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hyunebunx · 2 months ago

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maybe it's not our fault - chapter 03

── synopsis: after a nasty breakup that’s left you completely shattered, you’re set on giving up on love forever. That is until, in a surprising turn of events, your respective best friends start dating and one of their main goals is to restore the peace in your broken relationship. Will their plan succeed? Will they manage to play cupid and get you and your high school sweetheart back together, or will it all backfire and result in the end of their own love story?

There is only one way to find out. If only your beloved’s heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair…

╰─▸ ❝ pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

╰─▸ ❝ content: exes to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, suggestive themes, drama and heartbreak, jock!hyunjin who is captain of the uni's football team + dance major!hyunjin, college au, lack of communication.

╰─▸ ❝ word count: 16k

╰─▸ ❝ warnings: a lot of cursing, sex jokes, mentions of a threesome, arguments, hyunjin's angry 80% of this chapter.

a/n: this chapter is super long but i swear it doesn't feel like much fhdhhfgh. we have flashbacks, kissing, drama and angst <3 y/n thinks of hyunjin for the majority of the chapter lmao. i've been waiting for soo long to reveal everything that's happening here, so pls enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3<3<3

One year ago.

“Hwang! Out!”

Out of frustration, Hyunjin removes his helmet and throws it on the ground with such force that it almost ricochets back into his hand, grass debris flying up and staining his white uniform pants. He takes a moment to calm down amid the craziness of the game, running a hand through short, black hair as the coach continues yelling at him from afar.

Frozen on the spot, Hyunjin pauses a minute more, chest heaving from the effort while sweat clouds his vision, barely reacting as his teammate, the other quarterback passes by him and pats his back.

Concerned, you hurry down the steps, almost crashing into the short fence that separates the field from the audience, searching for his eyes. You want to call out, but he seems to snap out of it on his own, legs leading him back to the coach on autopilot.

“Hyun…” You lean over the fence, trying to understand what the older man is telling him, heart squeezing painfully in your chest as worry overwhelms you.

A little further away, Hyunjin has his head hung low as the coach scolds him, screaming in his face about what just transpired on the field. American football was an aggressive sport, one you never saw Hyunjin getting roped into. Your boyfriend was soft and gentle, all smiles and crinkled eyes – you never understood where this desire came from, seemingly sprouting out of nowhere.

He was an athletic guy, but artistic, dedicating most of his time to dancing and painting, with the casual swimming lesson here and then. So, when he suddenly told you, in your freshman year of university, that he was thinking of trying out for the football team, you were surprised.

Hyunjin has loved football for as long as you can remember. He was an excellent player, an asset for your high school’s football team for the two years he spent playing on it. But he never took it too seriously, looking at it as a means to destress and have fun with his friends, one of these sports he became fond of as a kid.

You never thought he’d go through with it, but he always loved surprising you. Not only did he do it, he even made it to captain in his first year, thanks to his great skills and leadership abilities.

Since then, Hyunjin’s plate has always been overflowing, barely juggling all his hobbies while remaining top of his class. One thing always had to suffer, get the short end of the stick and the least of his attention. Sometimes it was his grades, then his dancing, while other times he’d barely touch a pencil for months on end.

But never you. Your relationship never changed, no matter how busy or exhausted he was, Hyunjin put loving you on the pedestal he carried on his shoulders daily.

At last, the scolding ends, and with a forceful pat on his shoulder pads, the coach walks away and leaves your boyfriend stranded, benched for the time being.

“Hyunjin!”

His head shoots up instantly and you swear, besides the sweat, there’s now a hint of tears in his eyes. Frustrated and angry, they don’t dare roll down his cheeks in fear of getting his wrath.

Making his way over, you’re relieved to see his sharp edges soften, palms unclenching.

“Baby.” You coo the moment he’s near, instantly reaching to wipe his face with the towel you brought along, wanting to make him feel more comfortable. Without a word, he lets you pamper him while his eyes flutter shut, exhaling softly through his nose, chest already moving at a calmer pace.

Pushing his hair out of beautiful face, you rest the towel around his neck, his eyes following your every move until you offer him your opened water bottle, which he takes gratefully.

“It isn’t your fault.” You whisper, moving to wrap your arms over broad shoulders, pulling him into an embrace he returns instantly, strong arms around your middle almost lifting your body over the fence. “You did well. The coach saw you weren’t the one that started it.”

Conflicts on the field were rare but never nonexistent and as the captain, your boyfriend has had his fair share of them. Only this time, it got too far, with a guy from the other team getting into Hyunjin’s face to start a real, physical fight. Hyunjin usually didn’t engage, but this time he almost did, the guy’s nasty words getting under his skin.

Pulling back, you take his gloved hand into both of yours, gently massaging it. “Are you okay?”

His silence is concerning, out of character for the man who would usually talk your ear off about the most mundane things.

Eventually, Hyunjin’s lips part as he takes a deep breath, no longer able to meet your gaze. However, as he prepares to speak, someone beats him to it.

“Yo, Hwang! Get it together!” A familiar voice gets both of your attention and as you turn to the culprit, you see Jisung, frowning in his seat a few rows above while Chris next to him throws encouraging thumbs-ups your way. “Did you stub your thumb and need your girlfriend to kiss it better? Should she also get you a pacifier while she’s at it?”

He smirks, raising his chin defiantly, which certainly has the desired effect on your boyfriend. Without missing a beat, Hyunjin pries his hand out of yours, gently, and proudly raises his middle finger at the boy, making Jisung and everyone around him laugh.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, trying to bite back the smile that quickly widens when Hyunjin leans down without warning to peck your lips sweetly, not once, but two times, lingering there and basking in all the love and support your mere presence provides him with.

A few people in the audience, who seemed to have stopped following the game in favour of watching you, wolf whistle and cheer, deeming you more interesting. But your boyfriend doesn’t care, he never does when your arms are around him, grounding him and chasing all of his anger and negative emotions away.

When he pulls back, the smile on his lips is genuine as he rests his forehead on yours. “God, Jisung is so fucking annoying.”

You giggle, stealing another kiss he returns eagerly, cupping your face to bring you closer and lick into your mouth, not being able to hold himself back any longer. It’s hot and passionate, almost like he wants to eat you whole without caring about who’s here to witness it, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, insatiable, and you barely hold yourself back from moaning into his mouth, still too aware of your surroundings to lose your head like that.

Fortunately, he remembers where he is and cools it down before you, pulling back with a low groan at the barely visible string of saliva that keeps you connected for a few seconds more.

“Thank you, baby.” He breathes out, relaxed, his previous frustration nowhere in sight. “My little guarding angel that always knows what to do to make me feel better.”

And as fate has it, Hyunjin only continued to change after that, day by day, and slowly but surely, you stopped being his top priority. Now, all of the previously mentioned hobbies and passions became more important, and more time consuming, while you, his family, and sometimes even his friends, were benched for seasons at a time.

Hyunjin never noticed it, nor did he recognize it as an actual problem when you brought it up, brushing past your concerns like they were nothing at all. He became snappy, more stressed, walking towards the edge of the abyss that represented burnout at an alarming pace he did nothing to slow down, almost like his brakes were removed.

Free falling to an impending doom.

That’s how you lost him. That’s how you lost the love of your life, unable to save him or any remains of the person he once was five years ago.

Present day.

Your head is spinning, still not fully processing the information you’ve just learned, frozen on the spot and forced to watch a scene that only brought you discomfort.

“Hyunjin…has been replaced?”

The words escape slowly, almost like you were first tasting them on your tongue before choosing to let them free. When you manage to tear your gaze from the field, blocking out the happiness on their faces, laughing away without a care in the world like they weren’t missing their core, the most fundamental part of the team, your friends are unable to meet your eyes. The only one who tries is Jeongin, with a frown that contorts his whole face, as if your sadness was contagious and he caught it without meaning to just because he was there.

But this one was his. Because Jeongin cared a great deal, the little brother Hyunjin never got but has always wanted. They used to be close like no other, and you can’t even begin to imagine what he’s feeling right now.

“Allegedly.” Jisung shrugs like he couldn’t care less, the perfect picture of nonchalance with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Temporarily!” Seohyun quickly clarifies, shooting him a cold glare he doesn’t even acknowledge. “Just until he can play again, that’s all.”

Now, you’re even more confused, gaze dropping to Chris who exhales loudly, taking his seat with great difficulty. “Why isn’t he able to play?” He hesitates, and that causes your heart rate to speed up, worry plaguing your mind and painting your surroundings in charcoal black, the colors fading gradually along with the light in your eyes.

“Hyunjin…” Chris trails off, clearing his throat and avoiding your pleading eyes. “He got injured three months ago, at the last game of the season. The team couldn’t remain in the lead without him so they lost.”

Noticing the shock on your face, he grasps your hand, squeezing while the other three come to cover you from prying eyes. His voice drops to ensure nobody else hears your conversation. “It might’ve cost the team their victory but Hyunjin had to pay the price with his health. Changbin told me he still has trouble walking sometimes, so the coach and his dance professor agreed to give him more time to recover.”

“Hyunjin is injured…” You feel like a parrot, only managing to repeat whatever words have the biggest impact on your impressionable mind, stuck in place like a broken record.

“Bug – “

“You all knew and didn’t think to tell me?”

They don’t expect you to snap out of it so soon, and redirect your emotions at them, eyes narrowing. Seohyun looks sheepish, even a little guilty while Jisung doesn’t allow you to see his face, suddenly fascinated by the greatness of the stadium.

“I – “ Jeongin clears his throat, pushing his big glasses up his nose. “Tried to contact him after I heard what happened. He didn’t answer, not even once, not even as time passed and he was already MIA for months.”

His face falls, obviously mourning the loss of their friendship. “I’m guessing they got a similar answer. Felix took pity on me at one point and filled me in on his situation. Hyunjin travelled home to Daegu right after, so nobody saw him for months. He became a ghost I doubted myself of ever meeting…”

Chris nods, more in the loop than you were. “He didn’t answer any of our calls, but I did send him a flower basket and a card on our behalf.”

“A fucking flower basket, Chris?” You can’t hold it in, exploding like a firework that missed its cue and blew up in someone’s face, devoid of any pretty colors as tears well up in your eyes. “You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re joking.”

Everyone knew and chose to keep you in the dark, to protect you without realizing their actions were causing more harm than good.

If only you would have attended the game and not run off, if only they would have bothered to tell you – you could have been there for him, his shoulder to lean on during his recovery. That’s why Hyunjin was different, so much colder and detached; he was in pain. Sure, this change started way before the accident in June, when the game took place, but now his recent behavior made sense.

You couldn’t even imagine what he must be feeling right now, forced to sit on the sidelines, not allowed to express himself through dance or run freely on the field to blow off some steam. A tortured man, trapped inside his own body without any means of escaping. Everything he worked so hard on, poured so much of himself into suddenly ripped away from him, life put on hold because of a stupid accident. Of an injury he didn’t deserve.

The irony of it all almost had you in tears. Somehow, in some way, people who used their bodies for art, or to provide entertainment for others, always ended up in pain, unable to continue doing so.

Dancing was his past, present and future. Hyunjin must be devastated, rattling against the bars that kept him in place to be let out, screaming and crying in agony with nobody able to hear him.

One blow after the other, the coach’s decision must have driven him back home, to isolate himself from the world until he felt, even the tiniest bit, like himself again.

Scoffing, you don’t wait for any of them to answer, storming down the stairs in search of the man who possessed all the answers you were looking for, not staring back once as Chris called after you, concerned.

You slip through the crowd, quickly avoiding all of the students who were just now arriving, leaving the bleachers area and sneaking into the field, on the other side of the fence.

The coach has his back to you, an older man in his forties who was the equivalent of a teddy bear, leaving everyone confused as to what drove him into coaching such a sport. In your opinion, he should have been a kindergarten teacher, with the way he coddles these grown men on the field. Of course, except in the cases where they mess up or get into fights.

“Oh, it’s you.” The coach tenses up once he notices your presence, surprised, almost like the one in front of him wasn’t you but a big, intimidating guy ready for a fight.

You slide next to him, taking a seat on the bench he’s standing by. “Hello.”

“Hyunjin isn’t here.”

“Yes, I have eyes.”

He looks nervous, arms crossed over his chest as he sneaks glances at you from the corner of his eye, perplexed at your sudden appearance. “Listen, if you came over to try and convince me to change my mind – “

“I didn’t.”

His shoulders slump forward, deflating as he sighs, looking straight up defeated, like the team’s fate has been sealed before they even got the chance to play. Fidgeting on the spot, you wait patiently for him to speak again, knowing it’s a matter of time before he caves in and spills his heart out. The coach has always been a sensitive man, a heart over mind type of guy, caring beyond belief which made him the butt of the joke one too many times.

“I didn’t want to bench him, it was never my intention, believe me. But I had no choice.”

You remain composed, crossing one leg over the other as you watch the team warm up some feet away. “Because of his injuries?”

“Yes.” He breathes out, relieved you seem to understand. “He’s all skin and bones now, barely managing to use his dominant hand. Tell me, what was I supposed to do? Put the team above his health? Ruin his chances at a full recovery because of my selfish reasons?”

Now that was definitely an exaggeration. You’ve seen him recently, granted in his uniform, but Hyunjin looked fine, just about the same. The same but different, taking into account the changes he brought to his appearance.

But you did remember seeing him catch the football with his left hand while his right was behind his back, almost like he was hiding it from the world. This was concerning, causing anxiety to eat at your core unpleasantly. If Hyunjin also injured his dominant hand, that meant he couldn’t paint. Which ultimately meant he was currently going stir-crazy, feeling truly hopeless.

Why was the universe so cruel to him?

“And so? Who became captain in his stead? Yeonjun?” You play dumb, keeping your emotions in check just to get all the necessary information out of him. A little dishonest, but your moral compass wasn’t really working right now.

To your surprise, the man scoffs, turning to face you. “Yeonjun? He called me a joke and laughed in my face.”

Bewiled, you lean closer, trying to understand Yeonjun’s behavior. He was one of the best guys on the team, why would he react like that? “What?”

He nods, letting his bulky arms fall to his sides. “All of my best players refused to fill in for him, turning me down in hopes of changing my mind and allowing Hyunjin to return sooner.”

Now this was heartwarming, pulling an unvoluntary smile out of you, happiness blooming in your chest at their obvious care for their long time captain. They were all standing in solidarity with him, unafraid to share their opinions and give the coach a piece of their mind. Hyunjin was so loved – if only he was here to see it with his own eyes, you were sure he’d feel a hundred times better.

“Then maybe you should.”

“I thought you said you weren’t here to get me to change my mind?” He raises a suspicious brow.

You grin, standing up and inching closer. “I lied.”

With a sigh, the coach shakes his head, not as impressed as you thought he’d be. “Sorry, can’t do. I already spoke with his dance prof and Hyunjin will be taking it easy for the next two months.”

You open your mouth ready to protest, his decision a little too extreme until something makes you stop, a light bulb going off in your head. Two months meant until November at most. The season started in late October which meant, in his words, Hyunjin would be back just in time to lead the team to victory. He wasn’t trying to sabotage him or his mental health, the coach was genuinely looking out for him, trying to help and ensure he was completely healed before the championship.

He was giving him as much time as he could to pull himself together, to regain his strength and the sparkle in his eyes. Hopefully, Hyunjin could see that, see the light that was peeking through the dark clouds that were currently only bringing rain into his life.

Seems like, no matter how hard you try, you’ll always care for him.

“Besides,” he continues, voice softer as he notices the contemplative look on your face, “Jaemin is a good player. Hyunjin picked him himself during last year’s tryouts.”

Well, Hyunjin definitely didn’t expect Jaemin to take his place when he made that choice.

“He’s the only one who didn’t reject me. If it weren’t for him, our team wouldn’t have a captain right now, and you know how important that is for morale.”

Now this spoke volumes about Jaemin’s character. Sure, this was the right thing to do, a noble act that was meant to redirect the team on the right track, lead them in time of need. Yet, on the other hand, your personal feelings on the matter viewed him as an opportunist, one that couldn’t care less about Hyunjin or the individuals on the team.

It looked like his loyalties only lay with himself. Something that wasn’t viewed favorably in a team sport.

“So please, don’t resent me too much.”

Your head snaps to him, to see the man crestfallen, a sign his decision must weigh heavy on his heart.

Sighing, all the fight leaves your body as you prepare to leave, taking one last look at the field that now looks so much different. “I don’t think I’m the person you should be telling that to.”

Defeated, he nods and walks away towards the locker rooms, to reflect or maybe encourage the remaining guys before the game starts. You barely make it two steps when a deep, loud voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“Y/n! Wait up!”

Turning, you’re surprised to see the one currently running towards you, distraught and desperate is none other than Daehyun from Yonsei University. Your rivals in more fields than one, the deans have been beefing behind the scenes and plotting on how to take the other down every single day without fail for years now.

Despite your reservations, you allow him to catch up, curious about what he’s going to say. You weren’t friends, but you did bump into each other on one too many team dinners in the past, loving to celebrate his wins at the same restaurant Hyunjin’s team frequented a little too much. Petty and immature till the end, no wonder his most famous nickname was Petty Wap.

He comes to a stop in front of you, briefly leaning on his knees to catch his breath before blurting out, without giving you the chance to say anything. “Where the fuck is Hwang? Did he finally realize he sucked and quit for good?”

Your eyes widen at the blatant disrespect, blood boiling in your veins as you try to pull yourself together and not cuss him out into retirement. With the nastiest glare you can muster, you cross your arms over your chest. “Hello to you too, Daehyun. Don’t you have a game to play?”

“What game?” He throws his arms up before running a hand over his face, too agitated for your liking. “I’m not playing against anyone other than Hwang! So where is he? Do I need to come drag his ass back on the field or what?”

The rivalry that sparked between them after a random game a few years ago was often a form of entertainment for all the people in attendance, who were looking forward to the games they’d play against each other in anticipation of the winner. SNU’s team was arguably better than Yonsei’s, all of the stats pointing in that direction but sometimes, even they failed as the two teams would be neck and neck until the goal that sealed their fates.

It was mostly a one-sided rivalry, with Hyunjin loving to get under Daehyun’s skin by barely acknowledging his existence on and outside the field. Which only sprouted him, set on earning Hyunjin’s attention like he was some sort of buff high school girl, spending her days longing for her crush’s love.

You don’t get to respond when an arm is thrown over your shoulder, the friendly gesture signalling only one person’s presence.

“Get off the field then. Nobody is looking forward to your lacklustre performance anyway.”

You look up at Yeonjun, surprised at the hostility in his voice. Daehyun splutters, taken aback. “What – “

“Oh, sorry.” However, the apology is not sincere in the slightest, his arm pulling you closer. “Should I speak slower so you can catch up? Since you’ll never catch up to me on the field, I might as well give you an advantage. “

“Jun – “ You try to diffuse the situation once you notice the anger on Daehyun’s face, his form towering over you both.

“Motherfucker.” He bites, almost growling and you still can’t wrap your head around Yeonjun’s objective. Did he hear your conversation? Why the hell was he so mean?

You’re pushed behind him when Daehyun steps forward, chest to chest with Yeonjun like they were preparing for a face off, drawing the nearby players’ attention. Flabbergasted, you get a hold of his jersey and pull, urging him to back off until either of the coaches notices the commotion and calls the whole game off, benching them for the whole school year.

Before you know it, a hand comes in between them, and a familiar voice asks, concerned. “What is going on here?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Daehyun spits at Jaemin, eyes flying to Yeonjun who nods and makes a face you can’t see. Squinting down at him, more guys gather around, assessing the situation before deciding if they should butt in or not.

“You’re the pipsqueak that’s currently replacing Hwang?!” It dawns on him a moment later, and now his anger is quickly redirected. It almost looks like they’re both ganging up on Jaemin, suddenly joining forces once they realise they share the same enemy.

“Excuse me?” Jaemin raises a brow, looking between Daehyun and Yeonjun in confusion.

Then, almost like he couldn’t be bothered to speak to him again, Daehyun lowers his head to whisper to both you and Yeonjun, deeming you an accomplice. “Meet me by the lockers after the game. We can take him out together.”

Yeonjun smirks as you stare at them in horror, not believing your ears. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had in your life, Park. Let’s do it.”

They high five, snickering and you take this as your cue to back away, not wanting to get roped into whatever deranged plan they were currently cooking up. Sure, your perception of him might have been altered, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see Jaemin getting beat up! What the hell was with men and starting unnecessary fights, just to satisfy their fragile egos?

You should let the coach know about this, just in case they actually decide to go through with their plan.

However, the tone of his voice surprises you before you can make your grand escape.

“Choi.” Jaemin speaks lowly, eyes narrowed as he stares at him with a superiority that is bound to make the other man’s blood boil. “Shouldn’t you be warming up for the game instead of kissing the competition’s ass? Or have I interrupted something I shouldn’t have?”

The implication isn’t lost on either of them and while Yeonjun fumes, Daehyun can’t help but chuckle, mumbling something under his breath that sounds almost like ‘my bitch’.

“Scram.” Jaemin points towards the benches like he’s training a stray dog who can’t do anything but obey, especially since the coach chooses this moment to exit the locker room. They stare each other down for a moment more before Yeonjun scoffs and walks away, bumping into his shoulder with unnecessary force while calling out mockingly.

“Aye, aye, captain.” Saluting, the bitterness seems to sting Jaemin, who exhales loudly, relieved when Daehyun follows without saying another word.

Then, his eyes land on you, and you do everything in your power to not react as nasty as the other two did.

“Y/n?”

“Y/n!”

You ignore him, whipping around in the opposite direction to find Chris by the fence, waving you over, a little concerned and ready to jump over any obstacle to get to you. Behind him, you spot Seohyun, Jisung and Jeongin looking just as worried.

So, without another glance in Jaemin’s direction, you walk away, your indifference leaving him confused, and a little hurt, wondering what he could have done to upset you.

Oblivion was his middle name. Or so, you thought.

You don’t stay for the game, previous plan all forgotten, your little friend group bouncing to a nearby café for a hot drink and a much needed chat.

Chris explains everything, from beginning to end, with the other three chiming in whenever necessary to complete his story. As you’ve already established, Hyunjin got injured at the last game of the season, with some guy tackling him to the ground with a little more force than usual. He was expecting him to stand his ground, meet him head on and when Hyunjin didn’t, they both ended up hurt.

Hyunjin came out of it with a broken leg and a sprained hand, his helmet preventing any face injuries. It was apparently a big deal, taking two players out in an instant, and the game was almost called off until the coaches agreed to continue despite what happened. With him out, and all the other guys shaken up about what just transpired, SNU lost, not able to remain in the lead without its captain.

You’re listening so intently, transported into the story your choices prevented you from witnessing, that your heart breaks into tiny pieces all over again. You almost stand up and drive yourself all the way to Daegu, just so you can finally provide him with the love and care he needs, to beg on your knees for forgiveness like him getting injured was somehow your fault.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. He took on too much, juggling too many things all at once while choosing to ignore the sirens and signs screaming all around him to stop. Hyunjin’s body has reached its limit and his stubbornness was the only one to blame.

And now, after making what he thought was a full recovery, he was forced to remain on the sidelines, so his mind could rest too. Chris continued to keep tabs on him, concerned as his friend, and Changbin had let him know that Hyunjin had just up and left their apartment, returning home to Daegu like he didn’t spend his whole summer there.

But not only was he in Daegu, with his dog and parents who were supposed to bring him the needed comfort, he was apparently partying it up every chance he got, urged on by his childhood friends and the people around him. Hyunjin was on a quest of destruction, with nobody there to stop or slap him back to his senses. Nobody aware of what was happening, anyway.

How the hell were you supposed to help him from over here?

Better yet, were you the one supposed to help him in the first place?

Even if you were to make the trip, which would never happen since none of your friends would allow you to leave like that, just as the school year began, who’s to say he wanted you there?

It was so typical of you to drop everything for him, put him above your needs and everyone else in your life that now, since his role in the story changed, you didn’t know how to cope.

On most occasions, it felt like he was the sun, and you were one of the many planets rotating around him, pulled in by gravity and whatever magnetic field he developed over the years.

And how was the Earth supposed to not die out without the Sun?

You were running for your life, book bag above your head doing a poor job at protecting you from the pouring rain that was coming down violently, almost like the sky was venting its anger onto everyone in the city. Everyone unfortunate enough to not have checked the weather forecast that morning, anyway.

A few weeks have passed by in the blink of an eye and now October rolled around, bringing along its best friends, rain and thunder. Some friends you didn’t particularly enjoy sneaking up on you.

You got caught up in tutoring the first years, so while most of the students had already gone home, you remained until the sun had set, being the last one to leave. It wasn’t like you to lose track of the time, but for once, you didn’t mind since you were enjoying yourself after so long.

They were full of energy and new ideas, coming up with things your department has never done before. And hence their excitement, you promised you would try to bring their project to life, take it upon yourself to talk to your professors and maybe employ the help of some upperclassmen.

You used to love getting involved in stuff like that, share the joy of music with everyone in different, innovative ways, get people moving to the beats you created. But with time, you seemed to have forgotten, your identity getting a little lost along the way.

Just as you’re about to start mulling over it, already chewing down on your bottom lip, Converse wet since you stepped into one too many puddles, a car pulls up right next to you, careful with the breaks to not splash anyone.

Without wasting a second, you run to the other side to get in, thankful for your saving grace.

The first thing Chris does when he sees you is laugh, reaching over the console in an attempt to fix your wet hair before deciding against it and opening the glove compartment for some tissues.

“Sweetheart, you look like a wet dog.” He states the obvious, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Did you wait long? Sorry, I was at the studio when you called.”

You shake your head, accepting the tissues to wipe your face as he starts driving. “No, don’t worry. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“I’ll always come when you call.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you know it’s true since he’s come to your rescue numerous times over the years.

You settle your bag on the floor, by your feet and that’s when you notice your seat getting warmer, the heat turned up just for you.

“Sorry for the mess. I know how much you despise water on your leather seats.”

Chris shakes his head, doing a great job at pretending he’s not bothered at all as he focuses on the road. “Nonsense.” Then, he nods to one of the drinks in the cupholder. “I got you a hot chocolate to warm up. The red one.”

You let out a short laugh, shivering as your clothes were still sticking to your skin. “Why is it red?”

“Because it’s from your favorite coffee shop, duh.” He rolls his eyes in fake annoyance, driving leisurely with only one hand on the wheel.

“God, have I told you how much I love you, lately?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice, but it never hurts to hear more about it.”

Having him in your life was a blessing you still weren’t sure you deserved; the first person who’s ever shown you the real meaning of friendship, sticking by your side no matter how many years passed, or how much you changed on your road to discovery. He’s seen your highs and was right there for your lows, helping you get through them with a kind smile and encouraging words, never letting you give up no matter how hard it got.

“How was tutoring?” The rain is still slamming against the body of the car, even angrier now and you were so grateful you were finally out of it, spared of its wrath.

You look in the back for one of his gym towels, the napkins not cutting it anymore, quickly grabbing it to dry your hair when he nods. “Exhausting. These kids are way too happy.”

Chris laughs, tattooed arms flexing without difficulty in the flimsy tank top he was wearing, the black charm bracelet you’ve bought him for his 18th birthday shining prettily when the light from the lampposts outside hit it just right. You were getting colder just by looking at him. “We used to be just like them a few years ago.”

“I don’t miss it.” You shrug, bending your head to continue with your previous task.

“Liar.”

He knew you too well.

“Anyway, Binnie tells me you’re avoiding him.”

A gasp escapes you, sitting up a little too quickly. “I’m not!”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow, briefly making eye contact before looking back at the road. You were almost there, your apartment building not that far away from campus. “Then why haven’t you replied to any of his texts?”

“I – “ You trail off, embarrassed to say it out loud.

“What?”

Mumbling under your breath, you speak a little louder, but still not loud enough for him to understand you properly. Chris turns down the music just as one of his songs comes on, his playlist as random as ever.

“Y/n, sweetheart, dear best friend, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

With a deep sigh, you give in, right after throwing the towel over your shoulder, in the backseat. “Chris, I can’t write to save my life. I haven’t been able to write any lyrics in months now, my mind completely blank. That’s why I’m not texting Changbin back because I have nothing to say.”

Just then, the car comes to a stop and Chris rests one of his hands on your headrest, looking back to focus on parking.

You continue blabbering. “He’s coming up with all of these great ideas and all I’m capable of doing is agree and marvel at his genius.”

He chuckles but otherwise remains silent until the car stops moving, parking executed perfectly. Then, he raises the handbrake and bursts out laughing. “Genius, huh?”

You frown, blowing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Don’t be mean.”

Shaking his head, Chris continues laughing. “You know what he does when he can’t write?”

“Hm?”

“Takes a break to get laid.”

You’re surprised, eyes widening gradually as he keeps laughing, reaching up to wipe stray tears out of his eyes like he’s delivered the funniest joke of the night.

A little embarrassed, you struggle to get a word in between his laughter. “Wow, gee thanks, Christopher! What helpful advice!”

You don’t know what’s worse. The fact that he believes you haven’t tried it before, or that he assumes your sex life isn’t completely nonexistent at the moment. Wait…what if he’s suggesting you sleep with Changbin? No, no, no! No way! Chris would never!

“What? You’re telling me you haven’t tried it before?” He wiggles his eyebrows, gently elbowing your side.

“To get inspiration?” He nods and you respond a little too quickly, feeling your face warm up. “No!”

Settling down, his smile is still as bright as ever, his happiness contagious as even you can’t stop yourself from giggling, despite the lingering embarrassment. Since befriending Seohyun, you’ve exclusively discussed things of this nature with her, sparing your childhood best friend the awkwardness the topic of your sex life would bring.

You were dating his friend, after all, you couldn’t begin to imagine how weird it would have been for him.

“You should. The post nut clarity hits hard, but not as hard as it hits Jisung.”

The face you make has him laughing again, and you almost gag at the idea of thinking of your other best friend in such a state. “Okay, gross! Stop putting these images in my head before I barf all over your expensive leather seats!”

Chris throws his head back, having the time of his life, until it hits you, reaching over to slap his biceps repeatedly.

“Wait, is that why he keeps going back to Yoona?”

“Bingo.”

“Oh my god!” You shriek, hand flying over your mouth in disbelief. “He’s so self-destructive!”

Nodding, Chris stretches in his seat. “I know and I keep telling him but it’s like he goes selectively blind, ignoring all of the red flags like they’re not even there.”

You couldn’t have said it better. Since before their break up, when the relationship was still fresh in the honeymoon phase, nobody could bring themselves to like Yoona. It wasn’t like she was a horrible person, this evil green witch straight out of a fairytale; she just brought out the worst in Jisung, stressing him out, upsetting him and making him cry more times than you could count. Their relationship turned toxic so fast that before you knew it, they broke up and got back together twice in the same month.

He claims he wrote all of his best songs while dating her but you beg to differ.

“Anyways, my point is.” Chan’s voice snaps you out of reminiscing, making you aware of the pouring rain that still shows no sign of stopping. “We all have an activity that never fails to inspire us. Or a person, a song, a movie or even a book. Try to remember yours and it will get easier.”

You nod, taking it all in. “Yeah, and apparently yours is sex. Have you ever thought about a threesome? Just imagine all of the ideas you’d get if the three of you had sex at the same time!”

The deadpan look on his face makes you lose it, his next words as serious as they come among your loud laughter. “Don’t even joke about this shit, Y/n, oh my God! My poor mind! I’m going to be sick.”

You’re having the time of your life at his expense, enjoying the way he shudders and gags as he starts imagining against his will. That’s what he gets for laughing at you.

“Fine, but only if we go in before I freeze to death.”

Chris rolls his eyes but complies, opening the door before your hand on his elbow stops him. “Didn’t you bring an umbrella? Or a sweater?”

“For what? Our building is right over there.”

“Chris, it’s pouring.”

He grins, showing off his pearly whites. “The last one there is a wet chicken.” And then he bolts, slamming the car door shut while his giggles resonate throughout the whole parking lot.

You blink, still staring at where he used to be a second ago before you’re taking off, not forgetting your bag in the process as you begin running after him, in the direction of your building.

The rain soaks through your clothes, cold and angry, but Chan doesn’t seem to care, deliberately stepping into every puddle with the biggest smile on his face. It reminds you of when you were kids, and you’d go out into his backyard to dance in the rain and look for snails, impatiently waiting for the rainbow that was sure to follow.

He looked so carefree and happy that it was rubbing off on you, allowing him to get a hold of your hands just so you could spin around, laughing together. The neighbours probably thought you were crazy, stupid kids without an ounce of maturity – but you were too happy to care, finally feeling like yourself in God knows how long.

Eventually, the cold found a new home in your bones, so you entered the building, creating small puddles everywhere you stepped, and laughing at each other’s appearance.

And there, by the elevator, was none other than Jisung, leaning against a nearby wall with his eyes glued to his phone. He was wearing all black, leather jacket with silver trinkets going along nicely with all of his jewelry and slicked back hair. The two of you were a mess compared to him.

“Ji!” You call out, startling him as he almost drops the device. “Hi!”

His eyes widen as he takes in the state of you, pushing himself off the wall in slight concern. “Yo, you’re both soaked. Did you decide to bathe in a puddle or what the hell happened?”

You and Chris share a mischievous look before nodding and lunging at him, arms wide open as he shrieks and tries to sidestep you.

“No! This is a new jacket! Spare me!”

“But, Ji! We missed you so much, let us hug you!”

He’s cornered, eyes darting every which way before the both of you are on him, squeezing him into the tightest hug, fueled by the power of friendship!

Safe to say by the end of it, Jisung had to join you upstairs to change before going on his merry way, grumbling about running late to whatever plans he’s made tonight.

A mere hour later, Chris has also left – something about an urgent appointment which in his language was code for one of his usual booty calls.

So now, you were all alone in your apartment, which felt a little strange. Always surrounded by your friends has made you a little dependent, needing them at all times to feel whole. But now, they were all out, having fun at a party or a random outing, because as much as it hurt you to admit, time didn’t stop for anyone. They weren’t frozen in place, unable to step out of quicksand and continue with their lives like you were, no matter how supportive or kind they’ve been.

Your life was on hold, against your will, but theirs wasn’t. As much as you deluded yourself into believing it, life went on, and your friends were all their own people, with their struggles and insecurities, and they weren’t obliged to stand still and wait until you got your shit together.

Not like you minded, that much. You reckon having them all to yourself, at your beck and call like you were nothing more but a fragile being that needed help at all times, would feel worse.

So, you were glad to see that their lives regained their normality, the one they struggled so much to build and keep.

And you were sure that after a while, you would manage to follow in their footsteps as well. Just not now. Now felt too soon for any of that, your fluffy blanket too comfortable to leave behind yet.

In an effort to do so, to begin training to ensure you’ll be able to keep up, you do the unexpected. Listening to Chris’ advice from earlier, you take one of your four guitars out of hiding, all dusty from the months spent in the disorganized closet. You knock over some boxes in the process, stumbling backwards like you weren’t welcomed into the little space, banished entirely from relieving any beautiful memory that was stored there.

From boxes to clothes, both yours and numerous articles that belonged to other people in your life, to your prized guitars and old diaries, your closet housed everything. There were photo albums, small gifts you wanted to keep safe, matching jewellery that was missing their other halves, movie, art gallery and concert tickets – you kept everything. A little bit of a hoarder, in Jisung’s words, your sentimental side couldn’t rid itself of anything.

Yet, one box decided to bare its contents to you, taking pity on your pathetic self. Crouching down to examine it closer, familiar handwriting greeted you with a punch in the gut, note yellowed with time.

The first song you ever wrote. And the cute, crooked doddles he decided to leave everywhere, like little comments and annotations he couldn’t keep to himself, highlighting every word or passage he liked. Hearts, smiley faces and angel wings, this is how Hyunjin described your stupid song that barely made any sense, the one he’d claim was his favorite, even after years and years passed and your skills improved.

You never got it, never understood why he was so attached to a love song written by a teenage girl who had no idea what love even meant at the time, a foreign concept she only discovered much later.

Perhaps he was even more sentimental than you, letting nostalgia rule his whole world without bothering to have a say in it. A go with the flow kind of guy, Hyunjin’s next move was always a mystery to everyone around him. That’s exactly why you were left dumbfounded when you tried gifting him this same song, but better, finished and properly recorded, a few years ago, and he firmly refused. He claimed the original was better, more authentic and you, and that nothing could ever come close to it in his heart.

To say you were disappointed was an understatement; you were disheartened for weeks, especially since that was the first time Hyunjin openly disliked one of your songs. Always your biggest fan, your muse would hype up everything you came up with and deemed worthy enough to put on paper, record and show him. After all, most of your songs were about him and your relationship, of course, he’d be left flustered and giddy, honoured by your unconditional love and support.

It's not like you couldn’t handle criticism, your whole major consisted of it, but when it came from him, it hit extra hard. Not like he criticized your work to begin with, he just felt comfortable enough to speak his mind – but for some reason, you still took it as such.

So, for a few months, you stopped writing and composing, being left in limbo just like you were now, not daring to pick up another pen. Back then, you managed to get out of that state with his help, his love the anchor that pulled you back up to the surface.

But now, you didn’t have such a luxury. How were you going to navigate these new waves by yourself?

Closing the box, you don’t spare it another glance as your foot pushes it back into the closet. You grab your guitar and move to the living room, making yourself comfortable on the couch with slight hesitation.

Your fingers hovered over the chords, mind racing with all of these different thoughts you couldn’t seem to put in order, quiet down enough to entrap on paper. You didn’t have a muse now, so what exactly were you supposed to write about? It felt like every significant moment of your life had a song, immortalized into a piece of art to remember for years to come.

All but one, the most recent event.

You begin tickling the chords, sheepish and clumsy, out of your element as the random anime sticker Jisung stuck on the guitar stares at you expectantly. The pink haired girl was smiling, but you still felt like she was judging you and your lack of talent.

“What the fuck am I saying?”

Shaking your head, your eyes close as a familiar melody fills the air, echoing through the empty apartment. Your favorite song has never failed you before, sure to warm up your brain and unlock the creative part of it, breaking the chains which held it captive.

The corners of your mouth tilt upwards in a small, but genuine smile, pleased at what you are hearing and experiencing, happiness blossoming like flowers in your empty chest. Just as you open your mouth to start singing, you can’t seem to find your voice, breath hitching in your throat.

You try again, and again, and by the third time, you’re luckily interrupted by loud buzzing, your fingers stopping abruptly. Where did you leave your phone?

Back in your room, you find it thrown on the bed, face down.

“Hello?” You answer, barely checking the caller ID, a little annoyed at being interrupted.

“Babe!” Seohyun’s loud voice greets you enthusiastically, followed by muffled giggling and booming music in the background. Now see, compared to Jisung, Seohyun would actually pick up the phone if you called even if she was having the time of her life at a party. “I miss you! What are you doing?”

You sigh, smiling despite yourself. “I’m at home, Seo. Did something happen?”

She was currently at a random sorority party thrown by her department, having fun with friends and classmates alike. Of course, she had asked you to come along but you really didn’t feel like it, choosing the comfort of your own home in favor of the loud, over the top party.

“So, nothing important, okay.” She giggles, and you can already tell how many drinks she’s had by now. “Will you come here? I promise it’s so fun, and you’ll love it!”

Your head turns to the window by the bed, the rain calming down but not stopping entirely. “But it’s raining.”

You hear her groan, presumably rolling her eyes before giggling again. “Oh, excuse me, your highness, I didn’t know a little rain would cause you to melt and turn into a puddle yourself.”

This time you snort, amused at her teasing. “Not at all, but I might grow a tail instead of legs and freak everyone out.”

You share a laugh, easily falling into your usual dynamic.

“Please?” She tries again, the music suddenly quieter. “I want you to meet someone and I know you’re in desperate need of a drink. Or two. Or a round of shots if I think about it.”

She was certainly right but you weren’t about to admit that and have her come back home just to drag your ass there personally.

“Seohyun – “

“No, I don’t want to hear it if you’re going to reject me!” Her voice gets higher, likely a little upset.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, letting yourself fall backwards on the fluffy covers. “Then I’ll just hang up the phone.”

“Boo, you whore!” You laugh at the reference, not taking any offence as she keeps talking. “Fine, I’ll come and get you – “

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a loud shriek escapes her, followed by crashing in the background that has you sitting up instantly, worried.

“Seo, are you okay?”

No answer, at least not from her anyway, the chatter on the other side escalating into yelling that prevents you from catching any glimpse of your best friend. You hang up with the biggest sigh, throwing your phone to the side while letting your head fall onto cold hands, needing ten seconds to pull yourself together and come to terms with what you’re about to do.

When you stand up, grab your phone and keys, your mind is cursing at you for being such a good friend.

When you exit the uber, after a fifteen minute drive, you’re greeted by a sight that could only rightfully belong in a zoo. The beautiful and grand sorority, with its tall, white columns and perfectly mowed lawn, was a mess. With cheap, plastic lounge chairs thrown about hazardable, toiled paper on the roof and a few passed out students right next to random, white ballons and red plastic cups, the sight was one straight out of a bad, coming of age college movie.

It was obvious this was not the usual sorority party because the girls would never allow their place to get this rowdy. This was their sanctuary, so the fact that they allowed guys in here was already surprising enough. Now you were sure they would all be banned from stepping on their property by tomorrow morning, first thing once the sun rose.

You step over every drunk man and vomit puddle, swiftly avoiding the couples busy eating each other’s faces off as you enter, already regretting your decision. But Seohyun stopped answering her phone, and you were too worried for your own good, needing to know what exactly cut your means of communication to be able to sleep tonight.

The castle like interior was filled to the brim with students, from every department you could think of, lounging about anywhere their eyes landed, either to rest or because they were too intoxicated to get up. It’s packed, but somehow breathable, so you manage to make your way inside with ease – until you pass the grand staircase in the hallway, marble and chandelier. The main living area resembles a rave, lights down low, booming music along with the strong smell of alcohol and weed that makes your eyes water.

Ever the party animal, this was Seohyun’s natural habitat, loving everything this type of setting entailed, so she shouldn’t be far. You, however, were quickly remembering why you stopped attending sorority and fraternity parties in the first place. They weren’t as exclusive or organized as the parties 3racha threw, so by definition, they were a complete mess – mixing drugs with huge amounts of alcohol often led to lots of fighting, hook ups and too many unsanitary liquids on the floor.

They got so crazy that the university came up with a new rule, which forced every house to block off their pools and balconies to prevent any unfortunate accidents from happening. Most obliged, but some, that felt like they were above the dean, only pretended to listen to get the old man off their backs.

Passing through, you squint in an attempt at spotting any part of your best friend, bumping into people left and right. The colorful flashing lights were making it hard to see, or think, so you reached for your phone again, dialling her number in hopes of finally getting an answer.

You only manage to bring the device to your ear before a hand lands on your shoulder and suddenly, you’re spun around to face the one person you’ve been searching for. What luck, really.

“Babe! You made it!” Seohyun throws herself at you before you can utter a word, hugging you tightly with her arms over your shoulders, buzzing with excitement. Her sweet perfume provides a welcomed change from all the overwhelming smells in here, bringing you some much needed comfort.

“Seo.” You pull back, holding her by the shoulders with a frown. “I must’ve called you a hundred times by now. Why did you hang up like that?”

Visibly confused, your best friend blinks, the gold shimmer on her eyelids blinding every passerby. “What?”

“Your phone!” You try again, speaking louder to make sure she hears you over the loud music. “Where is it?”

“I’m not sure…”

The furrow between your eyebrows deepens, grabbing her hand into yours. “Seohyun.”

The smile she shoots you is so bright, so sincere and toothy that your concern seems silly now like you have been worrying for nothing. Squeezing your hand into both of hers, she doesn’t even seem to mind the people on the dancefloor constantly bumping into her, and you.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see you!”

Defeated, you allow her to bring you into another hug, her delighted giggles like ointment for your tense muscles. One thing was for sure, Seohyun was drunk out of her mind, so you didn’t regret coming out to find her, even if her level of awareness was currently under the negative mark.

Dealing with a drunk Seohyun was a particularly challenging task, one not many could see to completion. Her energy was either on top of the world or down in the dumps, no middle ground. Clingy like no other or suddenly disliking you with all of her might, a river of tears running down her pretty face that somehow didn’t ruin her flawless makeup. Yet no matter her current state, Seohyun was still as endearing as one could be, unable to get mad when her childlike glee would sneak through all of your barriers and warm your cold heart.

“There you are.” A deep voice startles you out of your thoughts, clear as day in your ear despite the loud music all around you. “I should’ve known you’d manage to find her even in this crowd.”

Seohyun pulls away, eyes sparkling as they land on the new presence behind you, suddenly giddier than before. You don’t manage to turn around before a small, familiar leather clutch is handed to her over your shoulder, a strong yet sweet cologne invading all of your senses as the stranger gets closer.

“My bag!” She almost jumps with joy, smiling brightly as she hugs the expensive garment to her chest. You’re now trapped between her and a random guy you’re sure she just met, lovely.

Fishing her phone out of the bag, her attention is back on you. “Some guys got into a fight and bumped into me when I was talking to you, so all of my belongings ended up on the floor, trampled by everyone. Thankfully Felix took care of them.”

Your eyes widen, worry mixed with surprise creating a concoction of a cocktail in your head. “Felix?”

You whip around before she can say anything else, heart rate speeding up as anticipation rises. There was only one guy you knew with that name, and even though the odds were low, you needed to see for yourself, to check if somehow, by some weird coincidence, the guy Seohyun met was your old friend.

And so, as unexpected as ever, your jaw drops when you make eye contact, too close to be mistaken, his many freckles greeting you before he gets the chance to open his mouth.

“Hello, darling.” Felix smiles with his whole face, ready to burst with happiness at any moment. Your friend Felix, the one you met years ago in high school, who’s been studying abroad in Australia for the majority of your time here, was in front of you, smiling like he never left. Which was funny because his smile was the only familiar thing about him, while things like his appearance and clothes, even the way he carried himself, were completely different.

You barely recognized the person in front of you, so grown up with his bleached, shoulder length hair and black, leather clothes. The exterior was different, but changes on the interior were harder to spot, and to accomplish, and by the way he was staring at you one thing was for certain.

His heart definitely hasn’t changed.

“Felix?” You’re so taken aback that you can’t help but repeat yourself, his presence at this party is the last thing you expected. “But how? Why? When? Weren’t you just in Australia a few months ago – “

He laughs, high pitched as you remembered, throwing his head back in amusement. “God, I missed you, Y/n.”

You’re pulled into a hug before you can wrap your head around everything that’s happening, your questions left unanswered as he squeezes you tightly, lifting your feet off the ground. Felix was really here, at a random sorority party, treating you as warmly as ever.

For the longest time, you were certain that once he returned, Felix would treat you as coldly as Minho, barely acknowledging your existence and the bond you shared. Which was understandable, if you took into consideration the way your relationship with Hyunjin ended. But here he was, claiming he missed you.

He hasn’t been the greatest at keeping in touch, and you never blamed him – Felix was in his hometown, living life to the fullest, and experiencing university just like all of you were doing here. You couldn’t expect him to be as present as before, a significant part of your friend group when he had his own thing going on, almost an ocean apart.

His warmth was familiar as you hugged him back, reminiscent of the way he’d always hug you in greeting, every time you’d bump into each other, either by mistake or when all of you hung out together. It almost brought tears to your eyes, a wave of emotions surging through you.

When you’re put down, his smile hasn’t budged, staring at you with such fondness that you can’t hold yourself back from pulling his cheeks. “Look who finally remembered he also has friends here, in Korea!” You pull a little harder, and he grimaces, the only show of discomfort as he then laughs loudly. “Have you met up with Chris yet? He’s been missing you like crazy!”

One of his arms finds its way around your waist, the other reaching for Seohyun behind you as he pulls the three of you back, out of the way of all the people on the dance floor. By a wall, right next to a couch that was occupied by multiple couples who were oblivious to their surroundings, too busy making out to care, Felix finally answers.

“Not yet. I got back last month and I barely managed to find time to visit my grandparents.” The only family he still had here.

“Wait a minute.” As if snapping out of a trance, Seohyun butts in. “You know each other?!”

Both of your heads turn in her direction, stifling a laugh as she crosses her arms over her chest, little black dress riding up her thigh slightly. “What the fuck? I wanted to introduce you two!”

This time, Felix does laugh, properly amused. “You’re joking, right? When she and I met, back in high school, you weren’t even aware of her existence. I should be the one introducing Y/n to you.”

Baffled, she takes a step back and lightly collides with the wall, unsteady on her feet. “What?! Y/n’s my best friend!” Then, her gaze flies to you. “Right? Please back me up here.”

Giggling, you reach for her hand. “Of course, babe.”

Seohyun relaxes, and a smirk tilts the corners of her mouth as she sticks her tongue out at Felix. “See? Suck it, pretty boy.”

Shaking his head, chuckling, Felix leans over to tickle her sides, the sudden closeness surprising as they share a laugh. Maybe you should be the one getting an introduction after all because damn, where was all of this coming from?

“Yongbok!”

And just like that, your second surprise of the night strolls in like he owns the place, making his way over like there wasn’t a whole ongoing party keeping you apart.

Felix turns around at the same time your heart drops, smiling so brightly while you try everything in your power to not succumb to the inevitable panic attack that threatens to take you under.

“Hyunjinnie!”

What were the fucking odds?

Hyunjin shoves past a couple that’s in his way, tense features relaxing once he spots his best friend, managing to stand out from the crowd even in the dim, dark blue lighting in his red, mohair cardigan and blonde ponytail. A sight to behold, Hyunjin could never be overlooked, no matter what was currently taking place around him.

People stop and stare, eyes wide in wonder as some try to get his attention, to no avail. He doesn’t slow down nor greets anyone, for some reason in a hurry and heading straight to you. Well, not you specifically.

“Yongbok.” He breathes out once he reaches your little group, face stern. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why the fuck did you run off like that?”

Frankly speaking, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Last you heard, Hyunjin was partying it up in Daegu. Did he suddenly change venues?

You couldn’t look at him, heart aching painfully in your chest, but at the same time, you didn’t seem to be able to look away from him either, his mere presence pulling you in just like it was doing to everyone else around. A magician without a wand, his irresistible charm was enough to enthral a whole room of people at a time.

Felix bounces on his heels, like an excited puppy seeing his owner after a long time, forgetting all about you. “Jinnie! I want you to meet someone!”

Seohyun disappears from your side, brought forth by Felix’s muscular arms, like some sort of trophy or a new, shiny toy a kid was excited about winning at a claw machine.

Hyunjin raises a brow, arms over his wide chest. “Seohyun.”

“Hwang.”

“What the fuck?” Now Felix is the confused one, but still not as speechless as you, looking between the two like they somehow grew a third head. “You know each other?!”

Talk about deja vu. Was it all a dream? Did you actually fall asleep before leaving the house and this whole scene was nothing but a fragment of your imagination? Somehow, that would make more sense than whatever was happening right now.

Hyunjin himself doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on either, but his cheeky side still manages to peek through. “We’re best friends.”

Seohyun scoffs, shaking Felix’s hands off her. “I can’t stand you.”

“See?” He grins, as fake as they come, in Felix’s direction. “I told you.”

“But…” Felix trails off, doe eyes softening as he looks at his best friend, almost like a lost child looking for guidance. “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about. The one I bumped into on the first day.”

Hyunjin blinks, gaze drifting to Seohyun. “So, you’re the one who stole his diary?”

“Stole?! I’m no thief, Hwang!”

Then, without being able to hold it in anymore, you explode. “What the fuck is going on here?!”

The three of them turn to face you at the same time, with Hyunjin’s eyes doubling in size like it’s the first time he’s made aware of your presence, the first time he sees you tonight. And you were sure it was, his attention solely on Felix from the moment he walked in. Which was to be expected, you haven’t been his priority in a long time. An afterthought he barely remembered on most occasions, as always.

Still, he takes the time to look you up and down, take in your pathetic excuse of an outfit you threw together in your hurry to leave the house, regretting your choice that was now making you feel self-conscious. Not like he was fairing any better, in his obnoxious leopard sweats you could never stand that he managed to pull off infuriatingly well, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Even so, he was still flawless, glowing like an angel without his halo.

You haven’t bumped into each other since last month but now, after your talk with the coach a few weeks ago, you saw him in a new light. Out of his gear, Hyunjin did look differently, softer around the edges, the weight loss visible on his lean body. Hyunjin was usually in tip-top shape, hitting the gym multiple times a week, properly taking care of himself and his health.

The injury must have left more marks than he would’ve liked, forcing him to watch his muscle mass decrease with every day spent in bed, making him weaker than he’s ever been.

“Y/n.” Seohyun grabs your hand, leaning into you for support as Felix begins talking Hyunjin’s ear off about what happened earlier. He’s still staring at you, and you can’t seem to be the first to give up and look away, not managing to decipher the emotion in his eyes. “I don’t feel so well.”

Your other arm wraps around her shoulders automatically, to keep her upwards as you continue looking at him, pulled in his direction. “Let’s go get some fresh air.”

Making your way outside proves more difficult than expected with Seohyun on your arm, leaning most of her weight on you. Leaving the guys behind, and Hyunjin’s intense gaze that you don’t notice following your every move, means you’re back into the sea of people, trying your best to navigate the tumultuous waters without crashing.

But you manage like you always do, and five minutes later you’re finally on the porch with a shivering Seohyun. The later hour has brought forth colder weather, characteristic of the autumn month.

“Are you cold?” You ask, just now noticing her outfit. In a strapless, sparkly black dress that barely covered her ass, your best friend shivers like a frightened chihuahua. When she nods, you don’t hesitate to remove your leather jacket and drape it over her shoulders, careful of her long hair.

“Thank you, Y/n.” She smiles, grateful, the cold helping her sober up. “And thank you for coming all the way here just because I asked. You’re an angel.”

You shake your head, thinking nothing of it as you hug yourself. The tight and thin crew neck you had underneath isn’t helping you combat the cold at all. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, staring down at her shuffling feet, heels suddenly uncomfortable.

“Do you want some water before we leave? I’m pretty sure there were bottles by the front door.”

“That’s champagne.” Seohyun laughs, properly wearing your jacket. “Believe me, I’ve had more than enough of that.”

As you open your mouth to respond, the words die on the tip of your tongue when the front door slams open and startles everyone nearby in the process. You barely register as a random, naked guy flies past, running around the front yard without a care in the world, making it out into the streets and flashing the whole neighbourhood.

He’s happy, laughing loudly as a small group approaches with their phones out, putting on a show for them all to record and make fun of later. With the elegance of a baby deer that’s just learned how to keep steady on his feet, the guy jumps and dances or attempts to, his ballet number not as graceful as he’d hoped.

Not like it matters anyway – even the couples that were busy making out are now cheering on him, clapping and giving him the confidence to continue with his drunken charade.

“It’s small.”

You turn sharply to face her, eyes wide like you couldn’t believe your ears.

“What?” She throws her head back in delight, finding the scandalized look on your face more entertaining than the guy who was currently making a fool out of himself. “It’s an unspoken rule! If your wiener isn’t cooked, you don’t take your pants off.”

You’re still silent, disgust slowly morphing into your features.

“Sorry. I forgot you don’t get my humor.” Seohyun sighs, disappointed.

“Yes, I do. This just wasn’t funny.”

“Or you’re just a prude.”

You gasp, taking a step back. “Wait, do you actually think so? Because Chris has implied the same thing earlier and now I’m starting to believe – “

“Were you planning on leaving without us?”

You’re cut off by the same deep voice from before, with Felix and Hyunjin seemingly appearing out of nowhere since the front door was still wide open. You don’t make eye contact, body turned slightly away from the two in an obvious display of discomfort. As much as you loved Felix, the fact that he brought your ex out here was really starting to bother you, heart aching a little too painfully to be bearable.

“Yeah, the uber is on its way.” You mumble, shuffling closer to Seohyun.

“Lying is a sin, Y/n.”

You roll your eyes just as Felix gasps, warm hand landing softly on your elbow. “Are you in a hurry? Did something happen?”

“Not at all!” Seohyun chimes in before you can respond, stepping between you and the two blondes. Come to think of it, they must’ve talked about it beforehand – their hairstyles looked a little too similar.

Turning to them with a sigh, Felix grins and squeezes your arm. “Great! Because Jinnie will be driving us!”

Hyunjin’s bleached eyebrows shoot up, surprised. “Does Jinnie know about this?”

Felix frowns, his hold on you loosening entirely. “Is Jinnie deaf?”

“Does Yongbokkie want to be left here?” Hyunjin counters, faux sweetness in his tone.

“I was the one who called you –“

“Do you guys need a moment?” You can’t help but giggle as Seohyun interrupts them, not missing the way Hyunjin’s eyes fly straight to you, softening. Meeting his gaze for a split second, you look away as loud cheering erupts from inside, attention stolen once again.

Shaking his head, Hyunjin then steps away with a sigh, presumably to his car.

Felix’s eyes follow him, his hands reaching for both yours and Seohyun’s as he begins dragging you along, contagious happiness in his voice. “Alright! Let’s go!”

A little farther down the street, the party and its loud music start fading in the distance, a faraway memory you won’t be looking forward to recalling any time soon. Hyunjin is a few feet in front, leading the way without a word. In contrast, Felix hasn’t stopped talking since you left.

Frankly speaking, letting your ex drive you home was the worst idea someone could ever come up with. Your protests fell on deaf ears, however, because both Felix and Seohyun were too giddy and enamoured with each other to bother hearing anything else. So, you were stuck between them, surrounded from all sides with no way of escaping other than running back in the direction you came from.

Lovely. You couldn’t think of a crueller fate, really.

A faint beeping sound signals you’ve reached your destination, but the car in front of you couldn’t be Hyunjin’s. This big, white SUV was brand new, nothing like the old, muscle car he got as a birthday gift a few years ago. Confused, you try to look around as subtly as possible, trying to understand what could’ve happened with the other car.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin opens the door to the back seat. “After you, Your Highness.”

Felix almost jumps in, stumbling over his own feet in the process and falling face first into the leather seat, to which both Seohyun and Hyunjin laugh a little too loudly at seeing. But he recovers quickly, and so do you, and as you move to join him, Seohyun steps right in your tracks.

“Babe.” She lowers her voice, waiting until Hyunjin takes his seat at the wheel before continuing. “Would you please, please, seat in front – “

You immediately shake your head, refusing on the spot. “No.”

Was she crazy? Batshit insane? You could not sit there, right next to Hyunjin and pretend everything was fine and dandy when you felt like you were on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall to your doom at any second.

“Y/n – “

“Seohyun – “

“Hear me out!” She whisper yells, cheeks rosy as she bites onto her bottom lip, timid. “I really like this guy. Felix is like, the nicest man I’ve ever met and I think he might like me too. So, can I please sit with him?”

“But you will, I’ll just be on your other side.” You force a smile, reaching for the door until she slams it shut, surprising you.

“Alone?” She adds, sheepish and way too flustered than she’d usually get in front of anyone. Seohyun was bold and confident, nobody could ever reduce her to a blushing, stuttering mess like she was right now. Nervous was not a word in her vocabulary so, nobody could blame you for not recognizing the person before you.

But then again, she was still drunk, emotions heightened by the alcohol she consumed. Still, you don’t think she understood what she was asking of you.

“Please, Y/n? Will you please do me this huge favor? It’s a fifteen minute drive anyway, you’re gonna be fine.”

Right, because who cared about what you felt anyway? Y/n, the one who always puts others and their needs above her wellbeing.

Seohyun is staring at you expectantly, almost like knowing you will eventually give in and she’ll get her way. Which would have offended you if it weren’t true.

With resignation written all over your face, you step away, and she cheers while thanking you multiple times, her voice dying out when you get into the car and close the door. Hyunjin barely spares you a glance, like you riding shotgun next to him is the most natural thing in the world.

Because it is. Or actually, was.

Seohyun follows quickly after, and Felix shifts to make room, the rearview mirror turning you into a spectator of a play you didn’t have any interest in watching, at least not right now. A story of new affection, an unexpected bond that appeared out of nowhere and forced you right back to the person who made you stop believing in true love.

But then again, maybe you shouldn’t jump to conclusions so soon. As much as you hoped this thing she had with Felix worked in the long run, you had to be realistic and remember they just met.

The four of you won’t ever be together like this again. You were going to make sure of it.

Hyunjin wastes no time in starting the car, driving off without a hitch, as relaxed behind the wheel as always. This new car was different, so much different than the one he’s been driving since your freshman year, but nobody seemed to care. This man was slowly but surely changing everything about himself and none of his friends said anything, not an ounce of concern expressed for his ears to hear.

You needed to talk to him.

“Nice jacket.” Felix says lowly, a statement meant for Seohyun’s ears only. However, his deep voice carries over, and since neither is trying to be subtle, you and Hyunjin have no problem hearing everything.

“Thanks, I got it from my date.” Unexpectedly, she drapes herself over your seat to plant a big, loud smooch on your cheek that doesn’t fail in leaving a red, lipstick mark. You’re so taken aback that you don’t react for a few moments, stunned before a groan escapes you and she laughs, delighted at your misery. You pull down the mirror on your side to check the damage, rubbing off the mark with your fingers while the conversation continues.

“I thought I was your date?” Felix asks, slightly offended.

“Well, I didn’t see you offering me your jacket?” Seohyun counters, arms over her chest.

Felix glances down at his outfit, leather shirt a little too constraining. “I’m literally naked under this.”

“What a surprise.” Hyunjin mumbles, eyes focused solely on the road.

Through the rearview mirror, you see Felix lean forward to pat him on the shoulder, grinning. “You shouldn’t be talking when you’re currently dressed like a fucking stop sign.”

Seohyun laughs, a little too loudly, and you try to muffle your giggles, still pretending to be busy fixing the mess on your face.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Hyunjin pouting the slightest bit. You haven’t seen him make that expression in literal months. “These are my lounging around the house clothes. Sorry I didn’t put on a suit before coming to pick your drunk ass up.”

Huh. Guess Hyunjin was tricked into coming over there just like you were, driven by the worry he only seemed to carry for his friends. Considering everything you’ve heard about him lately, you were half expecting him to be one of tonight’s hosts, coming from Daegu just so he can party it up with new people.

“Lighten up, Jinnie.” There’s a hint of melancholy in Felix’s smile, squeezing his shoulder before returning to his seat, and opening his arms to allow Seohyun to snuggle herself into his embrace. You flinch at the sight, looking out the window to distract yourself.

“Yeah, or else your face will remain stuck like that.” Seohyun agrees, her head on Felix’s chest.

When Hyunjin doesn’t respond, silence falls over the car, save for the occasional whispering and giggling heard in the back seat from the pair who were still too drunk for their own good. Stuck in their little world, they couldn’t care less about the fact that you felt like a fish out of water in your seat, suffocating as you tried your best to not glance at Hyunjin whose eyes were strictly on the road, focused on getting you all home.

The usual fifteen minute drive seemed to stretch on forever, your destination suddenly impossible to reach. You felt like you were driving around in circles, fidgeting in your seat in an effort to get comfortable.

Not only was Hyunjin too close for comfort after being out of reach for so long, but sitting next to him brought forth all of the instances you’ve found yourself in the same predicament, driving around together with no set destination in mind. Only back then, things were not as bad as now. Back then he was your boyfriend, your sweet and loving Hyunjin whose free hand was always resting on your thigh or holding your own, not letting go until the car’s engine was turned off.

Without their loud chatter to distract you, the strangeness of the situation was slowly creeping in, letting itself take shelter among your many thoughts. This must be as uncomfortable for him as it was for you, but for different reasons – especially since he now loved to pretend you didn’t exist, not sparing you a second glance no matter how many times your gaze found its way to him, staring holes into his perfect side profile.

It truly felt like he didn’t care about you anymore – the actual ending to the love story you thought would last forever. And it hurt, so much so that you struggled to breathe, opting to look out the window in hopes that your body wouldn’t betray you and let the tears escape without permission. That would be truly mortifying.

“Jinnie.” Felix’s voice makes itself heard again, snapping you out of your misery, quieter than before as you realize Seohyun is fast asleep on his chest, clinging onto him.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin asks just as quietly, meeting his best friend’s eyes through the rear-view mirror, which only prompts you to steal another glance at him. He’s relaxed, leaning back into his seat while driving with one hand, the other laying casually next to the central console. Your fingers were itching for him; it would be so easy to move over and hold his hand, intertwine your digits and bring them to rest on your thigh, just to feel his warmth one last time.

With a silent yawn, Felix gets more comfortable in his seat, looking sleepy himself. “I really hope you get to play next month. I know how much you miss it, and we all miss seeing you happy on the field.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as Hyunjin inhales sharply, free hand closing into a fist as the one on the heel tightens its grip, knuckles turning white. Before you can properly react, Felix continues.

“I overheard Mrs. Kang speak with your coach the other day.” He rambles on, the alcohol in his system blurring all of his awareness and making him spill everything without a care in the world, preventing him from noticing Hyunjin’s change in mood. “She hopes you’ll return to class soon. She misses seeing you dance and happily attending her lessons.”

You’re full-on staring at him now, following his every move like a hawk would its prey, noticing the way his muscles all tense up and scream at Felix to stop talking, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Your eyes widen as he slightly raises his fist, in a way that makes it seem he’s about to hit the dashboard, so uncharacteristic of him and his character that you almost freeze on the spot. Before you can even think about it, and process your next move, you reach for him, both of your hands closing over his fist to prevent him from being stupid. That makes him finally turn to you, eyebrows raised in complete surprise, facing you for the first time since you all got into his car.

Meeting his gaze, you subtly shake your head, letting your eyes do all the talking as you gently bring his hand in your lap, trying to coax him into unclenching his fingers.

Hyunjin is frozen, stunned and confused, tearing his eyes away from you once he remembers he’s still driving. Even so, a moment later, you feel him start to relax, your gesture appreciated.

Struggling to find an answer that would satisfy both him and Felix, Hyunjin fidgets in his seat, exhaling deeply once you finally intertwine your fingers with his. “We’ll see.” He manages to croak out, voice louder than before.

This answer, however, seems to confuse Felix even further. “Isn’t this what you want?” His accent is thicker, voice latched with sleep. He’s completely oblivious to what’s currently happening around him.

“Of course.” He nods, not skipping a beat, stealing another glance your way when you start drawing comforting patterns on the back of his hand.

Felix frowns. “Then – “

To Hyunjin’s relief, Felix doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Seohyun starts moving in his arms and steals all of his attention, with him opting to curl around her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear to soothe her back to sleep. A scene you wish you didn’t witness. Staring out the window once again, you try to shake off the painful way your heart keeps squeezing in your chest, hating yourself for your incapability of being happy for your best friend.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks quietly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s actually talking to you for once, briefly squeezing your hand as the car stops at a red light.

You nod, meekly, looking in the rearview mirror for a split second just to find Felix fast asleep, joining Seohyun in dreamland.

Your fingers on his skin stop their exploration once they feel something similar to a scar, tainting the side of his soft hand all the way up to his pinkie. You look down and see it, angry and red and just now beginning to heal properly. “Are you?”

He doesn’t even need to look to realize what you’re talking about, the brief touch causing him to tense up again and remove his hand like burnt, resting it back on the wheel. “Yup.”

You’re both lying.

The sudden tension is suffocating, so much thicker and unbearable than before as neither is willing to address the huge elephant in the room. You so desperately want to, having enough questions for the both of you. You knew he wasn’t curious about what you’ve been up to ever since you broke up, that he didn’t care, but you did, and this silence was eating away at your sanity with every second that passed.

Were you truly the only heartbroken one? The only one who suffered every day because of his absence? That was something you couldn’t comprehend, weren’t willing to entertain for the sake of your emotional well-being.

Hyunjin has been your everything once. Actually, as much as you hated to admit it, he still is. But how could you let yourself fall for someone whose feelings have never run as deep, didn’t consume his every thought and waking moment as they did to you?

How could you have been so dumb? But most importantly, how could you continue being this dumb when it was clear he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore?

Because you have no answers that don’t involve him, you somehow manage to muster enough courage to open your mouth and ask the one thing that’s been on your mind ever since you found out about it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is low, and weak since bravery has never been one of your strong suits.

Hyunjin is silent, and you’re afraid that maybe he didn’t even hear you. Eventually, as he turns into a familiar street, he asks, voice just as quiet in consideration of the two sleeping beauties in the back. “Tell you about what?”

“Your injuries.” It escapes so quickly that you don’t even have time to regret or feel bad for bringing it up in the first place.

To your surprise, Hyunjin laughs, short and dry and way too bitter. “And why would I tell you about that?”

“Why?” You’re baffled, blatantly staring at him as he continues avoiding eye contact, like driving didn’t come as second nature to him. “We dated for five years, Hyunjin.”

“I’m well aware, Y/n.” The way he responds, with obvious animosity, makes you curl into yourself, hurting more than it should considering his recent behavior. He changes lanes, entering a well-lit parking lot. “But we’re not dating anymore, so me getting injured was none of your concerns.”

“None of my – of course it was! Are you hearing yourself?”

It’s not like you felt entitled to any explanation whatsoever – Hyunjin was hardheaded, you could never catch him doing something he didn’t want to, which in combination with his hyper independent self was a dangerous combo. But the way he was acting right now made it seem like he was actively trying to erase your shared past, on a solitary quest to a place that couldn’t be accessed by all of the memories and love you grew for each other over the years.

Never one to open up on his own accord when hurt, you had to pry every single word out of him with silver pliers to ensure they wouldn’t irritate his sensitive skin. But this was ridiculous.

The person in front of you was no longer the Hyunjin you have come to adore with every fibre of your being.

“And why would it be?” He counters, pulling the handbrake to ensure the car wouldn’t be going down the same hill your conversation will inevitably take a tumble on.

You shrug, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible before his icy glare. “You know why.”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head, running the hand that still had remains of your warmth through unruly hair. “No, I don’t”

Defeated, your voice drops to a whisper. “You should have just told me. Picking up the phone and texting is literally the easiest thing in the world.”

But Hyunjin isn’t as mellow. “If you cared as much as you’re suddenly trying to convince me of doing, you would have come to the game.”

The subtle accusation hidden between the lines stings, and you turn to face him in your seat with a little more bite than before. “Oh yes! Because you would have surely loved to see me there! Especially after you dumped me days prior!”

“Maybe I would have!” He throws his hands up briefly, coming together on the wheel as he lowers his head with a deep sigh, trying to get rid of the emotions that were threatening to bubble to the surface and take him down in the process

“You’re so fucking confusing!”

You can’t believe your ears nor the audacity Hyunjin is currently displaying, the entitlement so infuriating that you had half a mind of storming out of this car and never sparing him a glance for as long as you lived. Who did Hyunjin think he was to expect this of you? For you to read his mind and still put him first after he completely shattered your soul and entire existence?

He leans back, on the headrest with his eyes closed and you can’t help but wonder what nonsense he was preparing next. Annoyance pinches his every word, the belief he was being the bigger person as clear as day. “I don’t want to fight, Y/n.”

“Fight?” You blink, eyes narrowed as they shoot tiny daggers at his blonde head. “I only wanted to talk! But I forgot you hate talking to me, so let’s just drop it.”

Before you can even process it, Hyunjin removes his seatbelt and swings the car door open, preparing to step out. Your hand reaches for his in an instant, eyes wide as sadness begins overflowing the usual colour, the fear of abandonment surging through you at an alarming pace. “What are you – “

“Let’s talk.”

You let go, reluctantly, and his door slams shut, the loud sound helping you snap out of it and recognize your surroundings. He has driven you home, car parked in the usual spot he used every time he came to visit – his spot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling yourself together before following him, not wanting to miss such an opportunity no matter how much your heart hurts.

Unbeknown to you, as soon as your door closes and you begin walking away in the opposite direction, two heads full of curiosity shoot up, undetected thanks to the car’s tinted windows.

“Phase one, complete!” Seohyun cheers, raising her dainty hand for a high fives Felix returns with a chuckle.

“I admit, I’m impressed.” He nods, eyes glued to his two friends outside who were currently studying each other with keen interest, unsure of where to start. “How did you know this would happen?”

“I didn’t” She shakes her head, fishing a hair tie out of her bag, suddenly as sober as one could be. “I just knew Y/n wouldn’t be able to keep silent, especially after you gave her the opportunity to ask about his injuries. They’re too obsessed with each other to shut up or keep their hands to themselves. You saw for yourself.”

Felix looks amused, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “You really do have a lot of faith in this plan of yours, don’t you?”

“Duh. Why wouldn’t I?” She smiles around the hair tie, twisting her long hair into a bun. “Just wait and see, I’ll have you calling me Cupid by the end of it all.”

He raises a brow, tearing his gaze away from the two when he starts to feel like he’s intruding. “And when does it end?”

“When they get back together, silly.”

“Sure. But in what time frame?”

“What do you mean?” Seohyun tilts her head, not quite getting his new line of concerns.

“Your whole plan is solely dependent on the conversation they’re having right now. What if they fight and nothing changes? Things might get worse and then you won’t be able to get them in the same room anymore, let alone back together.”

She pauses, lips thinning as the gears in her brain get back to work. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage no matter what.”

Felix is surprised by her determination, not expecting anyone to go to such lengths for a relationship that wasn’t their own. Y/n has found such a great friend in Seohyun, he’s glad she managed to open up and create new, genuine bonds while he was away. “Yeah? Even if they fight and swear to never speak to each other again?”

She nods, not fazed by anything he’s saying. “Yeah, wanna bet?”

Felix throws his head back, laughing loudly. “Bet on their relationship? Seohyun, that’s fucked up.”

“Bet on my amazing matchmaking skills, goofy!”

He wipes invisible tears from his eyes, freckles still sparkling from the faint traces of glitter on his face in the dim light that peeks through the windscreen, providing the night sky with the stars the grey clouds have obscured. “Alright, Seohyun, let’s bet. But if your plan falls through, you have to admit I was right.”

Seohyun frowns, a little offended. “We’re a team. You’re supposed to help me not pray on my downfall.”

“And I will.” He nods, leaning back into his seat while spreading his legs to make himself more comfortable, channelling all of his self-control not to spare the two outside another glance. “But my plan is better.”

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. “Your plan takes too fucking long. I get taking it slow, but if we were to go with what you suggested, they’d only get around to holding hands by this time next year! We need to get a move on right now, Felix.”

“Alright, Miss Cupid.” Without warning, he leans in close, faces mere inches apart as they begin sharing a breath, lowering his voice to fluster her further. “Teach me what love is.”

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the-borgias · 3 months ago

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hi sole! your sharpening is always so soft and pretty, i was wondering if you would be open to share it? hope you are having a wonderful november so far <3

Hi, Anon! Thank you so much <3 Yeah, sure, tutorial under the cut:

What you'll need:

Photoshop (I use Photoshop 2023)

Basic knowledge on how to make gifs

Camera Raw filter installed

Okay so, first of all, I use two different methods depending on the size of the gif. Let's start with the one I use for most of my gifsets which are big gifs (examples: x x x x.)

METHOD #1: Smart Sharpen + Camera Raw

I started using the Camera Raw filter last year and let me tell you, I'm obsessed! It completely changes the game of sharpening. I use this method for all gifs with a 540px width.

We're going to work on timeline so get your gif ready and convert it for smart filters. I'm using this scene from my last set as a base:

Here's the gif after I color it (I usually sharpen my gifs before I color them but for the sake of the tutorial I'm showing you this so you guys can see the difference):

(1) Smart Sharpen Layer: Let's start by adding a Smart Sharpen layer (Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen) with these settings:

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with these settings myself I got them from these sharpening actions forever ago so I don't know which one it is :/. I also wasn't able to find that person's new blog (if they even have one since they've been inactive since 2021) so if anyone knows please let me know and I'll give them proper credit!

Now we're going to go to the 'Layers' panel and click on this little thingy:

This window will pop up and we are going to change the Opacity to 50%.

(2) Camera Raw Filter: Here's where the fun begins. Go to Filter and click on Camera Raw Filter (you'll need to have the plugin installed for it to show up.) I don't know how the Camera Raw window will look like the first time you open it but good thing you only need to change a couple of things!

If it isn't opened yet click on 'Effects' and we're going to change the Texture and Clarity:

Depending on the scene/show/film I'm giffing, or if I want a stronger or softer sharpening, I'll use two different settings, but 99% of the time they are these:

First setting: Texture (+20) Clarity (+10)

Second setting: Texture (+40) Clarity (+20)

As you can see the difference isn't huge but the first setting gives a "softer" look. As I said I'll use one or the other depending on how I see the scene (it's almost always about the vibes yk.)

Feel free to experiment with these two and see what works best for you (although I wouldn't go higher than 40 on texture because the sharpening will look too fake imo.)

Also this filter is soooo good at making low quality videos look 1080p! Every time I've had to use 720p videos the Camera Raw filter has saved me 🫡

METHOD #2: Smart Sharpen

I use this method for smaller gifs. For example, 8 gifs of 268px x 180px sets (like these) or small-ish gifs in complex sets (like the second gifs in this set.)

This process is much simpler since it's the one I explained before but without adding the Camera Raw filter. That's it that's the method. Just a Smart Sharpen layer with the Opacity turned down to 50%.

As I said this method looks best on smaller gifs but to be honest it looks good on big gifs too? Depends on what you like most!

Anyway I hope this was easy to follow and if anyone has any questions please feel free to dm me or send an ask! ♡

#ask #Anon #ps tag #useraljoscha #usermelone #userchibi #usermagic #uservivaldi #userlorna #tuserhol #usercats #userlix #usersavana

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suzukiblu · 3 months ago

Text

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again.

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.”

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids.

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?”

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . .

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever.

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?”

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow.

Tim . . . blinks.

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . .

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–”

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it.

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?”

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process.

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously.

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say.

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .”

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him.

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.”

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred.

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance.

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing.

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really?

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.”

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate.

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point.

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point.

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?”

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . .

Oh Jesus.

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones?

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar.

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.”

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.”

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot.

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?”

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.”

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all.

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way.

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tim confirms.

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about.

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it��s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–”

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red.

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.”

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.”

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . .

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him.

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot.

Jesus.

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that.

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks.

And then he looks down.

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . .

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face.

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip.

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon.

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this.

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss.

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . .

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn.

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.”

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all.

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin.

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly.

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . .

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip.

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion.

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus.

Or Metropolis, at this point.

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought.

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t.

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out.

Or especially those, maybe.

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else.

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . .

Well.

It’s fun, that’s all.

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really.

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience.

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either.

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that.

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or–

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay?

A lot of ways.

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.”

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.”

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.”

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and–

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth.

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–”

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes.

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . .

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be.

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake.

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner.

Robin's loss, Tim thinks.

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still.

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis.

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time.

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city?

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not.

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck.

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor.

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact.

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation.

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes.

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore.

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting.

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK.

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together.

He doesn’t need to breathe that often.

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right?

Well–hopefully, anyway.

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh.

Uh.

Okay.

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little.

Whoops, Tim thinks.

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.”

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.”

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well.

It’s a little tempting, that’s all.

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed.

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.”

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?”

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it.

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets.

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that.

Very, very hard.

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine?

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it.

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless.

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe.

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here.

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering.

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not.

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”.

Yeah, Bruce would not like that.

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?”

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind.

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever.

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick.

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it.

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness.

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically.

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–”

Kon kisses him again.

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear.

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory.

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see.

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling.

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just–

Tim does not finish that thought.

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza.

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?”

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back.

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge.

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing.

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense.

Ever.

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it?

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and–

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying.

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him.

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.”

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. .

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering.

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin.

Frick.

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize.

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him.

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright.

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem.

Kon is so, so damn cute.

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight.

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.”

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack.

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin?

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does.

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on.

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread.

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . .

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below.

Avoiding the street view is good.

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe.

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there.

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six.

Or seven.

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again.

He takes a picture of that too.

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk.

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures.

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!”

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?”

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?”

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . .

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be.

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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eccentricallygothic · 10 months ago

Note

please i need a pedri fanfic where his gf gets horny in public and starts teasing him until he takes her somewhere private and fucks her

I love your stories theyre amazinggg

I am (was) on my period hence huge feelies so I added those to this because I am very tender on Pedri as it is. I also see him as a very dominant and caregiving person as well as lover so I hope you don't mind what I've made of your request and enjoy it <3

| Unusual |

Pairing: Bf!Pedri | Gf!You.

Warning(s): Smut with plot, unprotected p-in-v, d/s undertones (it's literally Pedri), m!dom, f!sub, Daddy kink, suggestive exhibitionism, doggy style, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, creampie, marking, Pedri calling you vida because I am very fond of that idea, caring Pedri, he's also intimidating bc he's Pedri.

Pedri sighs as he arrests your impish wrist in his hand for the umpteenth time today and peels it off his thigh before carrying it back to your knee.

"Vida…" Usually, a stern look is enough for you to mend your ways and start behaving yourself, but today seems to be the day where you decide to grow immunity towards his warnings.

And it usually never comes down to this tone of his because it hardly ever means anything ideal for you.

But you just can't keep your hands to yourself today.

You whine under your breath when he resumes his conversation with Gavi; one of his best mates, again. When you are still not paid the attention that you so desperately crave, you sigh and glance around the table at everyone present.

It is a boring Saturday lunch that the two of you are having with some of your boyfriend's club mates and their girls. You are not to be taken the wrong way. These kinds of things are usually quite fun for you.

The keyword is usually.

Because the exception is days when your mind cannot think of anything other than your man's cock while your insides burn.

The past week was a busy one for Pedri and you are a good girlfriend so you patiently waited, thinking he was gonna give you what you needed most on the night of the big game when he wouldn't have anything left to worry about for a while after. But he was so exhausted when he got home last night that you postponed the fulfillment of your need for the next morning.

Except, you woke up to your love making breakfast and then informing you over it that the boys had invited you two for lunch. If that wasn't messy enough, he had had some errands to run before said lunch which further crushed any hopes of something quick as well.

And now, here you are.

Frustrated, on edge, excited beyond measure, moody, iffy and extremely noncompliant.

Then, on top of it all, the food is taking forever and the conversations are way too mundane for you; a horny girl who was busy needily ogling at her boyfriend.

It isn't your fault, really. He looks too fucking great to resist. You know a shave is probably coming and you love him either way but Pedri looks just so hot with the light stubble a few days of negligence has caused on his handsome face. Then his thick dark hair rests on his forehead in the most perfect way as his naturally stern eyes move along with his strong, manly hands each time he makes a gesture. And the way his lips move when he speaks… Your thighs clench at the memories of all the times they have been between them.

You break against your forced resolve once more when he hums along to whatever Ferran is saying and leans in your direction to pour you a glass of water to drink because you can not track your hydration to save your own life. The sheer dominance in the way he does not break his conservation even once but places the Tumblr in front of you causes a wave of burning hot love to wash over you and then you just can't take it anymore.

Where you had played with his fingers, snuggled into his arm, groped his thigh and then stroked his leg with your foot before, you think fuck all and 'drop' your napkin which just happens to fall between his feet.

"Woopsie" of course, Pedri knows you are up to no good when you bend down to 'fetch' it and place your hand on his knee for support. You take your time with 'finding' said napkin and your hand shamelessly trails to his dick in the meantime, hurriedly taking a fat, mighty squeeze before your claw can be pried off its prey.

Your boyfriend has realized by now to not expect anything innocent from you today because although you are the shy one between the two of you usually, your antics since the moment you took your seats have been of the naughty sort.

Today is a very unusual day indeed.

Pedri stills and stops mid sentence, his whole body stiffening as he realizes what is happening. Your party grows concerned over his sudden silence and his ears redden at the awareness of you not coming back up, instead choosing to remain 'searching' for your napkin while clinging your fingers to his now hard cock like your life depends on it.

"Oh" but of course, the young man is much stronger than you and so your hand is easily manhandled into his. "I see" he pretends as though you have said something to him before standing up and facing your lunch companions. "She needs my help navigating the place for a restroom, we will be right back" the way he cares for you like one would a child is nothing weird for your close friends and family anymore. Pedri helps you out with the smallest of things and the most basic of tasks and that is just the dynamic the two of you share.

However, there is nothing tender in the way he drags you behind him with a firm hold on your wrist. You whimper when you are taken to a deserted hallway and then pushed into some sort of a cctv-less maintenance room because unless Pedri wants whatever he is about to do to you playing on every other news channel by the evening's end, this would have to do for now.

"Tsk, tsk, vida" you gulp as you blink repeatedly to get your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. The door slowly clicks shut behind you and you feel your shoulders jump at the sound due to how quiet it is otherwise. You want to turn around and face your lover, perhaps inquire why he's done what he has done but you're both too intimidated and excited to do so.

Before you can decide what you want to do, his arms snake around your waist from behind to press your back into his chest as his lips brush against your ear. "What am I going to do with you, hm?" A shudder sets off in your bones as his hands begin to re-explore the bumps and crevices of your body.

You instantly relax in his embrace and crane your neck backwards to lean your head against his shoulder. "I- I dunno…" The two of you move in a sync and his lips find the crook of your neck. "W- What are you going to do with me…?" Though you intend for your words to be one of fear and panic, what ends up dripping from them is pure excitement.

Pedri groans before your body is pushed up against the many shelves that are mounted on the middle wall that you face. "I think a lesson in basic manners is a good place to start with" you try your best to feign consternation but the eager way in which you fold your arms over one of the shelves and spread your legs as your boyfriend raises the hem of your skirt from behind gives your intentions away.

"Oh, no!" Yet you push on; so frustrated and needy at this point that any touch from him is good touch for you.

Pedri clicks his tongue before squeezing your panty clad cheeks. "I spoil you too much, don't I, vida?" You let out a soft sound that you subconsciously make when thinking but your boyfriend cuts off your thought process with a loud slap that catches both your cheeks at once.

"Ow!" You found out just a few days into dating him that he was much stronger than you with how effortlessly he lifted heavy things and manhandled you when you got more comfortable around each other. So it always hurts like a bitch when he's in a reproachful mood.

"Already?" He taunts you mockingly and lands another mean spank on your buzzing cheeks. "But vida," your eyes flutter close and you have to slither in a heavy gasp when he drapes himself over you from behind, one hand tracing its way up your side to palm one of your boobs, "I haven't even started with you yet."

"Hnnng, please!" You push your ass backwards to try and turn him on. That is when you realize that he is rock hard already.

Well, that explains the edge in his usually calm and collected tone.

"Being a fussy little brat throughout breakfast" two slaps on each cheek. "Refusing to get out of the shower" you hadn't even realized that you had started 'bratting' out of your ire. You whine and bounce as he settles upon a rhythm. "Scrolling your silly little social media instead of getting ready for lunch" he suddenly yanks your panties off and despite the sting in your backside, you feel your needy hole clench before releasing a thick blob of pure hot arousal. "And then behaving like a perverted little maniac throughout–" the sound that the meeting of his unforgiving fingers with your nether lips -due to the gap that your squirming has caused between your thighs- creates is stunning enough to momentarily mum your boyfriend who is usually a composed know-it-all.

"Hm~!" The sound is tugged out from deep within your vocal cords. Your knees tremble when you feel Pedri's prying fingers worm their way between your crack before he spreads your privates out.

"Geez, vida" his breath is hot on your pucker and the snort he lets out when the sensation causes it to clench unconsciously makes blood rush to your face. "I know you're a horny little thing but fuck have you made a mess?" He can act as judgemental as he wants but you know that he loves every little drop of the need that he makes you feel.

Which is all the time.

You pout and instinctively push yourself closer to his face. "N- Need you… D- Daddy…"

"Need me?" Your teeth trap your bottom lip between them when you feel one of his thumbs inch closer to your sopping cunt. "Where do you need me, baby?"

You whine as your forehead creases. "Y- You know where!"

He chuckles. "I don't think right now is the time when you push your luck, vida" your features push themselves upwards when you feel the tip of his thumb graze against the outline of your pussy lips. You let out an icy whimper in response so he adds; "Come on, if you tell me how you need me I'll give it to you" though he pretends as though he is unaffected by the sight he faces, you can hear the agitated urgency in his voice.

Your hips timidly try to move against his finger that refuses to give you anything beyond enticing yet unfulfilling strokes over your squishy petals. "I- I… n- need you i- in…" You hear clinking behind you but you are too busy in your desperation to find something pleasurable in the thumb that presses against you. "Inm- mypussy,Daddy" the questioning hum that he lets out rings in your ear when he is behind you within the next second and the way in which his cock jabs its way through your eager entrance at the same time causes for your eyes to bulge out.

"What was that, baby?" Pedri has to clamp one of his palms over your mouth to keep you from moaning out loud. The sudden bustle that sounds right outside the wardrobe as if on cue causes him to quickly pull back and fuck into you harder as you clench to aid him. It is greedy and rushed; the both of you aware of how you are dangling by a thin thread but the franticness to devour one another so extreme in your bodies that you want to finish before you are caught.

It is the only goal.

"I couldn't quite catch that" the way he roughly whispers in your ear to avoid detection from the manager who is busy barking orders at the staff outside while wrapping a hand around your hair has you arching your back as you get fucked into the shelf. When you refuse to respond, he has to add with a mean fondling of your boobs; "Come on, vida. Now you know better than to disobey Daddy when he can very easily destroy you for it" your lust-drunk body springs up in alarm.

The executions of his threats are always deadly and edging is not even the last thing that you want right now.

"I…" His cock is too pleasurable inside you as he pushes in before pulling out its length through your tight entrance with each speeding thrust, its girth putting the most knee weakening strain on the band of your pussy as his bulging veins and coarse edges rub against your sensitive walls in a way that causes your head to spin.

Your head is yanked back by your hair. His lips ghost over the skin of your temple that gets overwhelmed by his irregular breathing. "Go on, vida. You're doing so well taking my cock" his other hand parts from your boobs to reach for one of your knees before it is bent to be propped against one of the lower shelves. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shut to clench themselves at how far up you feel him, his thick tip colliding with your special spot as a result. "Say it for me."

"I- I need you i- in my pussy, Daddy!" Your cry is rather loud but neither of you are in the mind to care about that anymore. Your hips tighten when the snapping of his hips escalates to full on pounding and the towels and little bottles placed on the shelves begin to rattle and tumble all over. "Always need you in my pussy, Daddy!" He rewards you with the dipping of his fingers between your thighs.

"Good girl" the digits easily find your squelching cunt and he uses his grip on your hair to pull your head to one side so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

The gliding of his fingers is too much for your desperately worked up and frustrated pussy to handle so when his hand uncurls from your hair to pinch one of your nipples while his teeth nibble on that one sensitive patch of your skin, you can't help but throw your head back to let out a gut wrenching moan.

Your vision fills with neon colors and your hearing declines. The tension within your hips is pulled loose and heat surges through every single knot that has formed in your muscles over the week. Pedri's hot cum that fills you soon after is the perfect end and you finally feel in place after days.

Sex has the opposite effect on the both of you; while it helps Pedri clear his head, yours gets fuzzy instead. So it is him who fixes you up when he decides that he is done with you for now. You meekly stand like a baby– his baby as he pats your disheveled hair down, adjusts your bra and mends your outfit to the best of his ability.

"Look at the mess you have made, vida" you whine and snuggle into his chest so you can hide your flushed face when he points out the wreck that you two have made of the place. Pedri chuckles as he fishes out some compensatory money from his wallet and places the bills on one of the shelves before taking your hand in his and helping you walk back to the table as you happily waddle behind him, senses numb but relaxed. No one says anything or even acknowledges your long absence but they know.

The flaming red hickey on your neck is the evidence to their suspicions.

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thewulf · 10 months ago

Text

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying. “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

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rootedinrevisions · 5 months ago

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Begin Again

SUMMARY: Based on the song Begin Again by Taylor Swift. Just Tyler being a southern gentleman on a blind date to a girl who had written off love after her last relationship. FLUFF

WARNINGS: Mentions of previous toxic relationships.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

The soft hum of the phone vibrating on the kitchen counter pulled her attention away from the sink. She dried her hands on a dish towel, glancing at the screen. Dani.

She sighed, bracing herself as she answered, "Hey, Dani. What's up?"

"Hey! So, I've got something exciting to tell you!" Dani's voice was filled with that infectious enthusiasm that made it impossible to be completely irritated with her, even when she was being pushy.

"Oh no, what now?" She teased, leaning against the counter.

"Don't sound so skeptical! I've got a guy for you."

"A guy?" Her heart sank a little, the memory of her last relationship flashing in her mind. It had been almost eight months since it ended, and the wounds were still fresh. "Dani, I told you, I'm not–"

"Hear me out!" Dani interrupted, her voice taking on that determined edge. "His name is Tyler Owens. He works with me, and he's seriously one of the most down-to-earth guys I've ever met. He's funny, and kind, and honestly, he's just a great guy. I really think you two would hit it off."

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "I don't know, Dani. I've kind of sworn off dating for a while, remember?"

"I know, I know," Dani replied, her tone softening. "But this isn't like your last relationship. Tyler's different. He's got his life together, and he's not the type to play games. Plus, it's just one date. No pressure."

She could feel the walls she'd built around herself starting to crack. Dani had a way of making things sound so simple, so easy. But it wasn't easy. Not after what she'd been through. "I just don't think I'm ready yet."

"I get it, I really do," Dani said, her voice gentle now. "But it's been almost eight months. You deserve to have some fun, to get out there again. Just give it a chance. If it's terrible, you can blame me and never let me set you up again."

There was a long pause as she considered Dani's words. She wanted to say no, to stay in her safe bubble where she didn't have to worry about getting hurt again. But at the same time, she knew she couldn't hide forever. "Fine," she finally said, a sigh escaping her lips. "I'll go. But if he's a weirdo, I'm holding you responsible."

Dani let out a squeal of delight. "Yes! You won't regret it, I promise. I'll text you the details. You're going to have a great time, I just know it."

After hanging up, she stared at her reflection in the window above the sink, a mix of apprehension and resignation swirling in her chest. She'd agreed to the date, but the week ahead was already filling her with doubt.

The days passed slowly, each one bringing with it a new wave of uncertainty. She found herself second-guessing her decision, wondering if she was really ready for this. Her last relationship had left her in pieces, and though she'd been slowly putting herself back together, there were still more bad days than good.

Some days, she'd catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror and see the shadows under her eyes, the lines of worry etched into her forehead. On those days, the idea of going on a date seemed laughable. How could she be ready for something new when she wasn't even sure she was ready for herself?

But then there were the good days. The days when she felt like maybe, just maybe, she could handle this. Dani's words echoed in her mind–she deserved to have some fun, to get out there again. Maybe Dani was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

Still, as the date approached, she felt the weight of doubt pressing down on her. She hadn't been in a good place mentally since the breakup, and the thought of letting someone new into her life was terrifying. But she'd promised Dani, and she wasn't one to break a promise.

The bathroom was filled with the glow of warm light, reflecting off the mirror as she stood in front of it, her makeup half-finished. She stared at her reflection, taking a deep breath to steady the fluttering in her chest. Her heart wasn't racing from excitement, but from the familiar grip of anxiety that always seemed to creep in when she thought about the past.

Her eyes drifted to the pair of high heels resting on the floor beside her. They were sleek, and elegant, and gave her that extra few inches of confidence she knew she'd need tonight. She loved how they made her feel–taller, more poised. But then, as she reached down to pick them up, a memory surfaced, uninvited.

"Why do you always wear those? You know I don't like it when you're taller than me." His voice echoed in her mind, laced with that dismissive tone she had grown to dread. Back then, she would've put the heels back in the closet and reached for the flats, just to avoid another argument. Just to keep the peace.

But tonight was different. Tonight, she was dressing for herself, not for anyone else. She slipped her feet into the heels, feeling the familiar boost in height and the way they made her legs look longer. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she straightened up, admiring her reflection once more. This is who I am, she thought, pushing away the remnants of his voice.

With her makeup finished and her hair styled just right, she turned to leave the bathroom. As she reached the front door, she hesitated for a moment before locking it behind her, as if securing herself away from the memories she didn't want to carry with her tonight.

Stepping out into the cool evening air, she pulled her headphones from her purse and placed them in her ears. She scrolled through her playlist until she found the song she always turned to when she needed a boost–a song that made her feel like she could take on the world.

The music filled her ears, and for a moment, she let herself get lost in the melody, the familiar rhythm soothing her nerves. But then, like a shadow creeping into her mind, she remembered his words. "I don't get why you like this song. It's so...repetitive." He'd said it with that same condescending smirk he always had when he didn't approve of something she enjoyed.

Her steps faltered for just a second, the weight of his disapproval tugging at her. But she forced herself to keep walking, pushing the memory away. She turned the volume up, letting the music drown out his voice. This is my night, she reminded herself. Not his.

As she made her way down the street toward the restaurant, she tried to focus on the music, the city lights, and anything that would keep her mind from drifting back to him. But it was hard. He had a way of lingering in the corners of her thoughts, even when she didn't want him there. Even now, as she tried to move forward, she could feel the invisible strings of the past pulling at her, trying to reel her back in.

But she wouldn't let them. Not tonight.

She walked down the bustling street, her heels clicking against the pavement as she approached the restaurant Dani had chosen. The address was saved in her phone, but she barely needed to glance at it–she knew where she was going.

What she didn't know was whether or not she really wanted to be there. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of past disappointments. Her ex had a habit of being late, often leaving her waiting alone, making excuses that always seemed flimsy in retrospect. Worse, there were times when he wouldn't show up at all, leaving her sitting at a table for two that might as well have been a table for one. Those memories weighed heavily on her, feeding her doubts. She wouldn't be surprised if tonight was just more of the same.

But as she turned the corner and the restaurant came into view, she noticed a man standing outside, leaning casually against the wall. He was tall, with a rugged look that was softened by the easy smile on his face. Cowboy boots, dark jeans, and a button-up shirt. He looked exactly like the guy in the picture Dani had sent her.

He's early? The thought caught her off guard, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what to do with it. She had been so prepared for disappointment that the sight of him waiting for her–ahead of time, no less–was almost disorienting.

As she approached, he looked up, meeting her eyes, and that smile widened. He waved, and she felt a flutter in her chest, a mix of nerves and something else she hadn't felt in a long time. Something that felt like hope.

"You must be Dani's friend," he said, his voice warm and inviting as she reached him.

She nodded, managing a small smile. "Yeah, that's me. And you're Tyler, right?"

"That's right," he said with a grin. "Nice to finally meet you."

He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, she took it. His grip was firm, reassuring. So different from... She quickly pushed the thought aside, not wanting to tarnish this moment with comparisons to the past.

Tyler opened the door for her, gesturing for her to go in first. "Shall we?"

Inside, the diner was cozy, with checkered tablecloths and soft lighting that gave it a warm, inviting feel. As they followed the hostess to their table, Tyler moved ahead slightly and pulled out her chair. It was such a simple gesture, one that might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but to her, it meant something more.

Her ex never pulled out her chair. He barely held doors open for her. Little things like that were always too much trouble for him, or so he'd made her feel. But Tyler did it without a second thought as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't a grand gesture, but it felt like one to her, and she couldn't help but smile as she sat down.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a bit softer than she intended.

Tyler took his seat across from her, brushing it off with a casual wave of his hand. "No problem at all. I'm just glad you made it out tonight."

As they settled in, she realized something–this was different. He was different. The anxiety that had been knotting in her stomach all week began to unravel, just a little, as she started to see Tyler for who he was: someone who was already proving himself to be kind and considerate, something who was a stark contrast to the man she'd been so afraid to find again.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be like before.

The soft clatter of plates and low hum of conversation filled the diner as they sat across from each other, menus in hand. She glanced over the options, feeling the weight of the silence between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, just quiet–a moment of stillness before things really began. They ordered their drinks and quickly decided to share an appetizer, sending the waitress off with their choices.

As the waitress walked away, Tyler turned his attention back to her, a relaxed smile playing on his lips. "So, Dani tells me you're an artist?"

She nodded, feeling a bit of warmth rise to her cheeks. "Yeah, I do graphic design. Mostly freelance."

"That's cool," Tyler said, his eyes lighting up with genuine interest. "I've always admired people who can create things like that. I can barely draw a stick figure."

She chuckled softly, the sound surprising her. It had been a while since she felt this at ease with someone new. "It's not as hard as it looks, once you get the hang of it. Plus, it helps pay the bills."

He leaned in slightly, resting his arms on the table. "So, what kind of projects do you usually work on?"

She hesitated for a moment, expecting the usual disinterest she'd grown accustomed to. But there was something about Tyler's expression–open, attentive–that made her want to share more. "I do a lot of logo designs for small businesses. Sometimes I get to work on branding for local events or create custom illustrations. It's always something different, which I like."

Tyler nodded, his smile widening. "Sounds like you get to be creative and make a living out of it. That's the dream, right?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." She smiled back, a genuine one this time, feeling herself relax even more. "I guess it's kind of like you and the YouTube channel right? You're doing something you love, and get to share it with the world."

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is."

The conversation flowed easily from there. They talked about the quirks of working freelance, the challenges of finding clients, and the freedom that came with her setting her own schedule. Tyler shared stories from his work as a storm chaser, describing the thrill of the chase and the close calls that kept his adrenaline pumping. She found herself leaning forward, hanging on his every word as he recounted the time he and his team were nearly caught in the path of a twister, only to escape with moments to spare.

"And there we were," Tyler said, his eyes wide with excitement, "huddled in this tiny storm shelter with the wind howling outside, thinking we were done for. But when the storm passed, we came out and saw that it had just missed us by a couple hundred yards. It was the closest call to an EF5 that we've ever had."

She laughed, not just at the story, but at the way he told it, with such animated gestures and an infectious energy that made it impossible not to smile. "That sounds terrifying, but also kind of amazing. I don't know how you do it."

Tyler shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. "Well, someone's got to do it. Plus, I get to see some incredible things out there. It's worth the risk."

She found herself smiling again, and it felt good. It felt easy. And that was the most surprising part–how natural it was to talk to him, how quickly the tension she'd been carrying all day seemed to melt away in his presence.

Their drinks arrived, and they clinked glasses, sharing a light-hearted toast to "surviving the week" as Tyler put it. When the appetizer came, they dug in, continuing their conversation without missing a beat.

Tyler kept the conversation going, steering clear of anything too personal or probing. Instead, they exchanged stories about awkward first jobs, favorite movies, and the weird things their friends had done to embarrass them over the years. He was funny, quick with a joke or a witty comment that had her laughing more than she expected to. And when she made a joke–a little self-deprecating comment about her tendency to burn toast–he threw his head back and laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that caught her off guard.

He thinks I'm funny? The thought lingered in her mind, unfamiliar but pleasant. Her ex never really laughed at her jokes, often dismissing them or giving her that condescending smile that made her feel small. But Tyler...Tyler laughed as if he meant it like he actually found her amusing. And that made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time–validated, seen.

As the evening went on, she realized how much she was enjoying herself. She wasn't overthinking every word, wasn't second-guessing every response. It was just...easy. Comfortable. She hadn't expected that, and the realization both thrilled and scared her. Maybe this could be different. Maybe he really is different.

They were halfway through their meal when she caught herself smiling, genuinely smiling, and it struck her just how rare that had become. Maybe I needed this, she thought, taking another sip of her drink. Maybe this is exactly what I needed.

As the dinner wound down, the waitress approached their table with a polite smile. "Are you ready for the check?"

Tyler nodded, glancing briefly at her before turning back to the waitress. "Yes, please."

"Will that be on one check or two?" the waitress asked, pen poised over her notepad.

Before she could say anything, Tyler answered, "One check will be fine." He reached for his wallet without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She watched him hand over his card, feeling a small flutter of surprise. It wasn't that she expected anything different, but it still felt...odd. He didn't even ask. Her ex always made a point of splitting the bill, an unspoken rule that she'd grown accustomed to over the years. They had never had just one check between them, as if even that small gesture of unity was too much to ask. But Tyler paid for dinner like it was nothing like it was just what he did.

When the waitress returned with the receipt, he signed it and stood up, offering her a hand. She accepted it, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers as he helped her out of the booth.

As they stepped outside, the cool November evening air wrapped around her, causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine. She wished she had thought to bring a jacket, but in her nervousness, it had slipped her mind.

Without missing a beat, Tyler shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. "Here, take this."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "Are you sure? Won't you be cold?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

She pulled the coat tighter around herself, feeling the residual warmth from his body heat. It was such a simple gesture, but it meant more to her than she could easily put into words. He gave me his coat, she thought, marveling at the difference. Her ex had never done anything like that, not once. She couldn't even recall a time when he'd offered, let alone insisted.

They started walking towards his car, the conversation flowing easily between them. Tyler pointed out the constellation of Christmas lights twinkling from a nearby shop window, and she found herself smiling, genuinely enjoying the moment.

As they strolled, she almost mentioned her ex, the words on the tip of her tongue. It was such an ingrained habit now, to measure every man she met against that old standard, to compare and contrast and remember all the ways she'd been let down. But before she could speak, Tyler started talking about his family's Christmas traditions, the movies they watched every year without fail. The conversation turned light and nostalgic, and she found herself laughing along with him.

Maybe I don't need to bring him up, she thought. Maybe I don't need to talk about the past at all.

For the first time in eight months, she felt that pull, that desire to leave what was behind her exactly where it belonged–in the past. She looked over at Tyler, his smile easy and warm, and she felt a flicker of something new. Something hopeful.

The night had settled into a comfortable quiet as they left the restaurant, walking side by side. The cold air nipped at her cheeks, and she pulled Tyler's coat tighter around her, savoring the warmth. They approached the corner where she usually turned to walk home, but before she could say anything, Tyler stopped and looked at her.

"It's freezing out here," he said, concern lacing his voice. "Let me drive you home."

She hesitated, instinctively pulling back. "Oh, you don't have to do that. It's not far, really."

He gave her a gentle, reassuring smile. "I know, but I'd feel better if you weren't out here in the cold. Please, let me give you a ride."

His politeness, his genuine care for her comfort–it was all so different. She nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Okay. Thank you."

They walked back to his car, and he opened the passenger door for her, waiting until she was comfortably seated before closing it gently. The car was warm, and she relaxed into the seat as they drove, the conversation continuing in its easy, unforced way.

When they arrived at her apartment, Tyler parked the car and got out, walking around to her side to open the door. He offered his hand to help her out, and she took it, stepping onto the sidewalk with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said softly, glancing up at him. "For the ride. And dinner."

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice warm. "I had a great time tonight."

They walked up the steps to her front door, and she felt a familiar pang of anxiety. This was the moment when things usually soured, where her ex would barely say goodbye before heading back to his car if he even bothered to get out at all. But Tyler stood with her, not rushing, not pushing for anything more than a simple goodnight.

"Well," he said, a touch of hesitation in his voice, "I guess this is goodnight."

She nodded, her heart beating a little faster. "Yeah, I guess so."

He smiled at her, and for a moment, it felt like the world stood still. He wasn't rushing to leave, and he wasn't pressing her for anything. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. "Goodnight," he said, his voice soft and sincere.

"Goodnight," she echoed, her hand lingering on the door handle. She watched him turn and start walking back to his car, her mind racing. He was already so different from what she was used to, so thoughtful, so kind. For the past eight months, she had convinced herself that all love ever did was break, burn, and end. But tonight felt different. Tonight, it felt like something new was beginning.

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