothes, throwing on the outfit in a rush, unsure when Bakugo would pick you up.

Shinso hummed, "He never asks for help, so fuck, maybe he does like you. Be careful though."

You laughed lightly, brushing your hair with your fingers to make sure it was still presentable, "It's Bakugo, not some kind of monster."

"He's unpredictable," Shinso warned.

"I'll be fine Shinso," you brushed off his worries. Changing into a different topic of your day. Mainly listening to him rant about a new game he bought.

A sudden knock made you jump out of your chair, whispering goodbye to Shinso before hanging up.

You opened the door with a polite smile, greeting Bakugo, who was dressed in a similar manner as you.

"Ready?" he asked. You grabbed your keys and locked your dorm room behind you, stepping into the hall that not only Bakugo occupied. The rest of your class was camping outside your room. You glare at them in response, it was rude to be this nosey.

"Yeah, where to?" you asked, looking unsure around your class.

The name of one of the most popular restaurants rattled out of his mouth.

"Bakugo, that place is a fortune-"

"I've got the money."

"It really isn't necessary."

"It is if it's for you," he said smoothly, something completely unexpected from him. Maybe he wasn't as harsh as he put on.

With no more argument coming from you, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the elevator, finally out of the eyes of your peers.

"I don't think I'm dressed for this," you said honestly as you looked down. You'd meet the dress code easily, but it was still a well-established restaurant.

"You look fine."

You blushed warmly at that. You've been told all about his character in passing. He didn't just throw out things without meaning. "Thanks," you mumbled, following him as he left the elevator.

---

He was an easy person to talk to. No awkward silences that couldn't be filled. Nothing bad to note over the entirety of dinner. He was a gentleman, and it was surprising. Even when the press started annoying you midway through, he didn't fuss. Just told you to ignore them and continue eating. Barely giving them a second glance as he talked to you more. Seemingly curious about how your dumb presentation did.

"Thank you for listening to all my school stuff," you turned to him as you walked back to your dorm, him insisting he needed to walk you back. Despite the guaranteed safety of a hero school. "You're probably the only hero student who can keep up."

"You act like hero students are behind."

"You're in the same math class as Kaminari, it's not hard to claim that I'm leagues ahead in that field," you smiled at him, not wanting to offend him.

"Whatever," he shrugged off.

You turned back to look at the direction you were walking, you still had a couple of minutes, "Thanks for inviting me out, I'm cooped up too much."

"No problem," he said back softly, sharing your tone, "Thanks for agreeing I guess."

"I hardly agreed to anything, more so got ordered," you laughed.

The weather was nice as you walked back. Clear skies, low winds, but cold.

"Ya cold?"

"Kinda," you replied, crossing your arms to warm yourself as you focused on walking.

"C'mere, idiot," he called to you, shrugging off his jacket when you were near, throwing it over your shoulders before continuing to walk like nothing happened.

"Thank you," you said shyly, not used to being catered to, especially by him. Many have asked you out before, none of them interesting or it was easy to tell they had bad intentions, Bakugo's the first to not.

He shrugged off the appreciation, letting silence cover the conversation for a moment.

"You want to know something?" you spoke out, watching how your steps hit the ground at the same time as his.

"Hm?"

"I expected you to be a lot different."

"How?"

"Well in the sports festival you're an animal," you pointed out.

"I'm not an animal," he shook his head in disbelief.

You turned to face him, face deadpan, "You fucking growled at the camera."

Bakugo barked out a laugh at the memory. Though the laugh was violent, it was warming to hear, your smile widening.

"You even bit the cameraman," you added on to the memory, anything to keep him laughing.

"You saw what he did right?" he spoke filled with laughter.

"No?"

"Dude wagged a red flag in front of the camera so I'd look over."

"No!" you gasped, laughter breaking through.

"So I fuckin' showed him an animal."

His expression was cocky with a humorous smile, a laugh still following his words as he guided you to continue moving by your elbow.

"All the interviewers do that shit."

"Hm?" you hummed for him to continue.

"Get in your face, want you to act a certain way. Fuckin' tired of it," he huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," you were warmed by how he spoke so freely, "They always ask ridiculous questions too," you added on.

"You've been interviewed?" he side-eyed you as you walked.

"Plenty of times, my parents are huge CEOs so they want to know who's next up," you answered any follow-up question he could have, used to others questioning you all about it.

"Gross."

You laughed lightly, "Definitely, the interviews are always so unsettling. Asking every personal question ever," you brought it up just to try to show him you understood him.

"You got no idea, sweets," the tack of a nickname made you flush. Looking away briefly when other students pass by you.

Not wanting the conversation to stop you continued, "I might not to your extent of course, but I've had my fair share."

"Really? What's the worst thing you've been asked?" he challenged.

"If I was willing to have sex with other CEOs in order to expand the company," you gave him a straight face.

He gave a disgusted look in return, "People like that need to be locked up."

"Yeah, hopefully you'll clear the streets for us," you bumped his shoulder with yours, "but what's the worst thing you've been asked?"

"If I fucked Endeavour's sidekick." You cringed in reply. "That, and they always ask my cup size."

A laugh ripped from your throat, your hand slapping up to his arm in response, "No way! Me too!"

He rolled his eyes, "Fuckin' pervs."

Conversation was easy between the two of you, sharing interview questions until you got to your dorm. Him opening all the doors for you on the way there, causing you to blush each time.

Few people scatter your hallway when you get back, turning their attention on you.

"Again next week?"

"Sorry?" you asked confused.

He furrowed his brows, "Did you not have a good time?"

"No, I did," you corrected, "I'm just surprised you're wanting another."

"Of course, I want another," frustration was slowly coming out of his voice, "So will you go on another date with me? Next week?"

"I- yeah," you nodded.

"Gimme your phone," he put his hand out, typing his number in roughly when you gave it to him. "I'll text you."

"Yeah," you were breathless, this didn't feel real.

"You're going to be at my common area tomorrow, right?" his face gave away absolutely nothing, brushing off the idea of a date so casually.

"Yeah," you were too stunned to form more words. He wanted not one, but two dates. And was curious what you were doing the next day. You were never one to fan girl, but with the looks he had, it was hard not to.

"Good, I'll be around," he said shortly, moving to step away.

"You're jacket," you blurted, "I need to give it back."

"Keep it."

He walked away before you could even pull it off your shoulders.

Not wanting the stares of classmates, you quickly hid yourself in your room. Letting the giddy emotions consume you. The rush of emotions from the date were running wild, and you knew better than to show those in front of him, let alone in public.

---

The giddy feeling didn't leave the next day, buzzing in your heart as you went through each class. Unbothered by the people who tried to be nosey or the first years who threatened you. It was all filled with the rushing thoughts, the curiosity you felt when Bakugo said he'd see you today.

Adding a pep to your step as you made your way into his common room, setting up your stuff to study with Shinso.

"Nice ass, I got a real good angle here."

You slapped down your uniform skirt as you straightened your posture. "Gross Mineta," you spat when you turned around to face him.

"Just enjoying the view, wish it was more than a view, like an object-"

You glared at him sharply, "I'm not an object." He was acting worse than the interviewers.

"Not yet-"

"Not ever," you seethed. When you watched his eyes widen you felt relieved to have scared him.

"The fuck happening here?" Bakugo's voice rang out, clearly being the reason Mineta was afraid.

"Nothing," Mineta groaned, "Gotta ruin the fun. Maybe later mamas," Mineta winked at you. A full-body cringe shuttered through you.

"I'll fuckin' kill you," Bakugo stepped closer, Mineta running away in response.

"Thanks-"

"Aren't you usually here at 6?" he cut you off.

"Oh," you clasped your hands behind your back, slightly swaying, "I thought I'd stop by earlier, to see you," you added sheepishly.

"Good thinkin'," he smirked, "Want to-"

Shinso's heavy steps turned your attention. "Hi, Shinso!" you greeted happily, you had so much to tell him.

"It's a bit early," he turned his head to the clock.

"She came to see me," Bakugo answered for you.

"Well not entirely- I'm still going to study at 6," you confirmed.

That night all you did was go over the English book Bakugo's class was reading in the privacy of his dorm. Nothing more, nothing less. However, he did apologize for Mineta.

---

The next month or so followed in a similar footing. Amazing dates filled with heartful talks, even ones that were had to talk about. With him it was easy. Laughing and smiling was easy.

Even the stupid date you were on right now.

"Y'know you should call me by my name."

He had to be joking. You were in the middle of a nice dinner date in his common room, with food he made. "Really? Are seriously trying to get me to call you Dynamight-"

"No idiot-" he huffed looking down at his hands for a second. He was holding his weight on the counter as he stood across from you, leaning into his palms. "I mean Katsuki."

"Oh," you blushed, "Yeah, I guess that'd make sense," you laughed shyly.

His eyes flickered to the common room. Mina, Toru, and Kaminari were all sitting there, obviously spying on you and Bakugo.

"Your cooking is great," you blurted out, wanting his attention instead.

"Hm?" he looked back to you, "Do y'like the spice? I can add more if ya can handle it."

Even after letting you call him by his given name, the conversation stayed easy between you two. Taking steady bites of your meal between talking, trying to ignore the three in the common room.

Throughout the conversation, Bakugo took your empty plate and started washing it. Having you sat on the counter next to him.

"So gentlemen like," you teased as he dried the plate and put it way. He huffed, rolling his eyes when he stood in front of you again.

"Only for you," he spoke confidently, eyes flashing towards the common room before crowding into your space on the counter. Stepping between your spread legs and placing his hands beside your thighs.

You blush at his closeness, straightening your back to gain a few more inches of space, "Bakugo-"

"Katsuki," he corrected.

"Katsuki," you fumbled with his name, "What are you doing?" you whispered.

"What d'ya want me to do?"

Your eyes flashed to the group, embarrassed that you might have an audience. Too embarrassed that you couldn't reply, biting your lip when you looked back at him. Catching his eyes falling to your lips before looking back at your eyes.

He gave you a look and a small nod to see if you were okay, clear with the idea that he wanted to kiss you. When you gave a small nod in reply, he moved his hand up to cradle your cheek.

Gently pulling you in for a kiss. Connecting your lips with a spark running up your spine. This was your first kiss, and it felt electric. A rush of adrenaline runs through your body at the contact.

When he pulled away you chased the kiss for a moment, letting your eyes slowly flutter open in confusion. His eyes were already on the three in the room over.

"Want to go to your dorm?" you offered, eager to continue kissing him, the thrill was something you think you'd chase for a lifetime.

"It's gettin' late," he glanced at his watch, "I got early training."

You pouted your lip, "Okay, text me?"

"Sure," he patted your thigh and stepped away. Making you blush once more before you hopped off the counter to leave.

---

The relationship between you two continued like that for a while, small kisses in public. All ones you were too shy to start yourself. Even when you wanted to be in the privacy of his dorm, but without his lead you felt blind.

Everyone on campus has seen you together and knows you're dating, but you felt unsure. It felt weird to have everyone think you're dating, but you didn't know entirely. Interviewers have asked him and he just shrugged it off with a smirk. It's never been discussed more, and you had nothing to go off. All that was discussed was a promised date every week and him being around when you tutored Shinso.

All except this time.

"Where's Katsuki?" you asked Shinso once you placed your stuff down.

"Bad interview, he's in his dorm," Shinso shrugged.

"That bad?" you frowned.

Shinso looked at you like you were stupid, "It's Bakugo, it's always bad."

"Hm," you hummed in thought, looking towards the elevator.

"Want to go see your boyfriend?" he rolled his eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend," you shushed.

"Yeah? Tell that to everyone else."

"It just hasn't been brought up between him and I," you confined to him slightly.

"Then ask? I don't know," he sassed.

"Come on Shinso, I'm lost here," you begged, "I've never dated anyone before. I don't know the rules."

"Rules?" Shinso laughed, "There's no 'rules' to dating."

"Help me out," you kicked at his chair.

"Just ask him what you are, he's probably too emotionally constipated to actually ask you out and want you to just know."

"That's embarrassing though."

"Toughen up."

With Shinso's horrible enthusiasm, you were knocking at Katsuki's door before you knew it.

"What?" Katsuki snapped when opening the door, clearly in a bad mood.

Every emotion was running through your head. Scared? Excited? You name it. It's been three months of this unknown. Dating or not. You wanted to know, you wanted to make the small next steps. Have him as a boyfriend. To meet his mom. Spend more time with him. Call him more often. Kiss him more. All the practiced words wanted to fall right out of your mouth.

You closed your open mouth, recovering from your thoughts and the aggressive way he opened the door. He was still glaring at you confused. "I- um-"

"Spit it out."

You took a deep breath, licking your lips lightly before letting the word vomit leave your mouth, "I want to know where we stand. Like are we dating? Are you my boyfriend?" you were wringing out your hands and rocking on your heels as you rambled, "Have we been dating? If not, I'd like to. You're such a good guy and just have helped me a lot, and I'd love to actually call you my boyfriend."

Katsuki blinked at you for a moment, his glare gone but the confusion was still painted across his face.

"Huh?"

You blinked, "I like you Katsuki, and I want an actual relationship. Titles and all, you know?" With his face just scrunching up in more confusion, you gasped, hands covering your mouth, "God! You probably already think it's a relationship, huh? I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to-"

"You like me?" he cut you off.

"I thought that was obvious?" you laughed lightly, embarrassed as you peered up at him.

He shuffles how we was standing, crossing his arms, a confused look gracing his features, "We were just dating to get rid of the fuckin' rumor. I thought y'know?"

Color drained from your face, "Oh!"

Not being able to stand any more of this mortifying experience, you turned on your heels and walked away.

Walking all the way until you were almost out of the Common room.

"You look like you saw a ghost," Shinso stopped you in your tracks.

"Heh," you forced a laugh, eyeing the door with want.

"Go that bad?" Shinso frowned.

"You have no idea.

---

That night was rough. A long shower helped you process everything. All the group outings, all the public displays of affection, not bothering to spend time together unless you were out in public, even if you were in his dorm, everyone knew. It had all been for the press, and it made complete sense. It was all he talked to you deeply about. It's why he thanked you at the beginning of all this.

And yet, despite you being the valedictorian, you were too stupid to realize.

So now you were bawling your eyes out as you hugged your pillow. Feeling so incredibly dumb to think you could pull Kat- Bakugo. The future symbol of strength. You let yourself get so hopeful and wrapped up in the feelings, making yourself blind to the obvious.

All the small kisses you shared felt like nothing now.

After that night, you picked yourself back up. No longer distracted by him, but more encouraged. You've spent the last three months studying until early in the morning rather than sleeping, all because you didn't want to decline when Bakugo invited you out. So now, you had time. So much of it that you were unsure what to do with it.

Bakugo gave you a week to cool down, not bothering you during your study sessions with Shinso, and not texting you either. You were relieved he was letting this embarrassing moment pass.

You were mad, anyone would be. Bakugo could have told you that it was fake, but no, he let you fall for him. He could of been direct, rather than assume.

"You okay?" Shinso nudged your arm when you were too zoned out on the elevator, fearful that the blonde would appear any moment.

"Hm? Yeah, just preoccupied with my thoughts," you answered automatically, turning your head away from the elevator. It's been a full two weeks, you should be over it by now.

Shinso looked over your shoulder, "Maybe we should leave," he rushed, packing his stuff.

"What? Did you finish already?"

"No, just come on," Shinso grabbed your stuff and packed up too.

"Shinso-"

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the elevator, trying to close the doors quickly.

Only then did you notice Bakugo standing at the entrance, looking lost as he watched the elevator doors close.

---

Shinso was always a good friend like that, looking out for you. He's kept Bakugo from your view more times than you could count in the past two weeks. Shinso was probably more pissed than you.

You had just hung up on him, turning to sitting down at your desk and plotting down points for an essay you had to submit later this week. Always wanting to stay two steps ahead when possible.

A soft rattle of knocks drew your attention away from your work.

"Come in," you called out, turning off your studying music and taking off your headphones. Spinning your chair to see which classmate was bugging you for help now.

"Hey," Bakugo twisted the door open.

You rolled your eyes, "Close the door, unless you want people to hear."

He slowly shut the door behind him and put his hands in his pockets, "Mindfuck said I should-"

"If Shinso sent you to do anything, I don't want to hear it," you crossed your arms.

"That shithead doesn't dictate what I do-"

"But he could," you pointed out.

"Well he's not. Ain't how his quirk works."

"What do you want Bakugo?" you asked plainly, you didn't want to be dragged along again.

He sighed, "Look, I wanted to apologize. What I did was shitty."

"Very, but I don't care at this point," you covered up your emotions, brushing past every night you've cried these past two weeks, "Yeah, you broke my heart or whatever, but it wasn't intentional. Just- you go your way, I'll go mine."

He tightened his jaw, "If that's what you want."

"It is," you lied through your teeth. Moving your chair again to face your work. Ignoring him.

"You don't have to lie if anyone asks," he spoke awkwardly.

You gave him a quick glance, "I wasn't planning to."

---

When he left once again, you felt relieved to have that conversation over. Wanting to bury the sad story of your first 'relationship.'

Sticking to what you knew best, school. You breezed through each test. Earning any extra credit possible and going to any internship possible. Limiting your tutor hours to hours you knew Bakugo was busy.

Your resume was solid, you'd be graduating with an associate's degree and would immediately start work with your parents the second you graduated. All while working towards a master's degree. Not only did you fill up your current time, but you'd be busy after high school as well.

Even now you were often at your parents' office when school was over, getting prepared for your role there. You'd be the youngest boss to work there, and many people were pissed. How could a freshly graduated teenager get paid more than them?

With tons of hard work. All the hard work pays off when you actually graduate as Valedictorian. Having press all in your face when you gave your graduation speech to the class. Talking about the highs and lows. Mentioning the hero course and the courage they faced, even when people thought they weren't made for it. Most of the speech was for Shinso.

The press was crazy afterward, you didn't have a moment to yourself. While you thought the press would be small since UA was high security, you were wrong. They took the funding they could get, and in return, they let people in.

Mainly the hero course was being interviewed, but you got surrounded as well.

"Ma'am! Tell us how you got such a high job position?"

"How much money will you make?"

"I'd love to get your insider opinion on the heroes here?"

"Hard work earns a lot more than just money," you answered the first two questions, "While the Heroes here are outstanding. They'll do the world a lot of good."

"Do you know any of them personally?"

"A few in Class A," you smiled in reply. You needed press and this was a great way to get your name out.

"So are you still dating Dynamight?"

The question shocked you for a moment, you thought all that dropped when you and him argued. You guess they just thought you were distant because of work. Your eyes widened, immediately looking away from the interviewer so you could compose an answer.

Unforantly, Bakugo was getting interviewed right beside you. Making eye contact with you while the press hounded him. Flying through different questions about his relationship status.

"Ma'am?"

"Um," you stuttered, unsure what to do.

Every press training you've gone through left your mind. Bakugo's helpless face replaced it instead. He hated the press, he hated dealing with an audience. But he hated it even more when it wasn't about his work. Hating when people asked personal things or assumed things because of his looks.

"Excuse me, I need to go save my boyfriend."

You walked away quickly, faking your confidence in your walk as you made your way to him. Regretting your decision already but it's too late to go back now.

"Is this your girlfriend?" the press immediately switched to ask when you showed up to his side.

"No-"

"Yes," you grabbed his arm, giving him a glare, "Now, we have to go spend time with out families. Please excuse us." You smiled at the interviews, tugging Katsuki away from the mess of it all. "How do you fall for such a trap?" you yelled at him in a hushed tone, looking around to make sure no one was near.

"Huh?"

You spun to face him when you finally found some space. "When they start going down that path you switch the topic, not blank, and get angry."

"Well I'm sorry I'm not miss fuckin' perfect," you hissed at you, crossing his arms.

"You had media training!" you threw your hands up helplessly.

"Whatever, are you just going to yell at me?"

You bit your tongue before you yelled again, looking around instead. "Now we have to deal with the press thinking we're dating."

"I'll just tell them no-"

"That's stupid, I just blatantly told them we were," you huffed, "We'll just sit and wait for it to go away."

"That'll take forever-"

His mom stepped into your view.

"Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not," Bakugo crossed his arms, "Mind y'business."

"Are you his girlfriend I've been hearing about?" her sharp eyes landed on you.

"No-"

"Yeah," Bakugo glared at you this time instead.

"Oh!" She smiled brightly, ignoring how you said no, "You should join us for dinner!"

"Oh, no I shouldn't intrude," you shook your head, not knowing what you would do if you said yes.

"It's not intruding! Please, my boy hardly has anyone. I'd love to get to know the girl that stole his heart," she smiled warmly.

"Ma' she has family-"

"They're actually busy tonight, so I'd be free," you shrugged, liking seeing Bakugo get antsy.

"Great!"

---

"I'd love to know how you guys got together," Mitsuki asked as you handed you a dish to plat your food.

You and Bakugo shared a look.

"I asked her out," he shrugged.

"More than that," she hissed in his direction.

"Well," you looked between the two, not wanting to witness a family argument, "We met from me tutoring someone in his class. Started to get to know each other in passing and he asked me on a date. Not too exciting," you replied instead as you dished up.

Mitsuki shook her head, "Boring as ever, I thought his father would raise him to be more romantic."

"Where is dad anyway?" Bakugo spoke just after swallowing an inhuman-sized bite of food.

"Work needed him, he after you saw him earlier," she spoke to Bakugo before turning to you, "He'd love to meet you."

"Thank you for inviting me," you flushed.

"So, back to terms of your relationship," she started, gaining a groan from Bakugo, "I know he isn't too roped up in relationships often, the last girl he was with was in middle school! Are you the same? I know I wasn't at your age," she laughed kindly.

"Actual this is my first relationship," you poked at your food.

"The hell-"

"Watch your mouth!"

Bakugo turned to you fully, "You didn't tell me that."

You shrugged, "Never came up."

"Was I your first-"

"Kiss?" you finished for him, "Yeah."

Bakugo just stared a you for a moment, huffing before rubbing his hands over his face. Slamming his hands on the table and making his exit. Leaving you with his mom.

"He didn't know?"

You forced your eyes away from where he left, "No, we never really discussed it."

"Maybe it's time to?" She offered. A mom classic.

"I don't know," you looked down at your plate.

"He's a handful, I know, but just give him a shot."

With the way she was acting and the read on her personality, you got so far, you knew she'd slap him upside the head if she knew everything.

But maybe it wouldn't hurt to get everything out.

"I guess."

"He's room is upstairs to the right, first door."

You gave her a smile before excusing yourself.

Knocking at his door before you knew it. Just like the night.

"Fuck off."

"Bakugo," you opened the door regardless, he was holding his head in his hands, elbows on his knees as he sat on the side of his bed.

He looked up at you, "What?"

"Sorry I didn't tell you," you said honestly. You didn't fell bad about it before, mainly wrapped up in how he never told you anything.

"No- fuck, don't apologize," he stood up, "don't need to do that for me. I'm fucking sorry. I didn't know, you didn't deserve that."

You hummed for him to continue.

"I'd never of asked if I knew."

"Why did you ask me?" the question has been nagging at you since.

"Hah?"

"To fake date you, get the rumors to go away."

"You seemed least likely to snitch or freak out over it," with the way his shoulders fell, you could tell that he was saying the truth, "Your clean image also helped."

It made sense. The 'bad boy' dating the valedictorian to help graduate. So not only did you fall for the classic cliche of fake dating, but also dating the bad boy.

"You also caught my eye," he confessed, shifting his footing.

"Sure," you rolled your eyes. He likely didn't want you to call everything off. Flatter you so you stuck around for his image. You've seen it all before.

"I'm not fuckin' around."

"I don't want to hear it," you stopped him there, "I'm not falling for whatever trap you have planned."

"I didn't mean to trap you-"

"You could have told me that it was for the rumors, and I would have agreed. But no, you assumed I knew or something."

"Sorry."

"Are you?" you shot back, "Or is that to make sure I don't start 'rumors.'"

"Seriously books," he glared at you.

"What?" you glared at him, "You go from being upset that you were my first kiss, to saying I caught your eye anyway? If that was actually true you could have asked me out for real."

"Then go out with me-"

"Seriously Bakugo?" you looked at him annoyed, "How would I know now? I don't know you."

"Yes you do-"

"No I don't! I know you hate the press and that's it," you huff frustrated.

He thought for a moment, "You know I like spicy foods."

You laughed at how ridiculously this was, "Doesn't matter."

"I hate how I fuckin' sweat so much. I like working out, anything to get my adrenalin running-"

"Bakugo, whatever you're doing isn't going to work," you shook your head, "I can't let myself go into this again.

"Why not? I'm not in this for anything but you."

"There's still rumors," you sighed, "So I'll never be sure if it's for me or not."

"I wouldn't fucking do that."

"I don't know you Bakugo," you crossed your arms.

"This is fuckin stupid, I try and do what you said and you say no."

"I said I would agree then, not now. I can't just say yes to dating you when last time you rejected me."

"I didn't reject you."

"You just stood there! You didn't do anything but look at me confused! Never even brought it up after," you pointed out.

"You just sprung that on me, you can't spring shit on me and expect me to know how to react!"

You took a deep breath, "I didn't expect anything really, Just thought you'd say anything but what you did."

He glared at you, "You can't just force people to like you."

You looked to glare at the wall instead of him, "That's not what I meant and you know that. I wanted you to like me back sure, but I wasn't going to flip if you said no. The only reason I avoided you was because I was dating you the entire time you were fake dating me."

"So?"

"It's embarrassing," you confessed, "I don't want to do that again."

"Let me prove it to you."

"What?"

He stepped close to you, crossing through his surprisingly clean room, "I'll prove that this time isn't fake."

"How?" you laughed, "I don't think you can fix this."

"Lemme try."

"Fine," you challenge, out of curiosity. You couldn't get more hurt than you already were. Plus you'd be too busy for him to try anyway.

---

If you want a part 2 lmk! It'd likely have smut though! Just a btw! I never reread so I hope this lived up to the hype! I've been crazy busy!

@kcch-ns @saucypeanuttt @cyanide-pancakes @gold24fish @randomchaosyay @minkyungseokie @endlessfreaky @suki0 @lovra974 @okayiamkassandra @myrunawaysweets @pirana10 @ginevraxrogers @katbug37

Thank you guys for the love!! <3

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