#the way he wants the world to be and the ends he will go to and the people he will hurt to uphold it

[rafesangelita]

⊹₊⟡⋆♡ oh, nothing! just bitchy!kook!reader walking around the house in nothing but rafe’s favorite heels after he decides talking on the phone with his friends is more important than paying attention to his girl..

warnings: bratty behavior, rafe being sexually frustrated lol, groping, heavy teasing, suggestive ending

a/n: just a little something on the shorter side because these 2k+ wc fics have done their number on me lol

you rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips as rafe’s laughter echoed from upstairs. he has been on a three way call with kelce and topper for going on an hour now, and while you usually didn’t care, he had you waiting for him downstairs in full glam and an empty tummy. this is what you get when you try to play nice and put your catty attitude to the side for one night; a negligent boyfriend who had no care for anything else in the world except for what him and his idiot friends were rambling on about. your impatience is what lead you to be in the position you were in right now; naked and ignoring rafe as he followed you around the house, begging you to give him the slightest amount of attention.

“we can go get dinner now, okay?! i was just listening to topper vent about ruthie, i swear i wasn’t ignoring you!” he refrained from stopping you in your tracks, his cock stirring in his pants when he watched the way your hips swayed with every step. “oh, really?” you spun around, your boyfriend’s eyes falling down to your bare chest, “not responding to me when i called you downstairs like a thousand times wasn’t you ignoring me?” rafe opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when you walked away from him again. this time he watched you round the corner of the hallway, making your way into the kitchen before cursing under his breath.

you could tell you were driving rafe insane by the way he was gripping the kitchen island, his knuckles white with tension. “so, what? you’re just going to walk around like that?” he asked, his eyes burning into your skin. you shrugged, bending over the counter with a look in your eyes that made him want to wrap a fist in your hair and take you right there. “too bad you were busy with your friends earlier.. i actually wanted to be the sweet girlfriend tonight and give you dessert after dinner. oh well..” you pouted, walking past him as you flipped your hair over your shoulder. why were you like this? toxic, bitchy, mean, but still irresistible, sexy, and perfect?

“it won’t happen again, i promise.” rafe was hypnotized as he watched you walk into the living room, your heels clicking against the floor as your boyfriend pleaded with you to let him take you upstairs. “maybe the neighbors would appreciate the view a lot more than you do—” you barely touched the curtains before your boyfriend snatched you away from the large window. “that’s enough.” he said through gritted teeth, his gruff voice just right below your ear. suppressing the butterflies from fluttering in your tummy, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “that poor excuse of an apology isn’t gonna get you anywhere.” rafe chuckled, his hands feeling like fire on your hips.

“let me show you how sorry i am..” he turned you around, his cock aching as he could now feel your tits pressing against him through his shirt. he was making it really hard for you to keep up your act. “acting like a little brat, i know exactly what you need right now.” you gasped when you felt him take a handful of your ass, his bruising grip only exciting you further. “and what is that?” you leaned in, feeling the last of your resolve crumble when he took your hand to feel him through the denim of his jeans. “it’s so hard for you, baby,” he nearly moaned, lowering his tone, “and i’m still so hungry..”

[p0orbaby]

Getting You Alone Isn’t Easy

summary: two reckless lovers, one ill-timed call, and zero chance of stopping

warnings: suggestive but not explicit

a/n: the length of time it took me to decide on a title for this was painful

word count: 1.5k

-

You’re draped over Alexia, straddling her in the faint, golden light that sneaks through the blinds. Her hands grip your hips in that familiar way, like you’re the last thing keeping her from floating off. You’re gasping, breathless, clinging to the taut warmth of her body beneath you as though the world is ending and this is your only way to stay grounded. Her hands, usually gentle, are digging in hard enough to leave bruises, but she’s sweet like that, knows exactly when you need to feel it. You can almost picture the bruises they’ll leave behind, thumbprints like violet ink smudged across your skin, each one a reminder that she was here, and that she wanted you badly enough to leave a mark.

It’s been a day, one of those long ones that started with a sun-blinded hangover, progressed into a searing headache, and then—once you forced yourself to actually acknowledge the calls you missed last night—moved rapidly toward near apocalyptic levels of panic.

Somewhere between the drink you had to “take the edge off” and the fourth one you drank without even thinking about it, Alexia texted you, and it felt like a solution, or maybe a distraction, though those two things are the same to you most of the time.

So here you are, in the thick of it, your bodies wrapped around each other, your mind slipping into that strange, dreamlike state where it feels like your skin isn’t your own. Everything’s heightened—her touch, her scent, the whisper of her breath on your neck. You’re right at the edge, teetering, and then—

Your phone rings.

Of course it fucking does.

At first, you ignore it. The vibrating hum is muffled against the sheets, barely noticeable above your own heartbeat, but then it rings again, louder this time, insistent. It’s like a drill sergeant at dawn, determined to ruin whatever peace you’d managed to find. You freeze, eyes half-closed, but Alexia’s hands don’t loosen. She’s looking up at you with an expression that’s half bemused, half annoyed, as if she’s only just managed to convince herself that you’re here, and now you’re about to ruin it with some petty, buzzing bit of reality.

You almost get through it, on the cusp letting it go to voicemail or hurling the damn thing into the bottom of your Birkin where it belongs. But something in you—a survival instinct, maybe—forces you to reach for it, fumbling as you do so. Alexia’s eyes follow your hand, then flick back up to yours with an exasperated look that says, Really? Now?

You manage to grab it without rolling entirely off her, though it’s a close call. Her hands move down to your waist, still holding you in place as you glance at the screen, and of course, it’s George. It’s always George. You swear he has some kind of sixth sense, an uncanny ability to detect the exact moment you’ve slipped into some semblance of happiness, so he can yank you back with some catastrophe or another. The man is a walking interruption.

“Don’t,” Alexia murmurs, pulling you back to the matter at hand, her voice soft but firm, her hands slipping up to your ribs with a kind of slow, determined patience. But you know better. If you don’t answer now, he’ll only call back five more times, and each time, he’ll sound more panicked, until he finally leaves you a voice note that’s somehow worse than the call itself.

“I have to,” you mutter, as you answer, attempting to clear your throat and sound like you weren’t just seconds away from giving in to everything she was doing to you.

“Hello?” you say, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness out of your voice.

George’s voice crackles through the speaker, shrill and brimming with that particular brand of theatrical urgency agents reserve for “crises.” He sounds faintly nasal, the sort of voice you imagine would belong to a man with an allergy to anything fun. You imagine him sitting in his cold, grey office somewhere in Soho, every surface immaculate and white, his expression permanently fixed into a grimace of perpetual disappointment.

“You need to sit down,” he says, voice pitched in that “I’m barely holding it together” tone that never actually means anything good.

“I am sitting,” you manage, though it comes out sounding more like a gasp than anything else, because Alexia—God bless her—is now trailing her lips along the column of your throat, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re very much occupied now. In fact, you’re convinced she’s doing this on purpose, her eyes meeting yours with that devilish glint that says she’s fully aware of what she’s doing. You pull back and give her a look—part warning, part exasperation—but she only grins, slowly, like she’s daring you to keep up the charade.

George doesn’t miss a beat. “There are photos,” he says, each syllable dripping with an ominous weight that would make anyone else think he was delivering news of a tragedy.

“Photos?” you ask, as Alexia’s hand slips a little higher, her fingers just grazing the edge of your panties. You’re barely holding it together, biting down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. “George, there are always photos. What are you on about?”

He sighs, the kind of exasperated sigh he reserves for when he’s forced to explain the intricacies of your own life to you. “Not just any photos,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow makes everything sound worse. “These are… explicit”

“Explicit?” you repeat, your voice catching because Alexia’s lips are trailing across your collarbone now, her fingers dangerously close to places that make it impossible to sound remotely professional. “Define explicit, George”

He pauses, a beat of silence so thick with hesitation you can practically see his nervous, tight-lipped expression. “You and Alexia. On that yacht. Full-on… everything. Let’s just say someone with a very long-range lens took a rather extensive interest in your… activities”

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do, it’s like being doused in cold water. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the sweat on your skin, Alexia’s fingers toying with you, her mouth now having moved to the swell of your exposed breast. You can’t tell if you’re more annoyed or amused by the fact that, somehow, your most private moments have once again become public property.

Alexia looks up at you once more, eyes glinting with something between curiosity and enjoyment, as if she can tell exactly what George is saying and finds the whole thing hilarious.

“So you’re telling me,” you say, trying to sound casual, though it’s hard with Alexia’s hands and mouth all over you, “that someone out there’s publishing wildlife documentaries of my sex life?”

“Don’t be flippant,” George snaps, though his voice cracks a little, like he’s barely holding it together. “This is serious. The Daily Mail already has them. And they’re… well, they’re explicit. The kind of thing they’d plaster on the front page if they could get away with it”

For a moment, you consider the insanity of it all—your life, reduced to some tawdry tabloid spread, the kind of thing boring nosey housewives read in supermarket queues. You imagine the headlines, the breathless, shocked tones they’d use to describe “the scandal.” Never mind the fact that you’re not the first celebrity to get caught like this, nor will you be the last. But still, it stings in that strange, twisted way fame always does, a reminder that your life isn’t really your own.

“I’m sorry, George,” you say, barely stifling a moan as Alexia’s hand moves just right, making it almost impossible to keep up the conversation. “But I don’t exactly have a solution for you right now”

George lets out a strangled noise. “Well, you bloody well better come up with one. Unless you want the world to know what you look like without your clothes on. Which, I might add, is not exactly… career-friendly”

You stifle a laugh, more out of habit than anything else. Alexia’s fingers are moving with that slow, calculated patience she knows drives you mad, and you can feel your resolve slipping. “Look, George,” you say, your voice strained, “I’ll call you back. After I… handle things”

“What? You can’t just hang up on me!” he practically shrieks, but you’re already pressing ‘end call’ and tossing the phone aside.

The phone lands back somewhere on the bed, George’s panicked voice cutting off abruptly. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Alexia lets out a low, throaty laugh, her eyes alight with amusement. She reaches her free hand up, trailing her fingers along your jaw, and there’s something wicked in her smile that makes you forget the world outside the bedroom.

“Where were we?” you murmur, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss, slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else.

“Right here,” she whispers, her voice soft but possessive, and you can’t help but smile as she pulls you back down, your bodies tangling once more as you lose yourself in her warmth.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (06)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 5.3k

Aliyah's Notes: after the calamity of ch5 i present u ch6.... enjoy it. or not. AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING 🔥😩😅😨

It's been days. Or weeks? You didn’t even know anymore. The calendar on your phone kept reminding you, but you stopped counting. Maybe if you ignored the world long enough, it’ll forget you existed. Maybe if you stayed in this apartment, you could disappear into these four walls like you were never here in the first place.

Numbers. You used to count them, obsess over them, keep track of every passing hour. But now, time feels... irrelevant. What’s the point of knowing how long you’ve been sinking when no one’s coming to pull you out?

The silence feels... safe. No one to judge you. No one to see the mess you’ve become. It’s funny, though—people always see what they want to see. The headlines called you a goddess, an untouchable force of beauty and success. But what would they say if they knew the truth? That the girl in their glossy magazines could barely stand to look at herself anymore.

You hated this. The lying, the pretending. Nina thought you were just going through a rough patch, but she didn’t know how deep the cracks went. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be this anymore—broken, fragile, teetering on the edge again. You swore you’d never come back to this place. But it’s funny how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how fast the darkness creeps in when no one’s watching.

No one’s watching.

Maybe that’s for the best. Let them keep seeing the version of you they wanted to see—the confident supermodel, the girl who had it all. Let them believe the lie, because the truth? The truth was ugly. The truth was you’ve been staring at your phone for days, hoping—no, needing—for a message, for something from him.

But nothing.

He was in Missouri. Working, you guessed. You didn’t even know when he was coming back. He didn’t say. 

You hated him for that. But you hated yourself more for caring. For letting him in, even when you knew better. For thinking, for just one second, that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between you, beneath all the lies you told the world.

But none of it was real. Not the dating, not the smiles, not the person they thought you were. You were a fraud. A perfect, golden fraud wrapped up in designer clothes and empty promises. And the worst part was, you were too tired to fight it anymore. Maybe this was who you were now. A girl who hid in her apartment, waiting for the world to forget she existed.

Or maybe it already happened.

The sound of the door creaking open started you, pulling you out of the spiral you’ve been sinking into. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. No one else had the key to your apartment beside her.

“Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Nina’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “This is the third time this week. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

You didn’t respond.

Nina stromed in, slamming the door behind her, and you heard her heels clacking on the floor as she made her way to the living room. “You’re not answering your phone. You’re not responding to emails. You missed three shoots! People are asking questions, Y/N. What do you think I’m supposed to tell them?”

You stayed silent, curling deeper into the couch. Maybe if you didn’t look at her, she’ll go away. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint that you didn’t want to be saved.

But Nina wasn’t the type to back off. “No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me, not today. You need to get up. You need to fix this, Y/N. You think you can just hide away forever? Is that the plan? Because let me tell you, honey, the world won’t wait for you to get your shit together.”

She stood in front of you now, hands on her hips, glaring down at you like a disappointed mother. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and you could tell by the tension in her jaw that she’s been worrying. 

“Talk to me, honey,” she said, her voice lower now. “This isn’t you. You don’t just disappear like this. What happened? Is it Rafe? Is it work? Are you back to…” her voice trailed off, but the question hanged in the air, heavy and unspoken. 

You couldn’t look at her. The shame curled in your chest, making in hard to breathe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how badly you’ve relapsed, how badly everything felt like it was slipping out of control again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“When’s the last time you even showered? Eaten something decent? Your career’s on the line. Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. You can’t just… give up like this.”

Her words hit like slaps, each one stinging, but you still didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Nina huffed, pacing now, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, I don’t care. But whatever it is, you don’t get to throw your life away because of it. You’re stronger than this, Y/N. I know you are. So why the hell are you letting this break you?”

You flinched at the word “break.” Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re already broken, shattered into a million pieces, and you didn’t even know how to start putting yourself back together.

Nina crouched down in front of you, her voice softening, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

For a moment, you almost did. You almost told her everything—the text, the relapse, the endless void you’ve been sinking into. But the words caught in your throat, choking you. What’s the point in talking when nothing will change?

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You think I haven’t seen you like this before? You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

She stood, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You need to snap out of it. Because in five days, you’re getting engaged to Rafe Cameron, whether you like it or not. And a week after that, you’re walking down the aisle. You can’t afford to fall apart now.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The engagement. The wedding. The lies. It all felt so suffocating, so inevitable.

Nina crossed her arms, her voice firm. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, you’re going to shower, and you’re going to pull yourself together. Because tomorrow, you’ve got a charity event with Rafe, and you’re going to smile for the cameras and make everyone believe that you’re still that perfect, golden girl they love.”

You wanted to scream at her, tell her you couldn't do it, that you didn't even know how to pretend anymore. But instead, you nodded numbly, sinking deeper into the fog that had settled over your mind.

Nina sighed, her voice softening again as she headed toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I swear, Y/N, if you're still in this state when I get here, I will personally drag you to that charity event."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone with the weight of everything she'd just said.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you were supposed to pretend like everything was fine when every part of you was falling apart. You could still hear Nina’s voice in your head, telling you to pull yourself together, to be the golden girl everyone expected you to be. 

You dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy. Your legs felt weak, and your mind feltl worse. Everything was numb, but somehow you still felt the pain. You stumbled into the bathroom, turning the water on without thinking. The cold spray hit your skin like tiny needes, and you stood there for a while, trying to let the string wake you up. But it didn’t work—you were still in that fog.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. It didn’t matter. You grabbed the first thing you saw—a plain black sweater, loose and oversized, and a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit right anymore. You didn’t even try with your hair, just pulled it back into a bun. No makeup. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared what you looked like today.

When you got to the office, the tension hit you the moment you walked through the door. Your stomach twisted as you made your way down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your chest tightening with every breath. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t. But as you pushed open the door to the conference room and saw him sitting there—Rafe, looking like he hadn’t been bothered by a single thing—you felt the anger bubbling up, hot and sharp.

It started as a familiar ache that had been building ever since the night he walked out of your apartment without a word. Two weeks. Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights spent waiting for a text that never came, hoping for even the smallest explanation, something to make sense of the hollow space he’d left behind.

Day 1. Monday, 2:42 AM

You: “Hey. Are you home? LMK, just to be safe.”

Day 2. Tuesday, 8:18 AM

You: “I’m still so confused about what happened last night, but let’s talk when you have a minute.”

Day 3. Wednesday, 5.32 PM

You: “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it! I thought we were good, what the hell?”

Day 4. Friday, 11:04 PM

You: “It’s been days and I still don’t understand why you left like this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 3:27 PM

You: “Fuck you. I don't know why I keep texting. I know you’re seeing my texts, even though I’m on delivered. Just tell me if you’re done with this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 10:41 PM

You: “Why am I acting like I’m the one who fucked up? I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me like I was nothing, and your only explanation was a shitty rom-com excuse. I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

Day 5: Sunday, 11:36 PM

You: “I hope you rot in your shit ass apartment, but trust that I will show up to one of your stupid games with a sign that says “Small Dick Ghoster” in big, glittery letters. And I hope Chiara will hug you so hard that she’ll end up strangling you to death. Fuck you, again!”

And there he was, sitting there like none of it had happened, like you were still just strangers playing a game. His posture relaxed, that effortless confidence radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him, completely indifferent.

It infuriated you—the ease with which he moved on, the way he could look so composed, so completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t abandoned you in that moment when you were raw and vulnerable. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

Every part of you screamed to confront him, to demand an explanation for the silence, the absence, the complete disregard. You could feel the hurt clawing up from your chest, tangling with the anger that burned hotter with each passing second. He was so close, but somehow, he felt miles away.

So instead, you steeled yourself, locking down the hurt, burying it beneath the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on you, wouldn’t give him the power to know just how much his absence had shattered you. No—he would get nothing from you. Not a word, not a glance, not a single sign of the turmoil raging inside you.

You walked past him without a word, each step heavy with the weight of the anger you swallowed down. Let him sit there, pretending like nothing was wrong. Let him think he could ignore you, dismiss you, erase you from his life without consequence. Because you would make sure he felt every bit of the coldness he had left you with, every ounce of the hurt he’d carved into you.

Ignoring him was the only power you had left, the only way to keep the anger from spilling over, from breaking you down entirely. And if he thought he could continue on as if the past two weeks hadn’t happened, then he was going to learn just how wrong he was.

Nicolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Hi, you two—we’ve got a lot to go over, and the timeline is tight. The engagement is in five days, and the wedding is scheduled for a week after that. So we need to finalize the details today—food, decorations, dresses, the guest list…”

You couldn’t focus. The words blurred together a dull hum in the background as you stared down at the table. Rafe said something, his voice casual, but you tuned it out. You didn’t want to hear him.

Sabrina spoke next, her tone brighter, more enthusiastic. “The audience is really enjoying you together, by the way. Ever since your date, and especially after the pictures from Kelce’s party where you two were cuddled up? People are in love with the idea of you and Rafe together. So, good job, guys.”

Your stomach churned at her words. Cuddled up. Like you were some happy couple.

“And tomorrow,” she continued. “You’ll need to make another public appearance together. It’s a charity event for cancer awareness. A perfect opportunity for more good press. The public is expecting you two to show up as the perfect couple—affectionate, in love, all of that.”

In love.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. This was the part where you were supposed to smile and nod, agree to hold his hand and play the role of the devoted future fiancée. But all you felt was the tension building, the weight of the lie pressing down on you until it was suffocating.

Rafe shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you still didn’t look at him. Rafe felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. You looked… different. Disheveled, almost. Your sweater hung losely over your shoulders, practically swallowing your frame, and he could see dark shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You seemed smaller somehow, your usual energy muted, replaced by something tense and fragile.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands, noticing how your fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting and tugging at your sleeves. Your leg was bouncing under the table, tapping out an anxious rhythm that only he seemed to notice. Every small movement, every nervous habit—you looked like you were holding yourself back, like there was something simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free.

You still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t given him a single glance, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You’d been messaging him, and he’d been… well, avoiding it, convincing himself it was for the best. But seeing you now, seeing the wear and tear he’d left behind, he couldn’t shake the guilt.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d expected you to be angry, maybe annoyed. But this? You looked worn down, frayed at the edges, like you've been carrying a weight no one else could see.

You didn’t remember most of the details they were talking about. Your mind drifted in and out of focus as they went on about the guest list, the food, the decorations. All you heard were words—dresses, flowers, venues. None of it felt real. It was as if you were watching someone else’s life unfold in front of you, just sitting there, an outsider in your own story.

“The wedding will be televised, of course,” Sabrina says, flipping through her notes, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of it all. “And with a full press presence. We want every detail to reflect both of your public personas. Elegant, grand, but also with an intimate, personal feel—something that tells a story about who you both are.”

Who we were. I almost laughed at the irony. I didn't even know who I was right now, much less who we were.

“We were thinking of something grand but elegant. A modern luxury wedding. White roses, lots of gold accents. Maybe something at the estate in the Hamptons?”

You glanced at the board, at all the glossy, pristine images of weddings that could belong to anyone. None of them felt like you.

“Do you have any preferences?” Sabrina asked, smiling like this is the most exciting conversation in the world. “Colors, themes, anything that’s important to you?”

"Actually," you finally broke your silence, your voice coming out quietly, but the words landing heavily in the room. "I’d like the ceremony to reflect... my background." You could feel Rafe's eyes on you again, but for once, you didn’t care. This wasn’t about him.

Sabrina blinked, taken aback, but she quickly nodded, jotting down notes as if she were open to whatever you had in mind. "Of course, that could be beautiful. Were you thinking about specific details?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain if they’d take you seriously, but you pressed on. "Yes. The colors… the decorations. I want there to be vibrant colors—not just whites and pastels, but deep greens, maroons, and gold. The way we’d have them back home. And for the flowers… jasmine and roses. That’s what we use for weddings where I’m from. I want it to feel like... like part of my heritage."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to care about any of this. But he just nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "We can definitely arrange that. A traditional, multicultural theme would add a unique touch to the event, I think. It’ll definitely resonate with the press and the viewers."

You didn’t care if it resonated. It wasn’t for them—it was for you, a sliver of authenticity in this whole farce.

Then Sabrina’s voice broke into your thoughts. "And of course, the dress. Have you given any thought to what you want? Or would you like us to arrange for a stylist to go over options with you?"

Your heart twisted at the mention of the dress. The one thing you’d always imagined as a girl—the dress you’d wear at your own wedding. Only, you’d never thought it would be for this.

"I’d like to include some of my culture there too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... a fusion. Something elegant and modern but with hints of traditional South Asian bridal elements. Like embroidery or... beadwork. Maybe even henna if it wouldn’t look out of place."

Sabrina seemed to light up at the idea. "That would be stunning. We can definitely work with that! I know several designers who specialize in fusing traditional and contemporary styles."

She was still talking, but the air around you felt thicker, as though the room was closing in. You could sense Rafe’s gaze without even looking at him, the weight of his silence pressing into you.

You zoned out again, your mind wandering back to the last wedding you attended. The colors, the music, the way the bride’s lehenga shimmered under the sun as she walked down the aisle. You’d always thought your wedding would be like that—full of life and celebration, surrounded by people who loved you.

Instead, you were planning a wedding for the cameras, for people who didn’t know you.

The sudden, sharp knock on the door cut through the stillness like a jolt of cold water. Your head shot up from the pillow, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, the world felt like it was still. The quiet of your apartment, the thick fog still clouding your thoughts. You didn’t want to get up. You didn’t want to face the world outside of this bed, this cocoon of emptiness you’d wrapped yourself in for days.

Another knock, this one louder, more demanding.

“Y/N!” Nina’s voice came through the door, sharp and impatient. “You better not still be in bed, because I swear—”

The door swung open before you could even make a sound, Nina storming in, wearing the same determined, unbothered expression she always had when she was on a mission. You tried to bury your face back into the pillow, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand reached down, grabbing the covers and yanking them off with force. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin, the warmth of the blankets yanked away along with any shred of comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Get up.” Nina wasn’t asking. She was commanding. “You’ve got a charity event today, and Rafe is already at the venue. We don’t have time for your pity party.”

You squinted at her, still half-wrapped in your sheets like a burrito, and mumbled from underneath the pillow, “Can’t you just… I don’t know… handle it for me? Go in my place. You’d look great in a gown.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d look amazing, but you and I both know I don’t have that kind of charisma.”

“True,” you admitted, peeking out from under the pillow. 

Nina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Exactly. Now, up. I’m not playing with you today.”

Before you could even protest, she yanked the covers off you with a dramatic flourish, leaving you to shiver in nothing but your oversized T-shirt. It was a miracle you didn’t roll off the bed in the process.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” Nina didn’t wait for you to even get a grip on reality before heading straight for your closet, rummaging through your clothes like she was on a mission. “You’re going to look so good today that Rafe might just start thinking you actually like him.”

You shot her a glare that could’ve frozen water, but she just smirked, tossing a black dress onto the bed like she was some fashion fairy sent to save you from yourself.

“I’m not going,” you said flatly.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Nina threw a matching pair of heels onto the bed with the same casual flick of the wrist she used to dismiss your protests. “Because you will look stunning, and you will show up.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone keep trying to drag me out of bed? It’s like I’m the world’s most reluctant celebrity.”

“Because you are.” Nina grinned, holding up your dress like she was presenting the Holy Grail. “But, hey, guess what? You’re really good at it. So stop sulking and get your glam on. You’re the star of the show today.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, joy.”

Nina didn’t even flinch. “I’m not asking for a performance. Just put on the damn dress and show up. You can pretend to be miserable, and I’ll pretend I’m not a miracle worker for getting you out of here.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then dragged yourself out of bed with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Oh, by the way, Aisha’s going to be there. She practically begged me to make sure you show.”

Your eyes snapped open. Aisha Patel. Your best friend and, quite honestly, the only person in your life who could drag you out of bed with a single text. She’s been your best friend since you’d arrived in the States. She’d been away for five months—longer than ever before—working on some high-profile project in Switzerland. You hadn’t seen her in ages.

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Aisha’s coming?”

Nina smiled smugly. “Yep. She’s flown back for the event. Can you imagine the drama if you don’t show up? She’ll never let you live it down.”

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. “God, I missed her.”

“Me too,” Nina said, her voice softening for just a second. “But you still have to get up. Like now.”

You looked at the dress Nina had already picked out, a sleek white gown that somehow made you feel both glamorous and like you were about to attend a royal gala. “Fine. I’m up. I’m dressed.”

Nina, who was already rummaging through your closet like a pro, grinned. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey,” she noticed your weight loss but decided to not speak on it, in fear it’ll make you relapse… if only she knew. “Chiara’s also going to be there...”

You froze, the mention of Chiara Romano sending a cold shiver down your spine. You’d told Nina everything about the Chiara encounter—her subtle digs, the way she made you feel like you were just another passing phase in Rafe’s life. She’d made things uncomfortable enough at Kelce’s party, and now you had to face her again?

“What? Fucking why?”

“Her father’s the one running the whole damn event,” she explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her or her family because they’re pretty famous, especially in the entertainment and events world. So, get ready for a day full of small talk, fake smiles, and people who will pry into your private life.”

You sighed. “How perfect is that?”

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to shake off the heavy weight of everything swirling in your head. You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time.

You reached for your hair tie, pulling it through your tangled locks. Your hair had grown longer than you remembered, and you decided to tie it up in a messy, yet elegant bun—one that would allow a few soft, curly strands to escape and frame your face. It was casual but chic—classic you. You let a few strands fall loosely, giving the bun a less formal, more effortless vibe. After a moment of satisfaction, you moved on to the makeup.

A soft, dewy glow covered your skin, nothing too dramatic. You didn’t want to feel caked in layers today, just enough to enhance your features. You applied a touch of blush to your cheeks, just a hint, to keep the look fresh. A thin line of mascara lengthened your lashes, and your signature lip combo was the finishing touch. Simple. Comfortable.

As you turned to check yourself one last time, you heard Nina's voice from the other room.

“Y/N! We need to go now. Rafe's texting me and he’s getting antsy. He’s apparently already at the event!”

You sighed, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety settle into your stomach. The mirror reflected a version of you that was ready for the world, but the world, especially tonight, wasn’t ready for this version of you. But as the pressure of the event built up, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty gnawing at you.

When you made your way into the living room, Nina was pacing, her phone glued to her ear. She shot you a quick, approving glance. “Looking good. Let’s go.”

As you grabbed your clutch, ready to face whatever tonight had in store, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat. Was it Aisha? Maybe she’d arrived early, wanting to meet up before the event?

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t Aisha.

It was Rafe.

He was in a suit—sharp, looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end fashion—but his eyes, dark and intense, held something more than just a desire to impress. He had the look of a man who knew he had messed up.

His words hit you before you could even process them. “You look stunning. I wanted to make sure you’re okay... before all this.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart thump a little faster, and you hated yourself for it.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at him. You hadn’t expected him to show up—especially not with that kind of intensity in his eyes.

You exhaled slowly, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, your posture defensive. The audacity of this guy.

“Really?” You scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping up your spine with sharp sarcasm. “Now you care?”

Rafe seemed to falter at that, but he quickly recovered, taking a small step closer, but not enough to make you feel cornered. “I’ve always cared, Y/N. You know that.” His voice was quieter this time, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made your resolve crack.

“Do I?” you shot back, stepping out of the doorway and giving him a once-over, your gaze icy. “Because you sure had a funny way of showing it.”

Rafe winced, a flash of guilt flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I messed up, okay? I should’ve reached out. I didn’t know what to say, but I should’ve just... shown up.”

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering beneath your skin rising again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, not from the sight of him, but from the frustration that had been building over the past two weeks. “You didn’t know what to say? You think showing up fixes two weeks of silence? Just like that?”

He took a step forward, his face tightening, as though he was bracing himself for a confrontation. "I wasn’t sure what to do," he said, his voice lowering. "I thought... maybe you needed space. I thought if I gave you time, it would be better." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the audacity of his words settling like a lump in your throat. “Space?” you asked, your voice low, incredulous. “You thought ghosting me for two weeks would give me space?” 

Rafe’s face twisted in guilt, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let him off the hook.

“Did you at least see my texts?” you demanded, anger rising in your throat.

"Y/N, you’re needed at the car right now!" Nina called, stopping Rafe in his tracks of answering. Before you could walk away, Rafe reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back gently.

"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You stared up at Rafe, your breath caught in your throat, uncertainty swirling in your chest. The air between you two felt charged, a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the balance. Your pulse was racing, but before you could voice any of them, Nina practically shoved you both into the elevator. Her hand pressed the button for the ground floor as she threw your heels at you, the sharp click of the stilettos punctuating the tension.

You caught them on instinct. The elevator descended, and your mind was still spiraling, trying to piece together what the hell was happening. What the fuck—this distance between you and Rafe? 

But just as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a familiar car door slamming outside caught your attention. A quiet thud, followed by the sound of heels clicking against pavement. Your instincts were on alert, an uneasy feeling crawling under your skin.

And when you turned to look, you saw someone stepping out of the car.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to catch up.”

chapter seven

[foxy-eva]

Sweet Dreams

Summary: You fall asleep on Spencer on the way home after a long case

Request: Tired Reader and Spencer who are just co-workers with a lot of chemistry. Reader accidentally falls asleep on Spencer while they’re on the plane after a really long case

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Category: Fluff 

Content Warning: none

Word Count: 700

Masterlist

A saccharine smile was painted over your face when you found your seat right beside Spencer on the plane. There were many seats still available but his nearness was so tempting that you couldn’t resist. 

Softly, you asked, “Mind if I sit here?” 

“No uh… Not at all,” Spencer mumbled, already overwhelmed with your proximity. 

The heat your body radiated warmed Spencer’s skin, making him yearn to feel even more of it. Ever so slightly, he leaned closer until his arm was almost touching yours. Basking in your nearness was everything he longed for, what he dreamed about at night and what kept him going through all the hardship of his job. 

Something so seemingly small as you unintentionally brushing over his hand when taking a file from him had the power to fuel his reverie about you for weeks. He wondered if you had already noticed how often he sought out your company throughout the workday. Certainly the rest of the team must have caught onto it by now. 

They were profilers after all. 

Derek sat down across from you, smirking at the man beside you when he noticed the rosy shade on his cheeks. “Shut up,” Spencer whispered before he even had a chance to say anything. 

Turning your head, you looked at him with confusion written over your face. “What?” you murmured.

“Not you,” Spencer clarified and you decided against asking more questions. 

The last case had been exhausting and you were glad you could finally relax for once. Leaning back further into your seat, you quickly noticed the harbingers of sleep approaching. Spencer watched from the corner of his eyes as you closed yours, content to finally see you at ease. 

He focussed back on the book in his hands until he felt a pleasant pressure against his arm. Already asleep, you found his side to support your body. Just a few seconds later your head dropped to his shoulder, having him freeze in his place. 

Breathing in your heavenly scent, Spencer started to feel drunk and he didn’t want to lose your nearness again. He didn’t dare to move and prompt you to wake up, so he just kept still even when his body began aching from the immobility. It didn’t matter, not when you seemed so comfortable like that. 

Your hot breath tickled Spencer’s neck, making his skin break out in goosebumps. Even if it was a silly thought, he still hoped that this moment would never end. How could he ever recover from finally feeling you pressed against his body?

“Loverboy,” Derek teased. “Don’t you wanna turn that page?” 

Spencer realized he had been staring at his book for many minutes without reading a singular sentence. He couldn’t care less. Turning his head, he dared to look at you. His heart began aching at the view of you curled up in your seat and leaning against him in an attempt to find comfort. 

Then, your body slightly jerked and you woke up, quickly realizing you were basically cuddling with Spencer. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep. 

Despite your body’s objection, you attempted to sit up straight. That was when you felt Spencer’s hand grab yours. 

“Stay,” he softly spoke. “Please.” 

His words were so surprising that you were sure you must have been stuck in a dream. There was no reason to argue when he seemed so inviting and you were still so, so weary. Nodding, you leaned closer to him again once more. 

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Spencer lifted his arm to wrap it around your shoulder so you could comfortably curl into his side, having your head rest against his chest. 

The sound of his heart beating against his ribcage could only be described as erratic but you didn’t mind. You were very familiar with the feeling of having your heart almost jump out of your chest whenever you were close to him. 

It was a comforting thought to know he felt the same way. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @nomajdetective @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[entitled-fangirl]

Violence through his veins.

Benjicot Blackwood x wife!reader

Summary: Benjicot is an overly nervous man around his wife, blushing every time. After the Battle at the Burning Mill, Benji exudes confidence. It throws her off.

Warnings: HEAVY talks of sex. Blood, war, violence, etc.

A/N: based on an ask! We get a little shy Ben, then a little Bloody Ben! It's the best of both worlds!!!

Masterlist

..........................................

She stepped down the stairs, paying more attention to the man that stood at the bottom of the staircase. 

Benjicot Blackwood stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was chatting lightly to a lord, not noticing her approaching yet. 

She took a moment to admire him. His broad shoulders flexed as he rolled them back. He no doubt wanted to crawl into a hole and not come back out. She was beginning to know him well just from his body language. 

The man he was talking to looked up, noticing her coming down the stairs. "My lady?"

Benji turned immediately at that. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. "My love?" He asked softly.

She hit the bottom step and stopped. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Benji let out a soft breath of relief. "No. That's fine." He excused himself from the man and held out his arm like a proper gentleman, which she took.

The two walked down the corridor in silence and she was the one to break it. "You looked miserable."

"Did I?" He immediately asked in concern, then relaxed. "Thought I was hiding it pretty well."

She hummed. "He didn't seem to notice."

"And you did?" 

She shrugged and tightened her grip on his bicep. "We're married."

His brows came together in thought. His heart felt a small jolt at the thought that she recognized his anxiety so easily. "We are," he agreed, "Is that how it works?"

"Well, I don't know in all honesty," she admitted. "But I know you fairly well."

"And I to you."

The silence continued as they continued to walk. It was comforting, and they found that they didn't mind it. But Benji's mind was wandering and he couldn't stop it. 

"Is that why you interrupted?"

She hummed in consideration of what to tell him. "A lady never interrupts on purpose."

His eyes met hers, and a blush crept over his cheeks. The two looked away. 

"I-I'll have to go soon. I have to patrol."

"You won't be here to sup?"

"No..."  

"Oh." She pulled her hand back and smoothed down her skirt. "Well, that's alright. How late will you be gone?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I imagine before you sleep, though I'm unsure."

"I've been… missing you, as of late," she admitted with a flushed expression. 

His cheeks flushed as well. "H-Have you?"

"It has been a few days." She dared to reach out and brush over his shoulder. "The people are expecting us to do our duties."

"Is that the only reason?" His breathed out as the heat in his body rose. 

She stepped forward, placing a delicate kiss to his jaw. "No."

A small whine fell from his lips. His shaky hands made their way to her hips and his head tilted up to give her more room. 

She took advantage of it, nipping at his Adam's apple. 

He groaned. "I must go."

"Stay," she begged.

"I-I can't."

She placed her forehead on his chest. "But you'll be back soon?"

He brushed a hand through her hair. "As soon as I can be, my love."

…

The news of the Battle had sent her into a tailspin that evening. Her sweet husband in a battle with the Brackens?

When news was received that the battle had ended, she all but ran to the battlefield. The stable boy had handed her the reigns to her horse and she was off. 

Once upon the field, she took note of the numerous scattered bodies across the field. It panicked her more, knowing that her sweet Benjicot could be one of them. 

The small group of men across the field loudly chatted and yelled, no doubt celebrating their victory. They were crowded in a circle, all in Blackwood red.

She rode to them, and their attention turned to her. 

Benicot stepped out from the circle, his body covered head to toe in blood. His hair was smeared with the remains of his enemies, his eyes so dark, they were hard to spot through the blood. 

But that wasn't what was so alarming.

It was the confidence that oozed from his form. His shoulders were back, his chest puffed out in a way she'd never seen. His eyes held a fire to them, one that was now set on her. He sheathed his sword, opening his arms out. "The hell are you doing here?"

She jumped off of her horse, running to him. When within reach, her hands frantically moved over him, trying to figure out his injuries- if he even had any. It was so difficult to tell through the blood. "Are you hurt?"

His hands had instinctively moved to her waist, keeping her in a vice grip. "You sweet woman. So concerned for me, you journeyed into a battle, unsure if it was over yet?"

"Well… yes… I guess so-"

"Hear that boys?" He called over his shoulder. "The lady cares for her new Lord."

They cheered and quipped various things in response, but she heard none of them. "Benji? What do you mean? Is your father-"

"-Dead," he finished for her. "Died to a Bracken sword. And I killed the Bracken. First blood of the new Lord's sword is one of a Bracken! Isn't that joyful?"

Her face fell. "Oh, Benji. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" He gawked at her, and a sinister smile came over his face. "I'm Lord Blackwood now. And you are my Lady. Are you not incandescently happy?"

"Benjicot. Are you hurt?"

He shook his head and pulled her closer. "I've never felt more alive," he growled in her ear. 

She gripped him by his biceps, her fingers catching on the metal armor around him. "You're different."

His fingers squeezed her hips. "I'm alive," was his answer.

Her head picked up to look up at his face. He was staring down at her, his lips parted. The two took a moment to truly drink the other in. 

Benjicot's hand came up to her face and cupped her cheek. The contact made her eyes close for a moment, not caring about the blood that smeared across her cheek. 

"My heart is pounding," he admitted.

She braved a move, pushing herself firmly against him and kissing his lips softly. 

A groan sounded from within him, and he soon dipped his head down to catch her lips further. The kiss deepened heavily, the two beginning to fight for dominance. Their breaths mixed between kisses. 

"I'm taking you back to Raventree," he panted. "Now. I can't wait any longer for a taste of you."

He shouted something over his shoulder at the guys, all of them waving or voicing a bye of sorts, obviously trying to give the lustful man a little privacy. 

He spoke as he tugged her along. "The gods have made you just for me, haven't they?"

"I'm beginning to believe they have."

A smirk came across his face. "They have. And I for you. I know how well you take me."

Her face flushed. "I don't know what you're talking ab-"

He dug his heel into the dirt, stopping them and tugging her to him. It caught her off guard, but he caught her with ease. "You do," he pushed. "You know very well what I mean." He leaned forward slowly, as if trying to earn the trust of prey. His face tucked into the crook of her neck, beginning to kiss and lightly suck at the skin. "The way you take me is my proof that the gods are in my favor."

"Not-" her breath caught when he nipped a sensitive spot. "Not your victory over the Brackens?"

"No," he quickly answered, as if it was obvious.

"How much further to your horse?" She softly asked.

He took a deep breath against her, savoring each passing second of being consumed by the very thought of her. "Depends on how many times I have to stop to admire you."

She smiled and tugged at his hair playfully. He groaned. 

…

Seemed that when violence moved through his veins, so did confidence. Not that she minded. Both Benjis were perfect to her.

.........................................

[hotshotsxyz]

where else but here, who else but us?

(8x06 coda) (buddie) (986 words)

Eddie wakes to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing, and for the first time in maybe his entire life, he lets himself luxuriate in it. If he’d actually made it to bed last night, he might even go back to sleep.

He stands and stretches, then shivers a little bit as the cool morning air tickles his bare thighs. Eddie grins. He just—

He did something for himself, and the world didn’t end. He did something for himself, and not only did the world not end, it got a little bit bigger and a little bit brighter. He did something for himself and Buck showed up, and that joy he was feeling burned a little bit hotter.

Eddie scoops his phone up off the floor and finds that it’s completely out of juice. He huffs a soft laugh and plugs it in. It’s a silly thought, but—Eddie can’t remember the last time his phone died. How could it, when he’s been so damn determined to avoid anything that might bring him a little joy. Hell, he hasn’t even been letting himself text Buck unless Buck texts him first.

He pads down the hall and into his bedroom and pulls on the softest pair of sweats he owns. He changes into an old, threadbare t-shirt, leans against the wall and exhales.

In his kitchen, Buck is making breakfast. In Texas, Christopher is safe and probably still asleep, and that’s a whole lot more than Eddie’s been letting himself acknowledge.  Here in LA, Eddie is alive and healthy and, if the priest that was maybe hitting on him is to be believed, allowed to forgive himself. He’s not there yet, but he can let himself join Buck in the kitchen.

On his way, Eddie makes a pit stop in the living room. His phone, up to an impressive 8% battery, has already reconnected to the Bluetooth speaker that’s tucked behind one of the photos on the mantle. He queues up a playlist that he and Buck have been curating together for years. Soft music fills the room and Eddie kind of wants to cry.

This is what he’s been denying himself. Easy mornings and raucous evenings and his best friend filling all the empty spaces he’s always been too afraid to try to fill himself. Eddie walks into the kitchen and finds Buck already looking for him.

“Morning,” Buck says, a little rough, like it’s the first word he’s said today. It probably is.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He steps into Buck’s space and pulls him into a hug, just because he wants to. He feels Buck exhale and melt into him. “You okay?” he asks softly.

Buck pulls back from Eddie’s embrace and bites his lip. “I, uh—honestly?”

Eddie nods.

“I don’t really know,” Buck admits. “I think I just—or, I thought—I don’t know.” He lets out a frustrated huff.  

Eddie slides his hand down Buck’s arm until his fingers are circling Buck’s wrist. “You don’t have to,” he offers.

Buck’s head tips to the side. “You seem different,” he observes quietly.

“I am, I think,” Eddie says.

“What does that mean?” Buck asks

Eddie considers for a moment. “I think I’m just… ready to let some things go,” he says. “Maybe let some new things in.”

Buck smiles, small but genuine. “That’s—I’m glad.”

“Me too.” It’s incredible, but Eddie’s pretty sure he actually means it.

Buck’s gaze slides away from Eddie and hits the floor. “I, um. Me and Tommy. We—or, he—he broke up with me,” he says.

Something clenches in Eddie’s chest. “Then he’s an idiot,” he says.

“Maybe,” Buck says with a kind of hopeless shrug.

“He is,” Eddie says with conviction. “You’re—“ Sunshine. Joy. Perfect. Everything. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and twists their fingers together. “You’re the best person I know,” he says. “If Tommy couldn’t see that, that’s on him.”

Buck blows a disbelieving breath out through his nose. “He said I was going to break his heart.”

“Getting his heart broken by you would be a privilege,” Eddie replies before he can think better of it.

Buck lets out a pained noise. “But I wouldn’t—or, I didn’t want—” He cuts himself off with a frown. He looks up through his lashes and Eddie and Eddie—

Oh, Eddie wants.

“Anyone who’s lucky enough to be loved by you, even for a second, should know it’d be worth it,” he says.

“Eds,” Buck breathes.

“I mean it,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand. “And if you don’t, I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

Buck laughs wetly. “You make it hard for a guy to wallow in a breakup, you know that?”

Eddie grins. “Good.” He steps back, tugging Buck’s wrist as he goes. “Come here,” he says, and Buck follows easily.

The coffee and bacon are quickly cooling on the counter, but there’s music in the air and Buck’s in his arms and Eddie’s pretty sure he wants to kiss his best friend. And he thinks that might even be a good thing.

“Eddie, what?” Buck asks breathlessly as Eddie puts a hand on his waist and spins them both.

“We’re dancing,” Eddie says, smiling.

“O-okay,” Buck says, clumsily following his lead.

Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest. A small grin spreads across Buck’s face.

“Maybe I would have,” Buck murmurs quietly.

“What?” Eddie asks, spinning him again, just because he can.

“Broken his heart.”

Warmth spreads from Eddie’s chest to his fingertips. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly.

Buck hums but doesn’t clarify further. Eddie, though, Eddie’s pretty sure he gets it.

He and Buck—well. It’s hard to imagine a world where they don’t choose each other, over and over and over again. It’s them. How could they ever end up anywhere but here?

Eddie wants. He tightens his grip on Buck and keeps dancing.

[allfor-thegames]

nicky + the twins headcannons

andrew was a little blindsided by nicky taking custody. after tilda passed, andrew was expecting to go back into the system and he was ready to fight tooth and nail to stay with his brother and keep them both safe, or make luther and maria regret taking them in everyday the twins spent under the hemmick's roof.

andrew gave nicky a really wide berth for a really long time. in his mind, an adult man he doesn't know flies halfway across the world, leaving behind what sounds like a happy life, to get two underage boys alone in a house with him. at first, there's no "this is my cousin, this is my family." he doesn't know this person. he's never known this person. but he knows nicky's father. and andrew doesn't want that person alone with his brother.

neither twin really thought nicky was going to be a good guardian. both were expecting to fend for themselves a lot more than they ended up having to.

nicky spends the first several weeks cataloging every little detail about the twins that he can. aaron likes spicy food, andrew does not. andrew tears all his food into tiny pieces for some reason and aaron eats like a normal human being. andrew has a major sweet tooth. aaron also likes sweets, but prefers salty snacks. both twins always seem to be cold. both twins like to color-code things. both twins are right-handed and have horrific handwriting.

all the twins' teachers tell nicky that the boys are incredibly smart but don't seem to engage with their full potential. andrew excels at english and writing based classes while aaron flourishes in math and science.

nicky bakes a (pretty okay) cake for the twins birthday and presents it at breakfast. it's the first time someone actually bakes aaron a birthday cake.

nicky would purposely say or do things to get negative attention from the twins because he saw the way they would make eye contact across the room/the table when nicky would annoy them. he decides that letting them have a common enemy may help bring them a little closer than making an enemy out of each other.

it's nicky that teaches the twins to drive.

aaron and nicky bond over television shows.

nicky remembers the first time each twin chose to spend time with him. aaron sat down beside him and silently watched the show nicky was finishing. andrew helped nicky clean up the kitchen on their birthday after nicky made them the cake.

[garuda4321]

Don’t worry, I’ve been told I’ll get advanced notice if the world is ending from my buddy in Poland. I’ll make sure to keep you all posted on that. Of course, he also had an interesting thing to tell me, which I will quote because I think a lot of folks need to hear this. However, saving that for a little bit later because I feel like folks could use a bit of a motivational speech (I gave my first one today focused on hope, and boy do we need it).

Here goes.

I want to start by reminding people that it’s ok to feel. Whether that’s anger, sadness, hope, happiness, or whatever else you’re feeling, it is ok to feel them. Emotions should not be suppressed. I work very hard to ensure that I am a part of a community that is not only safe, but somewhere I can call home. I am always willing to invite more people into my home, especially in times of need as feeling safe is something everyone deserves.

I know that when faced with outcomes such as these, it is considerably easier to live with a victory than a loss. This is why this I am speaking about hope, having hope. I understand that not everyone has hope right now. If you do have it, please try to share some of that hope with those that do not have it. If you do not have it, hopefully you can find some in this reblog.

I am fairly certain that everyone has had the experience when something doesn’t go their way. In the realm of Ninja (the obstacle course racing variety), this is rampant. Perhaps we fell on the first obstacle of a course, or perhaps we missed qualifying for finals by mere seconds. When this happens, we have two choices. We can either stay down and let the negativity eat away at us, or we can get back up and keep training and trying until we reach our goal.

Unfortunately, we can only do that during training. On a course, when we fail obstacle one, that’s it, we don’t get a second chance. We don’t have that choice to stay down or get back up as we can’t change the outcome. As depressing as that sounds, it’s true.

You can’t change what happened and you don’t get the choice to “get up and try it again”. But we don’t have to sit and cry, complain, or hide from it either. We don’t have to give up.

Right now, there are lots of us that are down. We have communities that we feel safe and welcome in to support us when we need them. Together, as we refuse to give up, we can do each and every thing to help better our communities. It may not be a large difference, but a difference is a difference, and a difference matters! We can leave a smile, a compliment, or even a positive message behind because if someone is having a rough day, those small actions can make a large difference for them.

I encourage you to try to bridge outside of your comfort zone and meet new people, join new communities and try to spread some positivity in the world. I did so earlier today by giving a very similar speech to this one and again now by posting an abbreviated version of it. Do your best to make a difference with all people, no matter who they are, what they look like, or what they stand for. Because we will overcome whatever is thrown our way together, and by helping those that are struggling to overcome their own obstacles. We will believe and we will have faith. We may not know who or what to believe in, but we all know that we can believe in each other.

To finish us off, that quote from my friend in Poland.

“Remember that life is a long distance race. In a few months, a lot will change. In a few years, whole world will look completely different. Don’t lose your energy and faith in being a good person. World will need good people.”

Choose to be kind, caring, compassionate, and empathetic.

I’m signing off for now, maybe I’ll return with the next one I end up giving.

[florestalio]

THE PERFECT COPY — yang jungwon

SYNOPSIS: finding a job in the current state of the world was a hassle, but given your skills, it wasn't hard to find a decently paying job as a doorman. your job is to distinguish the doppelgangers from the real humans. simple enough, right? right?

GENRE: that's not my neighbour au, dystopian au, doppelganger au

WARNINGS: (6.9k words) MDNI, noncon/dubcon, mentions of killing, blood, guns, unprotected sex (please don't), big huge dick!won, monster fucking, meandom!won, implied munch!won, nicknames (slut, doll, princess, etc.), dacryphilia, fingering, manhandling, bondage, lot of slick (an almost concerning amount), marking (hickeys), cum eating (not oral), missionary, mating press, bulge kink, degradation, praise, possessive!won, let me know if I missed any!

NOTE: i'm well aware that a similar fic has already been published by a different author, but mine was almost completely inspired by this video, so it's extremely different from the fic that had already been posted.

In a world which is slowly, but steadily getting overtaken by doppelgangers, finding a job is one of the hardest tasks — even if a lot of new jobs have been created for this purpose.

‘Doorman’, a post that was one of the more frowned upon jobs with a very low salary, had now become one of the most high paying jobs — since it was their skills and abilities that would determine whether the people in an apartment or complex lived or not. The job sounded fairly simple — figure out if the person wanting to enter is a human or a convincing doppelganger. Let only the humans in, get rid of the doppelgangers with the help of the D.D.D — another job created for the purpose of eradication of the doppelgangers from the world.

While the job of doormen did sound simple, it obviously wasn't that easy. Doppelgangers could be very convincing, their morphing abilities weren't a matter of joke. But, no matter how human they seemed, at the end of the day, they weren't human.

While detecting them could be very hard, doppelgangers… aren't the smartest tool in the shed. They always have some kind of imperfections, no matter how minor, in their appearances, in the way they behave — and many more. This is where doormen step in. They are skilled people with extremely sharp observation skills, which they use to figure out these imposters, and thus save the lives of a lot more people than they think they do.

You were one of these people with sharp observation skills that got chosen as a doorman of an apartment complex, situated near the suburbs. While you weren't getting a salary as high as the skies, it was still pretty high, considering that people from remote locations were impersonated a lot more than people from the cities, as these people are easier targets than them.

According to your job description, the old doorman was taking a long, well-deserved vacation. You were supposed to replace him for as long as he was on vacation, after which, you had no idea what would happen. Would your job be gone? Were you going to keep your job? Would you work alongside the old doorman? So many questions, yet they all remained unanswered.

You shook off those thoughts, focusing on the present. You looked around your new office, trying to make yourself familiar with your surroundings. Everything you needed as a doorman seemed to be exactly where you needed it; a telephone, checklists to grant entries, an entry list, records of all the people that lived in the building, their phone numbers, the D.D.D phone number, and whatnot. There was even an emergency button on the wall, which was attached with a metal partition that covered the window in front of the desk when activated.

The presence of all these faculties just made your work a lot easier. You took a seat, right in front of the desk. As soon as you sat down, the phone rang. You picked it up, only to hear a recorded message from the previous doorman. Turns out, his name was Sunghoon, and he had recorded it for you to listen to, since he didn’t wish for any mishaps to happen to you. As thoughtful as he was, he was also extremely repetitive. After several ‘do not let them in’-s, did the recording finally end, making you breathe out a sigh of relief.

Now comes the tough part. Doing your job.

It was a quarter to midnight. After a hard day’s work of letting in the actual residents and calling the D.D.D upon the impersonators, the entry list had only two more people left. Namely, a businessman by the name of ‘Park Jongseong’ who lived alone in the third room on the first floor, and ‘Yang Jungwon’, the milkman who lived alone in the second room of the third floor.

Over the course of the day, you had seen doppelgangers of all kinds, some a lot better at impersonating than the other. There were several times when you had almost missed a sudden flash of an extra pair of arms, or different eye colors — as impressed as you were, you had immediately called the D.D.D on them.

Sometimes the doppelgangers looked completely, utterly, perfect copies of the person they were impersonating. Had it not been for a slight difference in their ID’s or entry requests, you would have probably let them in.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps alerted you. As you looked up, you were met with the face of Jongseong, Jay for short. He gave you a half smile. “Sorry for bothering you this late, a client of mine was giving me a lot of trouble. Honestly, how is it my fault that the delivery was being delayed? Do they not realize that in the present situation, it is hard to navigate through the innumerous doppelgangers that are just waiting to pounce at any given moment of the day? It's truly very inconsiderate of–”

You interrupted his rambling. “Sir I require your ID in order to let you in. As you mentioned, it is already extremely late, so please, let’s not delay this any further.” You felt a little guilty for how you were acting towards him, but his rambling was taking up too much of your precious time.

His eyes immediately widened, before he started rummaging in his pockets. “Right — I'm really sorry, I'm not sure why I started to rant to you — here's my ID–”

You took a close look at the ID, trying to find any kind of faults in it. You heard him start to rant again. “—and honestly it was such a lovely day too, but this stupidly inconsiderate client had to ruin it.” You looked up at him, watching him continue to rant about the most random topics, which… didn’t really make any sense. “—so many ice cream trucks, but all of them had crashed into each other. The amount of people going up to those and stealing ice creams from them was actually insane–”

Suddenly you noticed something amiss on his face, protruding from his hat. Without missing a beat, you asked him. “Sir, what's that on your face?”

Jay immediately stopped his rambling. “My face? Wh– What’s wrong with it? It– It's just a normal face!–”

Your hand started to creep towards the emergency button. “There are tiny hands on your face.”

Jay panicked, watching you reach towards the emergency button. “Wait!– I have an explanation for this — see I was talking to this little girl called Jiah right? So I called out to her ‘Hey Jiah! Can you give me a hand with this?’ and she came and put her hands on my face! No wait don't–”

It was too late. You had already pushed the emergency button, watching the metal partition fall into place, blocking your view of him. You could hear the doppelganger wailing about how it was ‘a perfect disguise’. You quickly contacted the D.D.D, letting them know of the situation. Within five minutes you heard them arrive, screams of ‘get away from the door you filthy animal!’ and ‘but I don't wanna’ filled up the air, along with the sounds of guns going off, before it all went silent.

The partition suddenly went up again, a bloodied yellow hazmat suit with the D.D.D logo coming into your view. The person in the suit spoke. “Cleaning protocol has been completed. Please feel free to carry on with your job.”

You whispered a small thanks, watching them leave. It was almost midnight now, and you still had to let in two more of the apartment’s residents. It almost annoyed you, but this was in your job description when you had applied for it, so you had to suck it up.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, along with a voice. “God, I'm so sorry for coming this late, Sunghoon, I swear I'll come earlier next time–” The voice stopped short, and so did your breath.

Good fucking gracious. You did look at the profiles of all the residents in the building, but none of them looked as good as Jungwon did up close.

Jungwon, a milkman by profession, was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Even with his tired eyes and exhausted appearance in general, he looked so fucking… ravishing.

He cleared his throat. “I'm so sorry, it's usually Sunghoon who sits here — are you new?”

You nodded, licking your lips nervously. “Yeah I am… Sunghoon went for a vacation, a long one apparently, so I'm here to replace him for the time being.”

He nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Good thing he went for a vacation, god knows he needed one. We all need one, given the state of the world at present — how are you liking it at the new job? Is it giving you too much trouble?”

You shook your head. “Oh no, not at all — there were a lot of posers, but I handled them just fine. I think I'll be alright.”

“That's good. Oh, I remember my first experience with a doppelganger — it was almost terrifying. See, there was this — this woman, who lived here and… it was a very convincing disguise. The only thing wrong with her was that… there was a mole on her right cheek, except that it was supposed to be on the left side. When the D.D.D was called on her, she… kept screaming and screaming — all that just… it takes a toll on you. Not being able to recognise them, that is.”

You gulped, barely hearing what he was saying, too focused on the movement of his lips. “Yea… that's — yea, it's scary.”

He offered you a half smile. “It is. But what you're doing is important. You're saving a lot of lives this way, and that is all that matters. That's what is important.”

“Thank you — I appreciate that, I truly do.”

“You're welcome. I may not know you personally yet, but I can tell that you're an honest person. People like you… they tend to overthink these things. So always remember that… what you're doing is great. These doppelgangers are evil, and they deserve what they are getting.”

You gave him a grateful smile, once again thanking him for his kind words. He gave you one back. “Not a big deal… princess. Here's my ID… and my entry request.”

As you took his ID and his entry request, you froze, suddenly aware of the nickname that he used to refer to you. “P-Princess?–”

Jungwon had a tiny smirk on his face this time. “Yea? Do you not like the nickname? I can stop–”

You were quick to deny it. “No I didn't mean — uhm — I do like it…”

An amused glint was present in his eye. “I see. So… are my documents in order, princess?”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up on your cheeks. “Yep, all good.” A sudden idea struck you. “Actually wait… there is something wrong.”

His smile vanished. “What?– Something's wrong?”

You nodded. “Yea… with your face.”

He raised a shaky hand to touch his face, something you missed. “M– My face? What's wrong with it?”

You smiled at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. With as much cheesiness as you could muster in your voice, you replied. “Yea, it's called ‘handsomeness’.” You immediately cringed at yourself. What kind of a pathetic attempt at flirting was that?

However, it seemed to sway Jungwon. He immediately blinked, before letting out a relieved grin, a faint blush coating his cheeks. “Oh?– You got me there. Thank you — you're extremely gorgeous too.”

Now it was your turn to feel shy. Your cheeks were aflame, heat creeping up your neck. Were you seriously flirting instead of doing your job? This late at night?

You shyly smiled at him, thanking him. He gave you another smile back, this one seeming a lot more cocky than the last. “Can I go now, pretty girl? Or do you have more tricks up your sleeve?”

You giggled a little, pressing the green button to let him in. “Nope! Go right in.”

He gave you a small smirk, tipping his hat towards you in the same manner a cowboy would, before disappearing through the door.

Around three minutes after Jungwon went in, the sound of footsteps reached your ears again, only this time, it wasn’t exactly the sound of a person walking. It sounded like someone was running. Fast.

You heard the sound of panting, before… Jungwon came into view. Only this time, he had blood all over him.

This was obviously a doppelganger, but before you could reach for the emergency button, the fake Jungwon spoke. “Oh my fucking god — hey I’m guessing you’re new? Listen, this is really important. Did you see… me earlier?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. This was a new strategy. No doppelganger had used a strategy quite like this one earlier today. “Uh-huh.”

He banged on the glass partition with his fist, making you flinch. His eyes looked crazier than before. “I’m not playing around here. Did you or did you not see me earlier?”

Your hand quickly went to the emergency button. Noticing that, he started panicking. “No no no — don’t press that, just listen to me. I was knocked out — he stole my keys! — everything, he stole everything… even my face! Please tell me you didn’t let him in.”

Your hand hovered over the button, his words making you hesitate from pushing it. “I did let him in…”

His eyes widened. “Oh fuck — this is bad, this is bad, this is bad — listen, you have to call the D.D.D — right now. Do it! Call them right now!”

You gazed at him, conflicted. He sounded so… convincing. But so did the first Jungwon. Which one of them was telling the truth?

You almost wanted to scoff at yourself. You were supposed to have some top tier observation skills to be able to figure out who is a doppelganger and who is not. So why was it so hard for you to tell in this case?

You didn’t even realize when your hand fell on the button, pressing it by accident. As the alarm bells sounded and the metal barrier began to fall, several shouts of ‘No!’ could be heard from the outside. You sat there rigidly, not even aware of when the door to your office opened, the person on the other side of the door slipping inside. It wasn’t until he put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to flinch, when you realized that Jungwon, the first one, was inside.

You relaxed for a moment, before he bent down, whispering in your ear, causing you to freeze. “You did a good job princess. Such a good job. Now continue to be a good girl and sit here quietly like a good fucking girl would, yea?”

As he spoke, the realization dawned upon you, the cold dread that came with it washing over you like a bucket of ice. The second Jungwon was the real one.

As you sat there frozen, Jungwon — or rather, the doppelganger — called up the D.D.D, informing them of a ‘doppelganger’ situation. Within five minutes, they had arrived, screams and sounds of gunshots once again filling up the air. Once they stopped, the metal partition opened, once again revealing a yellow hazmat suit stained with blood.

The D.D.D agent recited the same words that it did everytime, before walking away. As soon as the D.D.D had evacuated the building, ‘Jungwon’ clicked the emergency button again, quickly pressing another button to deactivate the alarm bells, so that only the metal partition fell down. He gripped the handles of your chair, spinning it to make you face him. You gulped as you faced him, the sinister smirk on his face filled you up with a fear so intense, that it gripped you in an almost vice-like grip. It was terrifying — he was terrifying.

His eyes raked over you, drinking in your fearful expression. The shaking of your body, the pleading in your eyes, the nervous gulping — all of it filled him up with a foreign emotion — an emotion that made him want to devour you whole.

He lifted up a hand to your face, holding your chin between his fingers, leaning your face upwards. He himself leaned down, stopping just a breath away from your lips, causing your own breath to hitch. Whether it was from fear, or anticipation, he didn't know — not that it would change anything.

He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact with you. “Are you surprised? That I'm not who you thought I was?”

You gulped, too afraid to speak. Although the shaking of your eyes told him what he wanted to know.

He smirked lightly. “Does it make you feel angry? To know that you have been finally bested by a — what do you humans call us again? Ah, a ‘doppelganger’.”

‘Anger’ was the last thing you felt. Fear was all you felt — fear for both yourself, and everyone else whose life you had endangered. You were absolutely terrified, dreading your fate.

You had seen pictures of the real form of the doppelgangers — albeit just drawings; derivations from people who somehow lived to tell the tale. They were described to be completely monstrous, with yellow eyes and sharp teeth, greenish skin and huge claws that could easily rip anyone to shreds. It was only natural for you to feel terrified of your fate. Were you going to be torn to shreds by him? Or was he going to eat you? Do doppelgangers actually eat humans?

Turns out, he did plan on eating you. Devouring you actually. Just… not in the way you thought.

He traced his lip with his tongue, practically undressing you with his eyes. He was going to fucking ruin you.

He traced your lip with his thumb, forcing your mouth open. He pressed his thumb down on your tongue, watching the tears gather at your waterline and the saliva on your tongue. You were already so much fun to play with.

You wanted to cry, scream — anything to get out of this situation. You weren't trained for something like this — all the instructors just said “Catch them, or they catch you. If you're caught, consider yourself dead.” None of them ever prepared you for a situation like this.

You needed to use your own tactics, and you needed to use them fast. You stared at his eyes, trying to make sure your facial expressions didn't give away your thoughts, when suddenly, a brilliant — okay, not brilliant, but still better than nothing — idea struck you.

Your eyes suddenly fell on the door, your eyes widening slightly with a glimmer of hope. He frowned at your expression, looking backwards at the door as well, taking the bait.

You immediately pushed him off you, catching him off-guard, before quickly running to the door. But just as you were about to reach for the handle, you felt him grab your shoulder from behind, pulling you backwards in a not-so-gentle manner. He shoved you to the floor unceremoniously, causing you to scream from the impact — not that anyone would hear you, since the walls were soundproof as long as the metal partition was pulled down, and you had no way to reach the button to deactivate it.

You tried to get up, but were immediately shoved back down to the ground, with him climbing up on top of you, pinning your arms above your head. If looks could kill, you would have already been six feet under by now.

For a moment he just glared down at you, your lips quivering, your eyes shaking with unshed tears. Your chest was rising up and down erratically, downright terrified with what he was planning on doing to you. Was he going to strangle you to death? Tear you apart by hand? Break your neck? Or was he going to–

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by him. His voice was cold with a sinister undertone. “You know princess, I was going to be nice to you — go nice and slow, appreciate everything about you, take my time with you, make it memorable for you. But after this little stunt that you just pulled? I don't think you deserve kindness. If you want to be a fucking brat, acting like you weren't ready to spread your legs open for me just ten minutes ago, then I'm going to fucking treat you like one.”

Your blood ran cold. He was going to what?

You couldn't even understand where he was coming from. You were ‘acting like a brat’? Was trying to run in order to save your life a crime now? You were getting ready to ‘spread your legs for him just ten minutes ago’? First of all, it was some harmless flirting with a nice guy who you thought was human, not a fucking monster. So what the fuck was he even trying to say?

None of it mattered now — not now, when he was sliding the belt that was just there for design purposes through the hoops in your skirt. It didn't matter now, when he started to tie the belt around your wrists, ignorant to your struggles to break free. Not now, when he was grabbing the ends of your shirt, roughly shoving it up.

He couldn't shove it off you, since your hands were tied, so he proceeded to tear it off with his hands. It was an expensive shirt, but there wasn't any time to mourn the loss of your shirt — not when his hands had already moved to your skirt. He didn't even bother trying to get it off this time, simply ripping it apart like paper.

The tears finally broke free. This was it. This was your fate. You were going to get used like some pathetic doll by some monster and then tossed away once you were useless. Even death would have been a kinder fate than this.

You screwed your eyes shut when you felt him touch you over your panties, disgusted by yourself when you realized that you were, in fact, wet. You heard him let out a menacing chuckle, causing more tears to fall from your shut eyes. You felt his finger just barely trace over your covered cunt, making you squirm. He was quick to hold your legs down, before shoving a finger through your panties, causing it to stick inside your wet folds, drenching it further. You felt him leaning down towards your core, a whimper of utter despair leaving you.

He ignored you, taking a whiff of your scent. As soon as it hit him, he let out a loud groan, a quiet ‘fuck’ accompanying it. He definitely needed to eat you out, but first, he needed to stretch you out.

He gripped the waistband of your panties tightly, before ripping it off. The sound of the cotton material tearing brought a fresh batch of tears to your eyes. “P-Please — don’t do this, please–”

He quickly interrupted you by grabbing your throat, applying just enough pressure to cut off your oxygen. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to decide what I’ll do or not do. I gave you a chance, didn’t I? I was nice to you initially, wasn’t I? You clearly took advantage of that and tried to run, so why the fuck would I listen to you? If you don’t want to make matters worse for yourself, take what I give you like a good little slut would.”

That ruined whatever tiny hope you had of avoiding this fate. More tears fell from your eyes, causing you to bite down on your lip to conceal your sobs. For some reason, the sight of you biting your lip, paired with your tears, turned him on a lot more than it should have, causing him to grab your chin tightly.

Your eyes flew open in shock, releasing your lip from the abuse from your teeth. His eyes landed on your swollen lips, his pants growing tighter and tighter by the second. Before you could register what was happening, he smashed his lips on yours, swallowing your surprised gasp. He kissed you harshly, his movements sloppy. Saliva dripped past your mouths, smearing onto your chins, but he could care less.

He bit down on your lip, pulling it slightly with his teeth, causing a whimper to leave you involuntarily. He let out a quiet groan at the sound, before diving back inside your mouth, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He hungrily explored your wet cavern, his hands moving to take his shirt off, the heat radiating off the two of you becoming unbearable. He grabbed your jaw tightly, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, his legs planted on either side of you.

Even if you didn’t want to enjoy it, any of it, your body couldn’t hide its true reaction. You kept letting out whimpers and moans, squirming under him. He gladly swallowed each and every sound of yours, little grunts and groans of his own leaving him. He badly wanted to grind down on you, but he had enough self control to not do that. Instead, he slid a hand down, collected the slick that kept gushing out on his fingers, before shoving his middle finger inside.

Your reaction was immediate. You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking up into his. He bit down your lip at your reaction, breaking the skin and drawing out blood. He plunged his finger in deeper, feeling even more slick gushing out of you. He sucked the blood off your lip, licking the cut, moaning at the taste. Your blood ignited a fire inside him, the heat spreading to every part of him, the need to completely, utterly, ruin you for everyone else spreading to his finger tips, taking over his brain. He thrust his finger impossibly deeper, before pulling it out, causing you to let out a desperate whine into his mouth, one that was quickly replaced by a shocked moan when he plunged in two fingers at once.

You could feel your cunt stretching to accommodate his fingers, which were long and slender, allowing him to reach parts of you that no one ever did. His fingers dragged across your walls, allowing you to feel every inch of them. His fingers hit every ridge and bump perfectly, making you clench around them tightly.

He felt your pussy walls hugging his fingers, causing him to fasten up the pace of both his fingers and his mouth, swallowing up your whimpers, listening to the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt.

He curled up his fingers, feeling your entire body shake under him. He let out a victorious smirk against your lips, having finally found your spot. He increased the pace of his fingers, making sure to curl up his fingers every time, hitting that spongy part in your walls every time with ease.

Your breathing sped up, your whimpers increasing, your wrists becoming red from how much you were struggling to get out of the tight grip of your belt wrapped around them. You could feel yourself becoming wetter and wetter, yet being so far from the edge. Something was missing, something that you desperately needed to finally teeter off the edge.

Even if you couldn’t understand what exactly you needed, ‘Jungwon’ sure did. He broke the kiss, taking in the sight of your bruised and swollen lips, before shifting his attention to your neck, immediately latching his lips on your pulse point, sucking on it harshly. He pumped his fingers into your pussy faster, his thumb moving to rub at your clit harshly. You almost screamed at the added pleasure, your walls clamping down on his fingers in a vice-like grip.

Within seconds your pussy started to convulse around his fingers. Your release gushed out of you in huge amounts, coating his fingers in a creamy white. He helped you ride out your high, shallowly pumping his fingers in you. He stopped sucking on your neck, looking at the newly formed purplish hickey on it proudly. Once you came down from your high, he slipped his fingers out with a wet ‘pop’, watching your walls flutter around nothing.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, slipping them inside, tasting your release. You watched him with hooded eyes, your chest rising up and down slowly as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes screwed shut when the taste hit him, a deep groan leaving him, one that traveled straight to your core, despite having just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

He opened his eyes, his gaze darker than before, making you gulp. He leaned down again, maintaining eye contact with you. He ran a hand through your hair, before gripping it tightly, ripping a whimper out of you. He bit his lips, whispering “God, you drive me fucking crazy” before smashing his lips onto yours. He shoved his tongue inside your mouth almost immediately, making you taste yourself.

Fuck, he would be lying if he said he wasn't dying to eat you out, but the problem in his pants would probably kill him before he had his fill of you — which was why he was furiously trying to get his stupid belt off, something which proved to be quite a challenge for no apparent reason.

When he finally managed to get it off, he threw it away somewhere in the room, out of reach. His shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably from how much he was sweating, so obviously that had to go too. Once it was off, he quickly shimmied out of his pants, his boxers quickly following them.

As soon as his boxers were off, his bare cock slapped on his stomach, standing tall and proud. His mushroom tip was an angry shade of red, leaking a generous amount of precum. He was both long and girthy, almost ridiculously so, making you a little concerned about the stretch — or if it would at all fit.

Of course you were anticipating it — how could you not? Yes, he was taking you without consent, but did that really matter anymore? Your morals were thrown out of the window the moment he shoved his pretty fingers into your hole. You couldn't help how much you were leaking for him then, and you certainly can't help it now. You were practically gushing down there, a puddle of your sweet slick starting to form in between your thighs. God, it was a miracle that he hadn't started eating you out like a starved man eating his first meal in days. But then again, he also couldn't wait to finally sink into your wet heat, and fuck you till all you could think about was his dick.

So that's what he did. He spread your legs further apart with his knees, settling down between them. He aligned himself with your entrance, but instead of directly pushing in, he decided to toy with you a little. After all, you were just a toy for him, weren't you? The perfect little toy — a doll if you will — for him to use, break, destroy and dispose of as he wishes.

A little whine from you caught his ears. He looked at your face, almost taken aback by your expression. Your eyes were hooded, lips swollen and glistening from your sweat — possibly a result of you biting down on them. Were you… enjoying this? Did you want this?

It was hot, so undeniably hot of you to like this — not just your body, but you. There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of you now — no, you were too perfect to lose.

He swallowed thickly, trying his best to subdue his desire of immediately plunging inside you and railing you into your next life. No, he had to be patient, in order to make it fun for him.

He tapped the head of his cock on your clit, watching even more slick pour out of you, joining the puddle on the floor. It was truly magnificent how much your body craved this — how much you craved it — almost as much as he did.

He rubbed his tip over your slit, gathering the slick from it, ripping out pitiful whimpers from you. He almost caved in to your sinful sounds — almost — before continuing to gather your slick on his mushroom tip.

He watched as your slick and his precum mixed together, forming a beautiful white mixture, something that looked almost delicious — of course he had to taste it, and make you taste it as well. You would like it anyways.

He gathered some of the mixture on his fingers, before popping them in his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the sinful taste. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see how much the taste affected his body, even more precum having dribbled out of his tip, falling into the puddle of your slick.

He swirled his finger in the mixture, before bringing it to your own mouth. He watched as you eagerly wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking the mixture of your wants greedily. He let out a groan, wondering if you would suck his cock the same way. But he had plenty of time to find that out later.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’, ignoring your whine. He pushed his hand into the puddle of your slick, before wrapping the same hand around his ridiculously large dick, slowly pumping it. His eyes were dark as he maintained eye contact with you, taking in the way you gulped slowly. It was so cute, the way you wanted it as much as he did, and yet were afraid of it actually happening.

If he stared at your cute little lips or your pretty little eyes that were filled with both hesitation and desperation, he would definitely cum even before he had the chance to be inside your — by the looks of it, extremely tight walls.

He grabbed your legs again, spreading them even further apart, before slowly starting to push into you. He was immediately met with a lot of resistance from you, loud gasps and whimpers falling from your lips in a beautiful melody, your pussy walls clamping down tightly on his tip alone. He hissed at the pressure, gripping your hips tightly as he slowly started to push in.

The sounds of your whimpers and choked gasps increased two-fold, your walls stretching to an alarming extent as they tried to fit him. You were well aware that the ‘Jungwon’ that was fucking you wasn't the real one, that he was a monster — but you didn't realise that doppelgangers were this hung. He was big, huge even — way bigger than the average dick size. It felt like he was splitting apart your insides, but you couldn't deny the enormous amount of pleasure that accompanied the pain.

He had to suck in a breath when he had finally buried himself to the hilt inside you, your walls clamping down on him painfully. It almost felt like he willingly buried himself into a dick guillotine, that’s how tight you felt around him. It wasn’t like he could blame you either — he wasn’t human, even if he was impersonating one, all of his physical features were obviously not perfect. As for him, his imperfection happened to be his dick, which was way larger than the average human dick, almost monstrously so — not that he was complaining… and he knew you wouldn’t be either in a while, once you got used to his size.

His grip on your hips was tight enough to bruise, as he slowly pulled out almost completely, leaving only his tip inside, making you let out a sigh of relief. But that relief was short lived, because he almost immediately slammed himself back in, knocking the air out of you. It felt as if he somehow managed to fit another non-existent inch inside of you.

The squelching sound from the slide however, encouraged him to continue. You were liking it, he knew you were. That’s why you were getting even wetter than before, weren’t you? Yep, that was it. That was why your walls were clamping down on him so tightly. Your body didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop.

He pulled out almost completely again, before ruthlessly slamming right back in, ripping a scream out of you. But the slick that kept pouring out of you, past his cock, told him all that he needed to know. He thrusted into you mercilessly, without caring about how you felt — he knew you liked it, he was sure of it–

Your loud whimpers of pain broke him out of his daze. “P– Please, it h– hurts so much–”

His hand grabbed your neck, squeezing down on it as a warning. “Don’t fucking lie to me — you’re leaking past my cock, and you expect me to believe that you aren’t enjoying this? Stupid, fucking slut, lying to me to my face? Absolutely pathetic.”

He grabbed both of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest, before starting to thrust into you again, the ruthless pace of his hips almost bruising your thighs. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, your cries of pain only increasing in volume. He ignored them, focusing on how his hips snapped into yours with every thrust. “Fucking take it — you know you like this, you fucking painslut. It hurts, does it? How adorable, you fucking love it, you know you do.”

He continued to ram his hips into yours, uncaring of your discomfort — unbeknownst to you, your cries only caused him to grow harder, his cock bulging through your stomach. The bulge on your stomach appearing and disappearing inside you caught his attention, causing him to groan. He fisted your hair tightly in his hand, pulling you up. “Look at that, princess, look at it — look at how I keep disappearing inside you. Fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing to slam his hips into yours. He let go of your hair, pressing down on the bulge in your stomach instead. The added pressure caused him to groan, his pace increasing. Your slick made it easy for him to pound into you, your cries having started to turn into loud moans. He found it almost cute, your switch up.

He pushed your thighs up higher against your chest, his hips snapping painfully into yours, balls slapping on your ass with every thrust. It felt so fucking wrong, but even you couldn’t deny how good it felt. “I’m gonna fill you up, till my cum is dripping past your legs — gonna make you walk around like that. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Walking around with my cum dripping down your legs like a fucking slut?”

If the way you clenched around him at his words wasn’t a dead giveaway to whether you liked what he was doing or not, then he didn’t know what else could possibly be it. He increased his pace. “Yea? You like that? You want that? You’re my precious little cumslut, aren’t you? My sweet little doll, so eager to be filled up to the brim.”

He brought a hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly. The added pleasure sent shockwaves to your brain, your back arching, eyes rolling back. You could feel the coil in your stomach continue to tighten, the harsh pace of his assault on your clit only making the coil tighter and tighter.

He suddenly pinched your clit harshly, the sudden sensation causing you to let out a choked gasp. The coil in your stomach finally snapped, causing you to gush around him. He groaned at the feeling, your walls clamping around him, triggering his own release. He buried himself deep inside you, spurts of cum sprouting from him, slowly filling her up to the brim. He gripped your hips tightly. “Take it, take all of it, fucking take it — you’re mine to fuck, mine to breed, no matter when I see fit. So fucking take it–”

He kept on and on cumming, your walls clamping around him, milking him dry. He hissed, pulling out his softening length. It was so hot, the way his cum dripped out of your hole. It was the perfect time to eat you out, but that had to wait.

He grabbed your hands, finally undoing the belt on them. As soon as you were free from the restraints, you tried to flex your wrists, to fix the blood flow. He smirked at your antics. He grabbed your chin tightly, making you face him. “Listen up sweetheart — from now onwards, you do what I say. If I tell you to stay, you will stay. If I tell you to sit and look pretty, you will sit and look pretty. Got it?”

You gulped thickly. You were absolutely terrified of him. Why shouldn’t you be? Given what he had done to you, you would have no other choice but to obey him.

So you nodded. Albeit hesitantly.

He wrapped his arms around her “Good girl — my good girl”

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

[sugdenlovesdingle]

a little Tommy & Chim bffs for @rileychester

----

"Her ladyship requests, no demands, uncle Buck reading her a story before bed instead of her own mother." Maddie said, walking back into the livingroom after having gone to put Jee to bed half an hour ago.

"What can I say, it's not easy being this popular." Buck joked and extracted himself from where he'd been happily tucked under Tommy's arm on Maddie and Chimney's way too comfortable sofa. He quickly kissed Tommy, murmured something about being right back, and followed Maddie up to Jee's room.

Tommy watched him until he was out of the room and then turned back to Chim who was laughing at him.

"Damn Kinard you've got it bad."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tommy said, trying to act somewhat cool and hide his reddening cheeks behind his wine glass.

"Yeah I'm sure you don't." Chim took a sip of his own drink. "I mean I love Maddie more than anything in the world, but I don't kiss her goodbye when she leaves the room."

"Well maybe you should start." Tommy told him. If he was getting called out, he might as well own it. "It's working pretty well for us."

"She'd probably think I was going crazy and call Hen to come check me over. Who would then also ask me if I'd lost my mind." He said and they both laughed. "But it's good to see you so happy, man. Both of you. Even if I never in a million years would have guessed that you two would end up together."

"Me neither really." Tommy admitted. "I actually almost let your call go to voicemail that night. My shift was almost over and there was bad weather coming in... I just wanted to go home and catch up on some sleep."

"And there was me asking you to steal a helicopter because of a hunch. I'm sure Bobby is still very grateful you didn't ignore me." Chim said and raised his glass at him. "To team who cares!"

Tommy clinked his glass against Chim's.

"Bobby isn't the only one who's grateful. If I hadn't answered that call, i would have missed out on the greatest thing that ever happened to me. i wouldn't have met the love of my life. I wouldn't be here now. I might have downloaded that dating app again that I'd deleted off my phone a few days before or taken Lucy up on her offer to set me up with her friend." Tommy shook his head. "I'm just glad I did answer. it definitely changed my life for the better."

"You're getting sappy in your old age, Kinard." Chimney teased. "When is the wedding? Do I have time to buy a hat?" he joked, expecting Tommy to laugh with him. Only when he didn't say anything Chim really looked at him. "What? Tell me you didn't..."

"I asked Evan to marry me last night." Tommy told him after a beat. "He said yes."

Chimney blinked a few times to process the information.

"Of course he said yes! He's just as crazy about you as you are about him." he got up to hug his friend. "Welcome to the family, man. We'll officially be brothers."

Tommy smiled and finished the last of his wine.

"There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about though..."

"Shoot."

"When Evan and I get married... will you be my best man?"

"It would be the greatest honour of my life."

---

Send me a prompt and I'll write you a ficlet!

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love part 4

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his palm into his eyes.

Im such a piece of shit. God, how could I just do that.

He’s pissed at Steve for not saying something sooner, for waiting until Eddie had something good in his grasp. But he’s angry with himself too.

How stupid is he, really? Did he really not notice until it all came face to face?

He has Adiel’s number memorized, but he knows which of Steve’s beauty marks form constellations.

Mostly, hes confused. His feelings are a jumbled mess and he’s never been good at sorting them out. Naturally, he turns to music. Dio has serenaded him these past few days. Wayne has steered clear of his shit show.

How do you feel right now?

What do you see?

Where would you be right now?

Hey angel what about me?

Jesus fucking fuck. He attempts to run his hand through his hair only it doesn’t get too far, rings snagged in his tangled hair. He can feel the oil built up on the strands and knows it’s time to get his ass out of bed. He doesn’t.

“Angel, Angel, angel. You were my angel. Just not anymore.” He mutters to himself long after the track has finished and another song plays. He’s learning to let go still, even after he’s ended it.

You know what really makes him feel like a dickhead? That Adiel got hurt because of him. He didn’t deserve to get caught in Eddie’s bullshit.

Guilt eats him alive.

His conscious hurts and his heart trembles, tumbled in his chest, but he doesn’t feel the heartbreak the way he should. That world-on-fire and breath burning feeling. He can’t find it.

Like a masochist he wants for it, desires it, deserves it like sinner.

Those last few weeks were enough for his feelings to settle, for his heart to make a decision with or without his input. He tried—god fuck I tried—to feel that skipped-beat flutter when Adiel smiled his way. Could almost convince himself he could. That Adiel’s interlocked hand in his still felt an extension of himself instead of something foreign.

It used to feel like I belonged at his side. Why did it have to stop?

He’s wronged a friend who trusted him to keep his heart safe. A friend who had already been through so much. And Eddie added to that lifetime of hurt because he couldn’t figure it out himself.

Because he was too stupid to see and too stupid to know.

He thinks of Steve’s lips, like he has now for days. Weeks. His heart twists, rung out. That skipped-beat flutter that betrays him.

Fuck. Fuck, man.

He has to stop yanking at his hair like he can train himself out of feeling it.

Do your demons, do they ever let you go?

When you've tried, do they hide, deep inside

Is it someone that you know?

You're just a picture, you're an image caught in time

We're a lie, you and I.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he tells no one because he needs to say it until he can forgive himself a little. Until he can make himself believe that Adiel will forgive him, in time.

“I’m so sorry,” this time says it to himself, covers his face with his hands and finally cries.

Against his fucking will he cries, can’t hold onto it anymore. Ugly retching sobs that can only come from mourning an almost.

Finally, after days of like solitude, Wayne creeps in un-intrusive as a shadow. His hand on his shoulder may be the only thing that keeps Eddie from disappearing.

“I could’ve loved him, Wayne. I could’ve—I did. I think I fucking loved him and I didn’t know until—until I didn’t anymore. And then—and then I just couldn’t again.”

I wish he got to know that. That even for a short time, I had loved him.

Wayne, ever a man of few words, sits with him and lets him have his silence.

———

It’s a little over a month after that that Steve pays him a visit.

He’s smart enough to show up when Wayne isn’t home, looking sheepish as he shuffles on his front step. At least he has the gall to look him in the eyes.

All this is because of you, he thinks. His dark under eyes, his pallid skin. The rage in his blood. The almost that he had.

“Why are you here?” He looks taken aback, almost shrinks in on himself.

“I… the boys said that you, well.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, his hair longer than when Eddie last saw it. It slips through Steve’s fingers. “You never came by again and I wanted to see you. To talk? Can we talk? Can’t… can’t I come in?”

Having Steve in his home, in his space, is dangerous.

Those eyes are deep, soften by tired shadows.

“No,” his swallow is audible and steels himself, “Why should I want you in my home, Steve?”

Steve stands there lips parted and hands clenches at the bottom of his sweatshirt, eyes shined over. Eddie takes the chance to step forward. Everything inside him is too much.

“Don’t you understand what you did? I was happy. And you, fuck, you ruined it! Steve! You!” He out of the door way now and Steve steps back, back, back.

Steve’s face is red in shame. Eddie’s in anger. His pointed finger jabbed at his chest, accusing.

“You couldn’t just let me be happy? Why? Why did you kiss me, Steve? Why then? Was it because you couldn’t stand that I finally had someone? Say something!”

Steves eyes overflow, “Yes! I could stand it because I love you, asshole! I thought, I don’t know—I thought you loved me, too. Okay? Me. We both felt it—tell me you felt it too, Eddie? It wasn’t just me, right?

“You were everywhere and everything. You’d smile at me and it was the sun. So close, always right there and it was like we were—we were teetering on the edge of something amazing. And I was so happy, Eddie. So happy that day ‘cuz I thought, it was just us, right? Me and you. Just us. Together.

“But then you saw him and your weren’t even listening to me. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? You only had eyes for him. You left me there and I didn’t know what to do with myself ‘cuz suddenly all you’d talk about was him. Every day and every minute we were together. After thinking, after thinking you loved me too.

That I had you.

So yes! Okay? I kissed you because I was selfish and I needed to know. I needed to know if any of it was real. If there really was nothing there.”

Steve’s breathing hard by the end of, words a wavering wet string of rawn vulnerable pulled out of his chest. He’s looking at the floor, hair covering his eyes, and shoulders trembling as he hiccups.

Then, everything feels still. Calm inside. For the first time in ages, Eddie feels like he can take a deep breath and not fall apart. He closes his eyes for a second and just breathes. The fight escapes him with the last breath.

“You ruined me, Steve. You ruined me in a way that even I didn’t understand. I didn’t know, not until that night, about how you felt. And I’m sorry if it was my fault, if I did and said things to make you feel that way, okay? But I didn’t… I didn’t feel that way about you. Not then. Not when you kissed me.”

“And now? Eddie? Do you… could you feel that way for me, now?”

“If it weren’t for you,” he begins, “Adiel and I… we could’ve had something great. But then you—and I— I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered so much on why you kissed me that night, replaying every moment together, to see what you saw. And ended up feeling… feeling what you felt.”

He takes the chance to move forward the last bit of space to reach to him, have him look him in the eyes. Both of them mirror images of despair.

“You ruined me, Stevie. Everything was different. It wasn’t perfect anymore, I couldn’t make it perfect again. And I couldn’t be who I had been with Adiel knowing that I couldn’t find in me what we had before. That maybe, this has the chance of being something amazing, too.

I stopped seeing you everyday, so I saw you in everything. I stopped speaking to you, and you became the voice inside my head. It was maddening.”

Eddie laughs and wipes away the tears from Steve’s eyes, they fall faster when he smiles a weak and small but real thing.

“Adiel and I, we fit together; we were good together. But despite that, I didn’t want him anymore. I didn’t know why, I think I still don’t, but… I don’t need to know. I just need feel it, Stevie. And I feel it. I want this. Me and you. You have throughly ruined me, for anybody else.”

This time the kiss is different. It’s shared elation, wet and salty on the tongue, and clumsy as they try to fit into each other. Disappear in one another.

“Are you still mad?”

Those brown eyes don’t resemble gems of green, but they’re filled with incredible warmth and Eddie sees home in them,

Sees a life with them,

It’s own kind of precious.

And he laughs.

“So much, Stevie. I’m mad and heartbroken and falling jn love and happy and so so sure of us. I think, I think I still need some time, I’m really fucked—no, no, shouldn’t cry anymore,” he says as Steve’s face scrunches and it’s so unbelievably cute if he wasn’t blaming himself for it all.

“I just want to make sure I do this right this time. And if I, if I invite you in… I won’t be able to.”

Steve rests his forehead against his, there is heat between them, “But I have you, right?”

“Yeah, took me a while to figure it out but… yeah. Yes. You have me, Steve. God, and I have you. And tomorrow, tomorrow you’re going to come over and pick me up at 6 in the evening so we can eat shitty pancakes at the diner.

And then we’ll figure this out together.”

Part 3 <💛 End, thank you for reading and for all the feedback!

[chestnutninny]

Get Your Girl

Hi! What about a request for Aaron Hotchner x reader where he’s been kind of seeing/dating you but is scared of making it official bc of what happened to Haley but he loves you so much so is in a battle with himself about what to do. And the rest of the team can tell how happy he is with you and they try to convince him to go for it. Angst ending with fluff.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

For the last couple of months, Aaron's usual scowl had disappeared entirely from his face and had been replaced by a smile, one that the team only saw on very rare occasions. The confusion that buzzed through the team hummed around the office, the members whispering about the sudden perk in his attitude. The case that the team had been working on has finally come to an end after a gruelling set of murders, and Aaron was fast to pack up his belongings and speed out of the building, bundling into his car.

He made his way to his apartment ready to get changed into his date attire, expecting your arrival at his front door within the next half an hour. Panic started to set in as it dawned on his that he was running really behind, not even having enough time to fasten the tie around his neck, before the doorbell wrung out through his apartment. He strode towards his front door and looked through the peephole before opening the door.

You stood on the opposite side, wringing your hands in front of you, before looking at to meet his eyes. Your figure was hugged by a short black dress that sat mid thigh, gaining Aaron's attention, which was very wanted. His eyes raked shamelessly up and down your body, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips, before returning his gaze back to your own.

"Hey. You look so gorgeous, Y/N." He smiled, his head lowering slightly as he smiled shyly, almost bashfully.

"You don't look too bad yourself." You smirked, his shyness giving you a slight surge of confidence.

He leaned against the doorframe for a few minutes longer, his eyes glancing over you over and over again, however you were starting to grow slightly impatient.

"Are you going to invite me in, or are we standing here all night?" You joked.

"Sorry...come in." He pushed the door further open, allowing you access to his home.

You had been on a few dates with Hotch, however this was the first time you had been invited to his house, with the promise of a home-cooked meal. He led you to the front room, where you took your seat on his sofa. He came over to where you were residing and set down two glasses on the coffee table, before pouring an ample amount in each glass.

You both indulged into some casual conversation whilst you waited for your food to finish. Eventually, he brought out two steaming plates stacked with huge piles of spaghetti, which you assumed Rossi gave him the recipe for. Your conversation simmered down whilst you ate your food, your slight moan echoing through the room as the taste of the food settled upon your taste buds.

"So...how's work been?" You asked, resuming your talk.

"It's been okay, pretty stressful. But what's new there?" He chuckled to himself. "Although, I've been invited to a Unit partner with the rest of the team.

"Ooh, that's exciting. Are you going to go?"

"Maybe, I'm not too sure just yet." He admitted.

"Maybe I could come with you. It'd be the perfect time to meet the team?" The idea definitely made you nervous, however you'd do pretty much anything for Aaron, and to be able to meet the people he calls family would mean the world to you.

"I don't think that'd be the best idea, Y/N." He stated bluntly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Why not?" You were met with silence. "You haven't even told them about us, have you?"

He sat with his head down, refusing to make eye contact with you. You scoffed before reaching for you bag and jacket, making an abrupt exit from his apartment. Aaron tried to call after you, yet the door slammed over his voice.

You stormed down to the parking lot of his apartment block and slammed your car door behind you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you planted your forehead against the cool leather of your steering wheel. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and made your way back to your own apartment, the anger boiling through your veins not subsiding in the slightest.

Back at his apartment, Aaron, couldn't help but kick himself. Why didn't he say anything? He knew that he should have opened his mouth and offered for you to come with him to meet his 'family', however after what happened to Haley, he was too afraid to expose you to the horrors of his job, his everyday places.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Monday morning finally moped around and Aaron found himself mindlessly slipping into his suit, throwing all of his belongings into his car before driving of the work. Hid colleagues immediately sensed his foul mood, yet they all new better than to get under his skin more by asking his questions about it. That was until the team gathered around the table after hearing about a new case and Penelope Garcia strutted through the room, her floral perfume lingering behind her.

"Sir, your frown is certainly more visible than usual," she joked, looking around the room at the rest of the team.

Morgan shook his head at her, signalling for her to be quiet. Hotch sighed and buried his head in hands before abruptly standing up and excusing himself to his office. Garcia watched as he exited the room and looked back to her team before offering an apology to them all.

"I think you should be apologising to Hotch, babygirl." Derek remarked, his signature smirk taking over his features once again.

"I'll go and talk to him." JJ stated, before vacating her own seat at the round table.

Once she had reached his office, three knocks rung out from the wooden door, echoing throughout his spacious office. He waited a few moments before calling that the door was open. He straightened his back and cleared his throat as he watched JJ make her way into the room, settling down on the corner of his desk.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" She questioned after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Hotch lifted his head slightly, unspilled tears forming in the corners of his eyes. JJ forwned in confusion, but waited for him to talk. He cleared his throat and blinked a few times before speaking.

"I've been seeing this woman for a while now, but I'm too scared to make things official after Haley's death." He admitted, shaking his head at how pathetic he sounded.

"So that's why you've been so smiley lately?" She questioned, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He chuckled at her antics before nodding his head nervously, which was very out of character for him.

"Honestly, I saw just go for it. You know the team will always have your back and we just want you to be happy. I'd love to meet her, she must be great to make you this happy, Hotch."

Aaron considered her words before agreeing with her.

"You're right. I deserve to be happy and she's the one I can see myself being happy with."

"Go and get your girl."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You swung your apartment door opened, the delicate petals of your favourite flowers clouding your vision. You gasped in surprise when Hotch's head poked up from behind them, a small yet nervous smile appearing on his face.

"Hey." He greeted, his teeth carefully chewing the inside of his cheek as he waited for your response.

"Hi." You responded, a bit confused.

You hadn't heard off Aaron for a few days since your incident, however you couldn't deny that it felt so good to see him again, to see him stood at your door.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. If you'd give me a second chance, I'd love for you to come and meet my team?" He proposed, his eyes full of hope.

"Of course. But you have to tell me what's going on."

You pushed the door open more for him to enter, and you both spoke about everything whilst you got ready to go and meet his team

The rest of the night was filled with laughs, jokes and hand holding, with it fair share of drinks and delicate kisses placed upon your cheek and head.

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Taglist: @borinxnovakxprentiss @chloeelou02x @moonlightjxuregui @zolofts (join my taglist here)

[archangeldyke-all]

in these trying times, i NEED to know your thoughts on vibrating arm sevika.

OkAYYYY i have decompressed and bitched with the council (the ladies i work with) and the queen (my mother) and made some donations and read mars' fic and my edible is kicking in! let's write!!

men and minors dni

i think she's too shy to go to a mechanic at first-- how awkward would that be "hi i wanna make my arm into a vibrator???" what is she supposed to say!?!?

so after a few of her own attempts to modify her arm herself (and a few accidental electrocutions) she finally gives up and approaches singed for help

she's drunk as hell when she does it in anticipation of the horribly awkward conversation-- but when she gets there she realizes that singed is the last person she should be worried about.

he doesn't ask a single question.

like, he's surprisingly compliant, pulling out a screwdriver before sevika can even slur out the full question.

(sevika doesn't know this-- but singed had been itching to get into sevika's arm, having realized he'd done some wiring wrong in the initial design and unwilling to admit his mistake.)

i think it's something she can do in one or two fingers, but probably not her whole arm.

i also think she gets this feature soley for herself, at first. like, years before she even meets you.

i think sevika's a lady on the go, and when she doesn't have time to stop by babette's the wants an easy way to blow off some steam fast.

and it works fast. singed installed a fucking jackhammer of a motor to her hand (having assumed she genuinely wanted a vibrating feature for something mechanical or work related) and all it takes is her fingers pressed against her crotch (clothed, usually-- she's in a rush!) for a minute and a half and she's cumming so hard she has to bite her fist to stay quiet.

when she introduces this feature to you, you obviously beg for a demonstration.

obviously.

it's about the hottest thing in the world to watch sevika fall apart underneath you, fully clothed, her fingers buzzing against her cunt as she whimpers and moans.

you end up pinning her wrist to her cunt, insisting she keep going-- shoving your tongue down her throat when she starts to scream in pleasure.

she cums four times before she finally flips you and gives you a taste of your own medicine.

[kaleidohscopic]

TRY AGAIN — JJH

PAIRING: jaehyun x female reader SUMMARY: if you could have it your way, you'd never have to see, hear, or even think about jeong jaehyun ever again. a fortuitous blind date, and that same dimpled smile after all those years, is somehow enough to make you reconsider. maybe he was always meant to be by your side. GENRE: exes to lovers! au, slight coworkers! au, romance, angst, slow burn, humour, some pining, a touch of smut WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, too many descriptions of coffee and wine, mentions of sex, general mature content and themes, reader is not good at talking about her feelings, joy x doyoung, i try to write about the complexity of relationships and personal growth (i fail miserably) WORD COUNT: 32.4k NOTE: oh. my god. it's finally here! there's certainly something different about writing for your ult. office scenes inspired by the internship i did at a big 4 firm that ended up rejecting everyone from my department (yes i'm still bitter). i actually wanted to get this out back in august to celebrate jolo but alas, Life. i guess this is a parting gift? (jaehyun i am nothing and nobody without you.) i poured a lot of heart into this fic and posting it feels like letting my child go out into the world alone... be safe my darling xx

You should’ve brought an umbrella. 

The early evening sky was darkening faster than usual, ominous grey clouds hovering between the skyscrapers like an unspoken but imminent threat. Though the ground was still dry, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be for long. Your haste to leave your apartment this morning had robbed you of the good sense to check the weather forecast, mind too preoccupied with tonight’s agenda to spare a thought for the possible torrential downpour that summer seemed to be so fond of. 

A glance down at your feet sent a twinge of annoyance through you. Of course you picked the black pumps to wear today. They were pretty, which was why you had slipped them on in the first place, wanting to make a good impression even if you told yourself you didn’t really care that much, but they were also expensive, and you did not want to get them wet. You said a silent prayer. Hopefully the impending rain would be kind to the leather.

“You better not be flaking,” Joy warned, voice crackling through your phone speaker. “I don’t really care what he thinks of you for not showing up, but it’ll reflect badly on me, and I can’t have that.”

You suppressed a smile. Ever the drama queen.

“I am literally walking out of the station right now. The Italian place, right?” you asked, pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs to gather your surroundings. The restaurant she had picked out wasn’t exactly an unknown location to you, but it had been a while since you last visited, and the buildings seemed to look back at you with a dazed unfamiliarity.

She gave an affirmative hum. “Two streets down from the exit. The reservation is under my name, but I think he might be there already.”

“Yippee. How exciting.”

There was a loud sigh from the other end of the line, and you could almost hear her rolling her eyes at you. “You do know I set this up with your best interests at heart, right?”

“Are you sure it’s not because you were bored and needed to use some poor soul for your own entertainment?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who put three packets of salt in Jungwoo’s coffee,” she fired back. 

Okay, maybe that one was on you. But it had been pretty funny seeing him spit it out all over the office kitchen counter and then meticulously clean up the mess with paper towels, all the while eyeing everyone on your floor with suspicion.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “give him a chance. I think you guys could really like each other.” There was a pause. “Plus, he’s super fucking hot. Like if I wasn’t happily taken I would be climbing him like a tree.”

“Gross. I’m filing a complaint with HR.”

“Reporting me to my own department? I’ll make sure that file never even makes it through the portal,” she cackled at your empty threat, and you joined in with her. “Seriously though, just give him a chance. At least stay until the mains come out.”

“Fine,” you acquiesced, though you made sure she heard the huff that accompanied it. “But if he starts talking about cryptocurrency I am leaving.” 

Joy only laughed, assuring you he probably wouldn’t, and bid you goodbye with a parting command for you to enjoy yourself. 

On days like these, you couldn’t decide whether you were grateful or unlucky to have been placed on a team with her for your first project at the company. Technically speaking, Joy was your senior by almost two years, but even at that first daily stand-up half a year ago, filled with nervous smiles and clumsy introductions, you had the feeling the two of you would gel. By the time that first project wrapped up, the two of you had long progressed past mere co-workers, having bonded over 8-hour days of Powerpoint formatting and your mutual dislike of olives. You had never been more thankful for someone so vivacious to show you the ropes, and help you settle into the new environment with such ease.

However, Joy was a meddler.

Her meddling was what had you currently navigating the crumbly asphalt in your nicest shoes to meet the apparent hunk she had set you up with. You didn’t know much about the guy since she refused to give you his name, afraid you’d search him up on social media and then make up some excuse to back out once you had seen his face — like you had done with the previous two that she’d picked out for you.

Apparently, this one was from the Digital department, and had been at the company for a little over a year. Those were two out of the three pieces of information that she had deigned to bestow upon you, the third being that he had dimples, which she thought you’d appreciate.

Oh, and now the fourth one being that he was ‘super fucking hot’.

Who knew? Maybe you would enjoy yourself. Getting back into the dating scene was pretty low on your priorities, with your career and trying to stick to a consistent gym routine taking up the majority of your time, but you were never opposed to a bit of fun. 

Maybe Mr Super-Fucking-Hot could be a bit of fun. 

Just take it easy, you thought to yourself, spotting the glass windows of the restaurant as you rounded the corner. Il Giardino, read the sign that hung above the door. Cute.

Hastily, you shifted your bag and cardigan to the other arm and smoothed out the creases in your black trousers. You had tried for something a little dressy, but also office-appropriate since you were coming straight from work, and not like you had tried too hard and spent an unnecessary number of hours thinking about what to wear on this stupid blind date. Another quick glance at your reflection in the window, just to make sure there was no food or lipstick in your teeth, and you pushed past the door.

Soft jazz filtered through your ears as you stepped inside. The restaurant was nicely decorated, a few vintage Italian posters hanging on the exposed brick walls, and an overall rustic feel that paired well with the warm, earthy ambience. Judging by the patrons already seated, this place was a popular date night location, with all but one table occupied by couples sharing soft touches and flirty smiles over half-filled glasses of red wine.

Joy certainly knew how to pick a spot.

You gave the smiling hostess Joy’s name for the reservation, managing a weak smile of your own when she informed you that the other half of your party had already arrived, and followed her through the tables further into the restaurant. Outside, the first few raindrops had begun to splatter against the asphalt, slowly darkening the road with wet patches that were sure to grow into puddles. It seemed you had arrived just in time to escape the rain.

The hostess stopped at a more private table towards the back, and gestured towards the empty seat with that same welcoming smile. Mystery man, aka Mr Super-Fucking-Hot, was sat with his back to you, leafing through what you assumed to be the drinks menu. His silhouette from behind was alright-looking, you supposed, if you really had to put a label to it, but there was something vaguely familiar about the shape of his head. Perhaps you had crossed paths in the office lobby before?

You approached the table, trying to sneak a peek of him out of the corner of your eye, just to see if he lived up to Joy’s oh-so-generous description, without being so painfully obvious—

And froze.

“Is everything alright?” the hostess asked, still beaming at you. 

You barely heard her through the cotton wool that seemed to suddenly fill your ears, hands instantly clamming up as you took in the man in front of you. His warm eyes widened a fraction of a millimetre with recognition, quickly followed by something else you couldn’t place.

This was not happening.

“Is everything okay?” the hostess tried again. The corners of her mouth were beginning to slip, and she cast you a mildly concerned glance.

How strange you must have looked, standing stock-still beside your reserved table like a statue. The only things that could dispel the notion you had suddenly turned into stone were the light flush to your cheeks, and the deafening pounding of your own heart that you were sure the whole restaurant could hear.

“Everything’s fine, just give us a minute please,” Jaehyun finally said, flashing the hostess a kind smile. She took her cue to leave, but not without another curious look between the two of you, hurriedly brushing away the waiter who was approaching the table and preparing to rattle off the specials. 

Hearing his voice seemed to break the spell that had rendered you so immobile. You straightened, shifting your bag higher up your shoulder, and turned to leave. Whatever this was, you were not entertaining it.

Chair legs screeched abruptly against the floor. 

“Wait,” he pleaded. 

Your eyes landed on his hand latched around your wrist first, before they moved to his face again. Slowly, his fingers loosened, but he kept you in his hold. 

“Will you sit, please?” he asked softly. 

You looked at him. Really looked at him, taking in his full, straight brows, the slope of his nose, the pinkness of his lips. His cheeks had slimmed since you had last seen him, allowing the sharpness of his jaw to really come through. Breathtakingly handsome as he always had been. A little older, a little more masculine, and yet somehow still the same.

And maybe because you still saw him, the boy that you loved, the first and likely only boy you had ever truly loved, you did sit, sliding into your chair like it was made of ice.

“It’s been a while,” he began, lowering back into his seat. You gave no indication that you had heard him at all, eyes focused on the flickering tealight candle at the centre of the table. The wax was a pinkish red colour, and the light scent coming from it was sweet, with a touch of tartness. Pomegranate, maybe. At your silence, he cleared his throat and tried again. “How have you—”

“Did you plan this?”

He pulled back a bit, as if in genuine shock. “No, I swear, I had no idea it was you. Joy only told me it was someone from her department, and that you were pretty, and she thought you’d be my type.” A pause. “Did you?”

Your reply was icy. “Why would I plan to see you?”

He looked away at that, sucking in a breath through his teeth. You were probably mistaken, but something akin to hurt flashed in those eyes as he gave a short nod at your words. Likely a trick of the light. It was a little too dim in here. What reason would he have to be hurt? Why would he be bleeding when you were the one with cuts all over your hands from picking up the glass shards of your own broken heart?

An uncomfortable beat passed. “Well, I’d say it was nice to see you, but you know I’m not good at lying,” you said. Shouldn’t have sat down in the first place.

Grabbing your bag and cardigan, you made to stand up again, regretting your decision to come here, regretting giving in to Joy so easily, regretting leaving the house this morning without a stupid fucking umbrella. The drizzle outside had turned into a downpour in no time, and the street drains were definitely going to clog up tonight. 

Seoul and its fucking summer monsoon season.

“Can we just—please, can you—fuck. Can we have dinner and just talk? As friends?” His hand shot out across the table, as if itching to grab yours again, but thought better of it, letting his fingertips rest against the edges of the linen napkin you hadn’t even bothered to unfold. 

A refraction of light from his sleeve caught your eye. His cufflinks. He was wearing the cufflinks you had gotten him for your high school graduation all those years ago. 

They had been expensive. Four months of pay from your part-time job at the ice-cream parlour was just enough for the pale pearls set in sterling silver. You supposed it would have been silly of him to throw them away when they were so valuable. It wasn’t like you had thrown away the gold pendant he had given you either. That necklace hadn’t hung around your neck for a long time, but it still sat somewhere in the depths of your jewellery box, underneath all the newer ones you had bought for yourself or received from friends over the years.

“Fine,” you found yourself saying. “Sure. As friends. Why not?” 

Sinking back into your seat, you reached for the wine menu immediately. Enduring the next hour in the company of your ex-boyfriend without a drink? Unbearable. As much as you liked to convince yourself you were over him, from your behaviour tonight it was clear you most certainly were not, and only alcohol could soothe that blow to your pride.

Your eyes flitted down the page of reds, then the whites, then the sparklings. Christ, the prices in this place were not pretty. Joy would have to be in a completely separate tax bracket from you if these were the kinds of establishments she frequented. 

For a brief moment, you thought about ordering the most expensive bottle on the list — a Penfold’s 2018 Shiraz — just to be spiteful, but decided against it. If you were really going to be sharing a meal ‘as friends’, he would not be footing the entire bill. You wouldn’t let him.

The waiter, under the impression that things had somewhat cooled down, finally approached your table, albeit a bit cautiously. Hearing but not really listening, you let him sing praises about the wild mushroom ravioli, ordering it just to save yourself the effort of reading through the rest of the menu. When he reached the beverages portion of his spiel, you settled for a more reasonable bottle, a 2021 merlot.

It was only once he had left to put your orders in that you realised that you had not even checked if Jaehyun was driving tonight.

“I’ll pay for the wine, if you’re not drinking,” you said, fiddling with your napkin. You could probably finish the whole bottle yourself anyway. Maybe that would make it easier to look him in the eye.

“You really don’t need to do that,” he replied, voice soft but firm. The weight of his eyes on you was almost a tangible thing. “I’ll have a glass.”

Your waiter returned, making a show of uncorking the bottle before pouring it out into both your glasses. You couldn’t down the first one fast enough, draining half the contents in one long mouthful like it was your first taste of water after finishing a marathon. Jaehyun was more deliberate with his glass, taking only a few small sips before he set it down on the table again. If he noticed the speed at which you emptied yours, which it was pretty hard not to with the way you were gulping the wine down, he said nothing.

God, this was fucking awkward.

“So,” he began, trying to mask the crack of his voice with a cough, “what made you agree to this thing?”

You reached for the bottle. “Felt like I owed it to Joy,” you said, pouring yourself another glass. “I flaked out of the last two she organised.” 

Maybe you should have just gone on that first one with Taehyung, or Taehyun, or whatever his name was. Then you could have avoided this situation altogether. 

“So you do this kind of thing a lot, then?” came his careful question.

You were curt. “No.” 

He blinked a few times, the movements slow with confusion at the abruptness of your answer. You knew you were being difficult. You wanted to be. Five years could heal most things, but unspoken words could linger like splinters under your fingernails, festering below the surface. Calluses had hardened over the splinters of your breakup, tough and protective, but now it was as if they were pushing through to the surface again, your fingers newly tender at the sight of him after all those years. 

A small part of you wanted to give him a taste of your hurt, wanted him to feel the prick of tiny wood chips in the flesh behind his nail beds. The larger part, however, knew malice would do no good for you. You had survived the pain. There was no reason to survive poison as well.

“No, I don’t,” you tried again, a little softer, a little less jagged around the edges. “I think she just likes to set them up for fun. This is my first time on one of these blind uh…” The word date sat heavy on the tip of your tongue but refused to budge. “One of these things.” Maybe another mouthful of wine would wash it down.

“Her definition of fun can be rather interesting,” he said, politely filling the silence.

You hummed in agreement, raising the freshly filled wine glass to your mouth again as you scrambled around in your head for something, anything to say. It had been a while since you had last been out on the dating scene, and you were well aware of it, but good grief, it was like your conversational skills had evaporated into thin air.

“How do you know Joy?” was what you decided on after a deliberately slow sip.

Thankfully, Jaehyun seemed to still know how to carry a conversation. “She’s one of the HR reps for Digital, so we’ve spoken a few times before. And her boyfriend is a friend from university.” He paused to take a sip of his wine. “Have you met him?”

You shook your head lightly. “No, not yet. Hoping to, soon.” 

“You’ll like him. Doyoung’s a great guy. Patience of a saint.”

“He’d have to be to keep up with her,” you said, hints of a chuckle sprinkled in your voice. 

Something about the fact that he was already privy to more of Joy’s personal life than you were had a sliver of jealousy wriggling in your stomach. She was supposed to be your friend, and yet you knew very little about Doyoung besides his name, while your ex-boyfriend across from you had been buddy-buddy with him for probably years and years. Not that it was a competition to see who held more information about their coworker outside the office, but the feeling that you were somewhat losing didn’t sit well.

“It’s actually my first time on a blind date as well,” he said, allowing himself a tentative smile. “You know how convincing she can be. I mean, I don’t think I’d ever go on one if she hadn’t roped me in. It feels a bit silly meeting up with a complete stranger, you know?” He turned his smile to you, still tentative but coloured with a tinge of hopefulness, like he wanted you to understand, like he knew you would. 

How could you not? There had once been a time where you believed that you and Jaehyun had been two halves of the same soul, carved into existence from the same stone. There had once been a time where you knew him almost better than he knew himself. 

A time rather distant from now.

You kept your answer non-committal. “Sure,” you murmured, wishing his pretty face wouldn’t fall so quickly at your nonchalance, wishing you hadn’t caught the slightest droop to the curve of his mouth. Everything about him was still too familiar. “I’m just a bit surprised to hear that, I guess. You were so desperate to meet new people back then.”

Three seconds passed in silence. 

His eyes dropped to his lap, as did yours to your own. This previously reasonable bottle of merlot was loosening your lips rather unreasonably.

“Sorry, that was—” Unnecessary? Mean? 

True? 

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you finally managed, the words spilling out of your mouth in a tumbled rush. 

Or maybe you had. 

Jaehyun could only flash you a weak smile. “It’s fine,” he said, though you both knew it wasn’t really.

Frigidity returned to the air between you, stopped just short of freezing over by the reappearance of your waiter, along with a plate of goat’s cheese arancini. Jaehyun politely gestured for you to eat first, watching as you speared the crusty surface with your fork and moved it over to your own plate. For a few seconds, the only noises that could be heard from the table were the clinks and clanks of stainless steel utensils against ceramic plates. The arancini could not have come at a better time, affording both of you the opportunity to hide behind the guise of eating, and put off the need to make strained conversation, even if the time it bought you was fleeting.

Meet new people. Those were the exact words he had said to you all those years ago. Han River on a Tuesday night, cherry blossom petals fluttering through the balmy April air, the iciness of winter finally melting away into a distant memory to reveal fresh green carpets and vivid blooms — few things could have been more romantic. Spring is the season of love, they said. 

But for you, spring was the season of loss. It was the season when love ended, when love could be taken back and snatched away in the blink of an eye. On a Tuesday night in April, you learned that your love was not just not enough, but that it was a burden, an obstacle between Jaehyun and living his life to the fullest. That time spent with you was time squandered. That you were robbing him of the complete university experience, and to an extent, his youth.

Jaehyun had always been a wanter. He wanted boldly and he wanted freely, never dwelling too long on how his wanting could appear in the eyes of others, never shy about his desires. When he was ten years old, he wanted a dog, despite the reddening of his nose and the watering of his eyes whenever he’d get within arm’s distance of the bichon frisé. In tenth grade, he wanted you, with cans of peach soda and sweet little notes in your locker until you finally said yes to being his girlfriend after three days of public pursuit. 

(You had arguably wanted him more, and for longer, though nobody had been none the wiser — you were rather good at hiding your feelings.)

Two months into your first year at university, his wants changed. He wanted more space and more freedom to meet new people. He wanted to be able to attend club social outings, and get to know his seniors, and play drinking games with his new roommates, instead of trekking to the other side of Seoul every week to see you, his girlfriend, who had now become his obligation.

It would have been a lie to say you hadn’t noticed a shift in his behaviour in the months leading up to that fateful night. Smiles had become a little wearier. Texts had become sparser. You had chalked it up to the challenges of settling into the new routine and rigorous coursework, and the distance between your schools that occupied opposite sides of the city. Sure, the hour-long subway ride from his campus to yours wasn’t the greatest asset to your relationship, but 18-year-old you had remained optimistic it would endure whatever curveballs your first year of university and the beginnings of real adulthood would throw at you. 

You had survived the CSAT together and emerged in one piece. What else could be harder than that?

“You’re right though,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on his own piece of fried goat’s cheese. “I guess I was.”

You let your fork drop with a soft clang. “Let’s not, uh—we don’t have to talk about that.” Pink petals were swimming at the edges of your vision. 

Please, let’s not talk about that.

A flicker of something behind his eyes could almost convince you he wanted exactly the opposite of your unspoken plea. Maybe this was a conversation he didn’t actually want to avoid the way you so desperately did. 

And maybe he would have said something too, if not for the waiter who returned at that precise moment. 

“The mushroom ravioli,” the waiter announced, setting the plate down in front of you, “and the amatriciana spaghetti. Enjoy.” 

Four pieces of pasta covered in sage butter looked back up at you. 

You made a mental note to never order ravioli at an Italian restaurant ever again. 

The sound of scraping utensils returned to your table, lightly blanketing the stilted pause in conversation with idle noise. Without much enthusiasm, you sliced at one of the four pieces of your ravioli, throwing what you hoped were sneaky glances at the full plate of spaghetti sitting in an appetising red sauce laid out before your ex-boyfriend. 

“Do you want to try mine?”

Sneakiness had never been your forte.

Your polite refusal came quickly, even if it was rather weak to your own ears, but Jaehyun was already twirling a portion out onto the share plate the waiter had kindly provided a few minutes earlier. He made sure to scoop some sauce and pancetta bits on top as well, before gently pushing the plate towards you. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, though you made no move to dig in.

Everything wasn’t supposed to feel this familiar. You weren’t supposed to soften so easily at the sight of his dimpled smile. You weren’t supposed to feel that strange tug in your chest at his thoughtfulness, at the way he could still pick up the slightest change in your expression. And maybe the bar was too low, and here you were fawning over nothing more than the bare minimum, because what guy would see his date enviously looking at his food instead of her own and blatantly ignore it?

But with Jaehyun, it was different. You knew it was. Within every action, there was familiarity and practice, there was thought and care, there were years of history that were unerasable, even with the passage of time. You weren’t the same wide-eyed teenagers now as you had been then, and yet scenes from the rest of that excruciating first semester flickered in your mind. 

A silent breakdown during a business administration lecture. Your roommate’s concerned expression when you decided to skip dinner again.

The tug in your chest was leading you back into dangerous territory. 

For the third time tonight, you debated grabbing your things and walking straight out. You had only promised Joy that you would stay until the mains came out. If you were going to leave now, technically, you would still have fulfilled your end of the promise. Arguably, this wasn’t the best time to make an exit — fifteen minutes earlier would have been much better so that the kitchen would have time to cancel your stupid ravioli before they started preparing it. Leaving now wouldn’t be the most optimal, but it was still an option. A tad heavy on the dramatics, but you could live with that. You’d just never be able to step foot in this establishment again.

A shame. The spaghetti looked good. You’d have to search up if this place did delivery.

“You can go if you really want to, I won’t hold it against you,” Jaehyun said quietly. His eyes were fixed on the fork he was twirling through his dish. You supposed you should’ve been surprised at the way he could read your mind without even looking at you, but you couldn’t find the energy in you to pretend.

“But,” he continued at your silence, “if you’re willing to stay, I’d really like it if we could just catch up?” At this, he finally met your eyes and offered a small smile. “It has been a while, after all.”

Maybe it was the sincerity contained in those soft brown eyes. Maybe it was because you really did want to try the amatriciana spaghetti while it was hot and fresh off the stove. Whatever it was, you found yourself resolving to stay, despite all the reasons not to, despite the sound of them loud and clear in your head, ready at your disposal. Allowing yourself to indulge in nostalgia once in a while couldn’t be that bad for you. Right? 

So you stayed. And you ate (his spicy amatriciana scored a landslide victory over your mushroom ravioli). And you talked. As two friends would do, catching each other up on the things that had shaped your lives since you had gone on your separate ways. 

Conversation was clunky at first, that was to be expected. Even the closest of friendships would encounter some choppy waters when reconnecting for the first time after five years. But conversation with Jaehyun gave way to smooth sailing much quicker than you would have expected. He still wore the face of the boy who would sneak an extra serving of fried sweet potato from the cafeteria because he knew you liked them, but he wasn’t quite the same. Older, certainly. Maturity wasn’t something that went hand-in-hand with age like you had thought when you were younger, but he was more mature too. Surer of himself, and his place in the world.

You heard of the summer he spent in the UK after graduation, visiting his uncle and their family, appreciating classical architecture and the leisure inherent to rolling green hills that he hadn’t been able to find in the metropolis he had grown up in. (The food, however, was an entirely different story. He had never been so overjoyed to see a bowl of rice that wasn’t covered in mushy peas or sitting in a puddle of questionable-looking curry.)

He learned of your semester exchange in Amsterdam, including the unfortunate incident involving you, a runaway bicycle, and the freezing water of the Dutch canals. Fortunately, a nasty cold and two weeks in bed over the Christmas break were the worst things that came of it. Those few months had been eye-opening, to say the least. Stepping outside of your own bubble had made you realise how much more there was to the world, and how little you knew of it.

Yes, Jaehyun had changed, but then again so had you. The realisation dawned halfway through dessert, slowly settling over you as you spooned at the tiramisu in the centre of the table. Perhaps it hadn’t been fair to him that you had been harbouring this seed of antagonism towards him for all these years. He, so afflicted by youth, as you both had been back then, was only doing what he thought was right and necessary. Could you really fault him for that? You had seen enough of life now to know that sometimes, nobody was to blame.

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation before he spoke again. The sound of his voice drew you away from the window, where you could see that the rain had slowed from the earlier dramatic downpour to a lighter shower. 

“I know I probably wasn’t who you were expecting today,” he said, a little hesitant and gauging your expression.

“You definitely were not.” You gave him an amused half-smile over the rim of your barely-filled glass, which he returned. The bottle of merlot sat tall and empty on the table.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, taking in a breath, “I’m glad it was you. It was really nice to see you again. And I’m sorry if you were disappointed that it was me.” 

There was something sad in the curve of his mouth, you thought. It tempered the warmth in his eyes.

“I’m not disappointed,” you heard yourself say. “Really.”

It was the truth. You knew he could see it written across your face. Dishonesty and insincere flattery were not familiar weapons you wielded. He knew that. He knew you.

Jaehyun sat back, bringing his own glass to his lips and draining the lingering contents. Perhaps to hide the private smile that broke out across his handsome face, which you pretended not to see, turning your attention back to the raindrops pattering against the window. 

The evening air was cool on your bare arms when you stepped out, taking shelter under the awning in front of the restaurant. You weren’t the only one who had forgone a weather app consultation today. Jaehyun stood beside you, hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his slacks, a not unwelcome companion while you waited for your taxi to arrive. He’d call one later, after he made sure you had gotten in the car and were on the way home.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” he asked, tone light. 

You cast a sidelong glance at him. His profile was backlit by the warm light emanating from inside the restaurant, carving out the straight bridge of his nose, a soft shadow cupping the fullness of his bottom lip. Would there ever be a time the sight of him wouldn’t take your breath away?

“Maybe,” you breathed. Letting him back into your life wasn’t a decision you felt ready to make yet, and you had no intention of promising him anything you couldn’t be sure you’d be able to deliver. Even if you would only be promising him friendship.

He didn’t push it further and hummed in understanding. Then your taxi was pulling up in front of the restaurant, the splash from the tyres just missing the hem of your trousers, and you were bidding him goodbye, staring a second too long at the dimples that appeared, and trying not to step in a pothole puddle as you clambered rather ungracefully into the car. 

But because realisation was never punctual, it was only when you arrived home, carefully kicking off the black pumps and patting them dry with a microfibre cloth, that you realised two things. 

First, you had left your cardigan at the Italian restaurant.

And second, Jaehyun had footed the whole bill.

There was a reason the seventh floor was your favourite floor in the building.

It wasn’t because of the little in-office cafe with the cute but ridiculously overpriced pastries that tasted even better than they looked, or the deceptively comfortable bean bag chairs by the far window that would always tempt you with a mid-afternoon nap every time you sank into one of them.

No. The seventh floor was your favourite because it had a Nespresso machine. Free use. Company-funded.

A seventh floor coffee was one of the only things that could get you to leave the comfort of your desk and willingly walk up two flights of stairs. (The elevators always took too long.) On Monday afternoons like these, after an entire morning swimming through attendance and sick leave reports from the last quarter, the promise of a smooth and velvety cappuccino felt like your only hope for humanity. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like everybody else had the same idea, if the line in front of the coffee machine was anything to judge by. 

“You should have told me!”

You gave Joy an incredulous look. “Right. Because I definitely knew exactly who he was.”

“Well, you could have worked it out. You’re a smart girl.”

“You said a total of three sentences about him.”

She paused, fixing you with a contemplative stare. Her eyebrows were doing that weird lifting thing when she was running something through her head. “Five sentences,” she finally managed, tapping around the rim of her empty mug. 

Why she came up with you at all when she wasn’t a coffee person, would probably take two sips of the espresso, and then complain it was too bitter, was beyond you. Sometimes you wondered if she was really that good at her job, or if her workload was just so non-existent that she could take five coffee breaks a day. It couldn’t be the latter, because you had seen that her calendar was full for the entire morning.

“Let’s not spend the next fifteen minutes talking about last Friday,” you sighed, already pushing thoughts of dimpled smiles and warm eyes to the far corner of your mind. Hopefully not to be revisited for a while. “I want my head outrageously blank while I enjoy this cappuccino. Swear to god Junmyeon is trying to drown me with those leave reports.”

“You know he only assigns them to you because you’ve never told him you hate doing it.”

“He assigns them to me because I’m the only one available who can get it done properly. You’re always blocked out, and Jungwoo has that weekly coaching session. Jisung tried to help me do it this morning, and he didn’t even separate paid from unpaid leave. The numbers looked like we were bleeding PTO.”

She gave you a sly smile. “You know you can block yourself out too,” she said off-handedly. 

“You can what?”

This was new information.

“You’re telling me someone else could be sifting through that 70-page file if I just schedule in a random meeting with myself?” you asked again, to which she nodded.

“Has yet to fail me. But make sure you name it something that makes sense, and don’t do it all the time, otherwise it’ll look suspicious.”

Corporate bullshitting was a fine art, and you were beginning to realise you were still but a novice at it. 

“And lay off the intern,” she added. “He’s just a child.” “He’s taller than Junmyeon.”

“A child in spirit, then. You know what I mean. He sort of reminds me of a cute little mouse,” she mused, trailing off. If her apartment complex didn’t have a pet ban, you had a feeling she would be taking in every stray animal off the street.

However, she was right. Jisung had been a bigger help than you had expected of a second-year commerce student. Even if it was just skimming through a finished presentation pack to fix up any typos and align text boxes, you couldn’t deny that having an extra pair of eyes and hands had made your life a little bit easier. Maybe you would even miss him once his summer placement came to an end and the semester rolled back around. As long as there weren’t too many more incidents like the one from this morning.

Speaking of this morning…

“Hey, does that mean you’ve been making yourself unavailable so you don’t have to read the—”

“Oh look! The line’s getting shorter. You should move up before someone cuts in.”

You shuffled forward, but not without throwing her a displeased look along with a grumble or two. Next time the quarterly attendance analysis rolled around, you were definitely making use of the trick she had just told you about. A quick glance up ahead. There were now three people in front of you in the line, but only one green capsule left on the rack. 

Please, caffeine gods be willing, let that last one be yours.  

“I can’t believe I told you that I thought your ex-boyfriend was super fucking hot. I feel so icky, like I’ve betrayed you somehow,” Joy said, making a face. The dimpled smile fought its way back into your consciousness, and you suppressed the twist in your stomach that seemed to accompany every recollection of it. 

“It’s honestly fine. There’s no way you could have known.” You shrugged, partly to reassure her it wasn’t a big deal, and partly to shake off that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach.

The better part of your weekend had been spent trying to make sense of the night, after battling a merlot-induced migraine for most of Saturday morning and early afternoon. Three glasses had been a necessity to get through dinner, but it was ultimately overkill. You were no longer the girl from two years ago who took advantage of her afternoon class the next day by destroying a few soju bottles with your roommates. On a weeknight, too.

Joy gave your arm a soft squeeze. “Still, I’m sorry I put you through that. Hopefully it wasn’t completely awful?”

Completely awful, it was not. Awful at some parts? Maybe. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t been prepared to see Jaehyun again. Not to say that you had never thought about it — you definitely had, running simulations through your head about how you would run into him on the street, ignore his greeting and walk past him like he didn’t even exist. But those were the musings of a heart-broken teenager, turning to spite and cheap endeavours at revenge to cope with the loss of her first love. Last Friday did have spite rearing its ugly head, but that spite was short-lived, and only one aspect that made up the whirlwind of emotions that came with seeing him again after all those years. 

“No, it wasn’t all bad,” you were about to say, when your eye was suddenly caught by a movement up ahead. 

A slender, veiny hand reached out to grab the last green pod from the coffee rack. You watched as the thief’s fingers closed around the capsule and slotted it into the machine. He pressed the lever down — because of course, it was a man. Not only was he on the better side of the gender wage gap, but he also had to be ahead of you in the caffeine race as well.

The sound of the capsule being punctured was the final blow. 

“My coffee,” you lamented under your breath.

“Have some patience,” Joy chided. “We’re nearly there. You’re like a zombie when you don’t have your little cup of bean juice.”

You shook your head glumly. “The last Peruvian. I waited for so long. It was supposed to be mine, and he took it.” 

“Who did?”

“The guy at the front.” 

Your eyes were still glued on the hand as it wrapped around the mug filled with your favourite blend, completely unaware that it had just robbed you of the only small pocket of joy you had been looking forward to all afternoon. Peering around the two people still ahead, your gaze travelled up his exposed forearm and the sleeve of the white dress shirt cuffed there. If only you could catch a glimpse of the face that had stomped all over your hopes and dreams… 

The lady in front of you shuffled closer to the coffee machine and finally cleared your line of sight. Coffee stealer’s ear came into view before his face did, and he was—

��Jaehyun?”

His name fell out of Joy’s mouth before you could even get your own to start working again and beg her not to call out to him. For a moment you were afraid you had conjured him out of thin air from the uninvited thoughts of him circling the outskirts of your mind. At least now you knew he wasn’t a hallucination.

Jaehyun’s eyebrows pinched in confusion first, then surprise, before finally smoothing over with recognition. He offered a small wave, eyes flitting from Joy over to you, and then he was walking over, and you were fighting for your life trying to mask the panic that was bubbling away inside your chest.

You shot Joy a frantic look. Why did you do that?

I don’t know! Sorry, said her returning one. The corners of her mouth were turned down in an apologetic frown, but she quickly schooled it into a smile at Jaehyun’s approach.

“I’ve never seen you on seven before,” Joy said, the spitting image of friendliness, nevermind that you were beside her and desperately looking for an exit out of the incoming conversation. “You’re always holed up somewhere on ten.”

You supposed you should have known this would happen sooner or later. Six months without running into each other when you worked at the same company, in the same building, was the exception, not the rule. You were just grateful Joy didn’t try to bring up her clever little dinner setup that had been plaguing you the entire weekend, or try and rope the two of you into awkward and unnecessary introductions.

“Someone told me I should come down and try the Nespresso machine. Apparently it’s really good,” he said, gesturing at the mug you had been staring at for the past three minutes.

“It is,” were the first two words you managed. Both pairs of eyes shifted towards you, waiting for the rest of your comment to come, but you could only disappoint, the syllables hanging thick and dumb in the air. 

There appeared to be some sort of blockage in your mouth-to-brain pipeline.

Joy cleared her throat lightly, throwing you a sideways glance. “Which one did you try? They all taste the same to me, but she only drinks the green ones,” she said, ignoring the panicked twitch of your mouth. She knew full well that he was the one you’d been staring daggers into ever since he grabbed that stupid capsule. Your stupid capsule.

Jaehyun’s eyes flicked between your face and the steaming drink in his hand a few times.

“Do you want mine? I think I might have taken the last green one.” He offered the mug to you. “I didn’t really know what to press, so it’s just a cappuccino. Regular milk. I haven’t had any yet.”

“It’s fine, you should have yours. I’ll get another one,” you politely declined. No matter how much you liked the Peruvian blend, it was not worth the charity from your ex-boyfriend. Even if it was the only thing that could get you through the rest of the afternoon. Even if he was holding the exact thing that you had been planning on getting. 

Hopefully the kitchen staff would restock those capsules by tomorrow.

The look he gave you was not a convinced one, but he didn’t push further. With your dismissal of his offer, the three of you lapsed into a sticky silence. Even Joy, who was so adept at making topics of conversation out of nothing, had little to add, passing up the challenge of pulling meaningful sentences out of your mouth. The stifling tension between you and Jaehyun must have been more powerful than you thought. 

“Shoot, I think I’m getting a Teams call,” Joy suddenly said, making a show of pulling her phone out and tapping the screen. 

Liar. She didn’t even have the app notifications turned on. 

“I should probably take this, but I’ll see the both of you later.” She flashed a contrite smile, and then she was off, almost speed-walking her way down the stairs you had come up together, all the while pressing her phone to her ear with a little too much urgency for a mid-afternoon cold call. By the look on Jaehyun’s face, he hadn’t been all that impressed by her impromptu theatrics either.

“Are you still in the line?”

“Sorry, yes,” you muttered at the woman behind you. Clearly, you were not the only one impatient for their caffeine fix. 

Finally, you were at the counter. You stared blankly at the rack of capsules. The empty space where the green ones were usually stored was glaringly obvious, jumping out at you while you skimmed through the other blends for a passable alternative. After many more seconds than would have been necessary to pick one flavour out of the remaining three, your fingers closed around a gold one. It would have to do for today. 

Jaehyun watched as you dropped the capsule into its slot and made your selections. Why he was still here with you was somewhat of a mystery. You would’ve thought that Joy’s hasty exit would have prompted him to do the same, saving the both of you from having to make bumbling small talk about the weather, or the weekend, or whatever else that two people working at the same company, with no other relational history, could talk about to fill in the silence.

Maybe he wanted to talk about the dinner bill. The fact that he had settled it, without you even noticing, had been weighing on your mind. It was less of a money thing — though you were pretty sure the total hadn’t been a modest number — than a pride thing. Being indebted to others always left a smear on your conscience. 

Being indebted to your ex-boyfriend was like someone had shit all over it.

Whatever. If he didn’t bring it up first, you would. This was the 21st century. You were both financially independent adults. Splitting the bill on a first date didn’t have to be such a contentious thing. 

Although technically, it was far from your first. And it wasn’t a date either, because you had refused to label it as such in your head.

The last few drops of milk and espresso trickled into the mug, before the machine stopped whirring altogether. You knew he was still there. You could feel his presence behind you. He had probably been waiting for the noise to stop so that you’d be able to hear him speak. Taking your mug off the stand, you turned to face him. 

“Your cardigan,” he said.

“Huh?”

Confusion splashed over you. You weren’t even wearing one today.

“I have your cardigan,” he amended. “From Friday. You left it inside the restaurant. One of the waiters brought it out, but you had left already, so I took it with me.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I have it now, if you want it back.”

“You do?” 

“I mean, it’s at my desk. I brought it in today,” he added quickly, seeing the way you were looking about his person like you were expecting it to materialise into his hands.

You blinked a few times, trying to clear the brain fog that had decided now was the perfect time to strike. “Yes, I—thank you, um, for that. I can take it off you…?” 

Had you meant to have it sound so much like a question? It seemed like your capacity for human speech was always afflicted by some sort of malfunction in his presence.

“Okay, uh, do you want to come up to my desk? I’ve got it there.”

The elevator ride up to the tenth floor was a short one. You could have taken the stairs just to get the extra steps in, but with both of you holding uncovered drinks, three flights of stairs combined with your clumsy fingers were a slip hazard just waiting to happen. Still, despite the short journey, the seconds inside the elevator seemed to drag on for much longer.

Before you could lose your nerve, you opened your mouth to crack the silence. 

“Let me pay you back for dinner.” 

Good. It sounded good. Firm, but not overbearing. Hell yeah, you were getting the hang of this conversation-with-your-ex-boyfriend thing. 

Jaehyun seemed a bit taken aback by that, turning to you slightly with surprise woven into the crease of his brow. “You really don’t need to do that,” he said after a beat.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out through the sliding doors before you could form a coherent response. It took a second for you to follow, the coffee inside your mug almost making a dangerous appearance all over the elevator floor as you caught up with his strides. 

“Think of it as me taking care of a junior colleague. I am your senior, you know,” he said over his shoulder, a smile gracing his features at the latter part.

“Only by half a year,” you grumbled. “That doesn’t even count.” The light shake of his broad shoulders let you know he had heard your gripes over his attempts at enforcing seniority. His accompanying laugh was a soft one. You barely caught it above the noise of the tenth floor office.

The mellowed cosiness of the fifth floor HR department was hard to be found here. You were used to some chatter, with the occasional high-pitched laugh from Joy punctuating the air. On days he was feeling particularly jovial, Junmyeon could be heard humming from whichever desk he had decided to park at for the day (such was the beauty of hot-desking and hotelling). The few occasions you shared a table with him had allowed you to recognise the melody of The Beatles’ Strawberry Fields Forever — always the same song, and he hummed everything except for the words ‘strawberry fields’, which he insisted on singing, albeit softly.

Nothing about Digital was soft or cosy. Except maybe the sofa in one of the open creative spaces. The floor buzzed with activity, from the influx of incoming call ringtones to agenda-packed meetings in conference rooms. A group of people were clustered around a floor-to-ceiling whiteboard covered in diagrams that were undecipherable to you, engaged in animated conversation while pointing at various parts of the board. Some of them greeted Jaehyun as he walked past with you in tow.

“I had no idea Digital was this busy,” you mused out loud, following him as he weaved through the desks.

He chuckled lightly. “We like to talk a lot. And some of us can get a bit loud,” he said. The joking undercurrent to his voice had you thinking that the second part was said with someone in mind. “But it’s more hectic than usual. We’ve just won a really big bid and Johnny’s excited about his first time leading one of the streams.” He paused to wave and give a thumbs-up at the man standing at the very front of the whiteboard group (you assumed this was Johnny), who returned the greetings with just as much enthusiasm. 

Jaehyun had always been a people person. That was one thing that would likely never change.

The two of you arrived at his desk, a quieter one next to the windows offering an almost unobstructed view of the city. He dug around his workspace, pulling out a Jo Malone gift bag. 

“Ignore the bag,” he said, catching your wary expression. “I didn’t want to stuff it in my duffel with the rest of my gym stuff.” 

You took it from his outstretched hand, with a quick glance to check that it was in fact your cardigan. The ribbed black fabric sat inside, folded neatly over itself. 

“It got rained on quite a bit, so I washed it. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, that’s kind of you, Jaehyun. You didn’t have to.” For a moment, you wondered if he still used the same pine-scented laundry detergent. The smell of it used to cling to his school uniform, a burst of freshness you always sought during the muggy summer days.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a grateful smile. “I thought I lost it for good.” In your mind, you had already made peace with the fact that you would probably see the thing ever again. Yet all weekend, it had been taking up space in Jaehyun’s hamper, uncertain as to when it would finally be able to reunite with your closet.

You gave him a careful look. 

“Did you plan on seeing me today?” you asked. 

“No. Yes. I mean—” The tips of his ears took on the faintest hint of a pink flush. “I didn’t know if I would run into you, so I’m glad I did. But otherwise, I was just going to give it to Joy and get her to pass it along to you,” he trailed off, gaze shifting sideways to the cityscape posted on the other side of the glass windows. 

Neither of you had bothered with exchanging contact details after dinner, an oversight that was more deliberate than not on your part. His re-entry into your life was something you hadn’t felt quite ready for. And yet—

“Do you want my number?”

Stupid mouth. The words were out before you even registered that you had spoken. You prayed he wouldn’t pick up on the unintended suggestion of the question, though judging by the quick raise of his left eyebrow, you weren’t the only one who realised the other possible interpretations of your words. 

“I mean, just in case something like this happens again. So you can contact me directly,” you added quickly. Heat slowly crept its way up to your cheeks. You hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Sure,” he said, lips curling into a smile. “If that’s okay with you.” 

Considering you were the one who had said it out loud in the first place, it would have been strange if you suddenly decided it was not okay with you.

There was some fumbling with each other’s phones, before you were typing your number to add into his contacts, and he was doing the same to yours. Would he realise yours was still the same string of digits as it had been five years ago?

“Well, I’d better get going,” you said, handing back his phone. Now was as good a time to make an easy exit as any. You had planned on gossiping with Joy in the level seven kitchen for the rest of the hour, but back to your desk appeared to be the more likely destination this afternoon. 70-page files didn’t read themselves. “Thanks for the cardigan. I’ll see you later, then?”

Jaehyun looked like he had more to say, but you were already turning around, ready to leave the hubbub of the tenth floor. Ready to leave the presence of your ex-boyfriend-turned-friend? Acquaintance? You shook your head lightly. A drink was needed to unpack that box of worms.

A call of your name had you pausing mid-step.

“Your coffee,” Jaehyun said, tapping you on the shoulder to hand you your mug. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from his grasp. You hadn’t even bothered to take a sip of the non-Peruvian cappuccino, the surface still untouched. It was probably cold now. Maybe you’d pass it off to Jungwoo, this time sans the salt.

“You know, if the dinner bill thing bothers you that much, you can just make it up to me later.”

You blinked at him a few times. “Make it up to you how?”

“Ah, that’s for me to decide,” he replied, a boyish glint to his smiling eyes. Both his dimples popped out, and you found yourself unable to choose which one to focus on. 

Then he was moving, and you were left staring at the broad expanse of his back as he walked away. Head full of thoughts wondering what the hell kind of favour he would now hold over your head, you almost walked straight into Jungwoo as you came out of the elevator.

“Hey, I got a Nespresso from seven. You want it?” you asked, offering him the coffee you stopped yourself from spilling all over him. He eyed the mug apprehensively.

“You put salt in it again, didn’t you?”

“No? Where did you even get that from? Hang on, how do you know it was me?”

Jungwoo sucked in a breath through his teeth. “So it was you! I knew it! You know, you really are a scary woman,” he grumbled. “Who ever would have thought an evil spirit lurked behind such a kind face?”

“So that’s a no to the coffee?”

“I don’t trust you anymore, so no.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrugged, making your way back to your desk. The attendance reports stared back at you as you logged into the monitor, drawing a sigh out of you. You took a sip of the coffee.

And frowned.

You brought the mug to your mouth again. Like the first sip, the second was also lukewarm. But like the first sip, the second also tasted exactly the same as your usual Peruvian blend. Maybe there really was no difference between all the different coloured capsules, you thought, skimming through page 33 of the file.

That thing about realisation never being on time? Still true.

On the subway ride home, gripping the handle with all your might while sandwiched between two middle-aged men in stuffy suits, it dawned on you.

Jaehyun had given you his coffee instead.

“Thanks everyone for dialling in today. We’ll chat soon.”

The screen reverted back to its default background as the call ended, and you let out a sound somewhere in between a groan and a whimper. Junmyeon did not look to be faring any better, head in his hands while his elbows rested on the meeting room table.

“Can somebody please tell Jackson and the rest of the Marketing heads that Summer Fridays doesn’t mean they can just take Fridays completely off?” he groaned, the sounds escaping through the gaps in his fingers. “Our absenteeism looks like it’s at an all time high. Nayeon, you’re friendly with him, aren’t you?”

The girl pressed at her temples. “I mean, we were in the same advertising and PR club back in university, if that counts for anything. But yeah, I’ll schedule some time with him and go over it.”

“Great, thank you,” Junmyeon sighed, throwing his head back. “Alright, I’ll send around a debrief email later this afternoon. Thanks everyone for your time.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. A second later and you were out of the eighth floor Marketing meeting room, already on your way to the Nespresso machine downstairs. Another coffee at 4pm was slightly pushing it, but you needed a pick-me-up urgently to wash away the gruelling two hours spent going through company policy with Marketing.

The buzz of your phone was a momentary distraction from your mission. 

It was a message from Jaehyun. Something silly in response to a text you had sent earlier in the day. 

jaehyun [04:07 pm]: in dire need of a fake mango right now jaehyun [04:07 pm]: mmm fake mango milkshake

The smile that crept up onto your face was almost like a reflex in the way it couldn’t be helped.

Now that you were acquainted again, it was like you saw him everywhere. How you had managed to completely avoid each other for the last half a year or so was a fascinating mystery. Some mornings you’d run into him in the building lobby. He’d hold the elevator doors open for you, and you’d exchange pleasantries on the ride up to the fifth floor, where you’d get off and bid him goodbye, or see you later. And see him later you did. Whether it was at the seventh floor coffee machine, or in line at the cafeteria on twelve, the sight of his face had become a nice interruption to the hours spent at a monitor, or in a call like the one you had just escaped.

He would come down to the fifth floor sometimes, stopping by Joy’s desk or yours to say hello and have a chat if you weren’t busy. You found yourself wishing he would spend less time with Joy than he did with you — not because you wanted to see him more (because that was absolutely not the reason at all), but because he was steadily gaining a lead over you in the Joy friendship competition. The three of you had spent a few lunch breaks at the cafeteria together, granted that your schedules matched, with an odd appearance from Jungwoo every now and again.

You saw more of Johnny (loud) and Mark (louder), Jaehyun’s friends from Digital who you’d normally hear before you’d see them. Johnny was his “beloved coffee mate” (Jaehyun’s exact words) and possibly the only other person in the building who cared about the green Peruvian capsules as much as you did. Mark was… Mark, for lack of a better description. There was nobody the boy couldn’t strike a conversation with. If he really needed to, you suspected he could probably get along with a wet paper towel. 

You had been offered an invitation to join the three of them for one of their weekly lunches outside the company building. Johnny was more than happy to let you know he was somewhat of an expert at finding the hottest eats in the area, having put half his floor onto the cold noodle place he had sought out at the start of the month. And laugh as you had when he proudly told you about it, Johnny’s influence was no joke. News of the restaurant had somehow trickled its way down to HR, with Junmyeon just the other day asking around the team if anyone had tried the place before. 

Perhaps you’d join them next week. It was always nice to be ahead of the trend. 

You arrived at the seventh floor kitchen and sighed. The rack was out of green capsules again. Although, maybe that was to be expected. It was nearing the end of the day, and the gold capsules were finished too. So much for a 4pm pick-me-up, you thought, though it might have been for the better — too much caffeine in one day always made you a bit antsy and had your resting heart rate up in the high 80s. 

With empty hands and a pout on your lips, you made your way back to the fifth floor. 

Joy’s eyes were glued to her screen when you walked past her. “Jaehyun stopped by while you were in that Marketing call,” she said without looking at you, squinting at a spreadsheet. 

“Did he?” you replied, trying your best at nonchalance despite the little flip of your stomach. 

“Are you talking about her handsome friend from Digital?” Jungwoo peered around the table with a playful grin on his face. 

You were back on good terms now, thanks to your promise to pay for his lunch from the cafeteria for a whole week to make up for the coffee incident. The look in his eyes right now had you thinking life was better that week where he had been afraid of you.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Joy said distractedly in between clicks of her keyboard. “Jisung, can you just double check these numbers for me? I’m in the second tab of the Excel file.” 

The intern was quick to comply. You had a feeling she was his favourite senior. 

“Anyways, I think he left you something.”

You made your way over to your desk, ignoring Jungwoo’s oohs and ahs. Sure enough, there was something sitting next to your diary and the three empty glasses you hadn’t had the chance to rinse out yet.

It was a coffee capsule. Specifically, it was a green coffee capsule. 

There was a sticky note stuck to the back of it, which you turned around to read. His handwriting was still identical to that of the silly little notes he used to leave in the margins of your home economics workbook. 

saved this last one from johnny’s clutches. enjoy ^.^

Despite the jitters from the end-of-day caffeine fix, you smiled the whole way home.

“I’ve found a way you can make it up to me.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the screen. 9:34 am. The Saturday morning still had you in its clutches, and it took a few seconds to process the sounds you were hearing. 

“Who is this?” you croaked, sleep lacing your voice. 

“It’s Jaehyun.” 

You sat up a little straighter against the pillows. “Jaehyun?” you echoed. 

“Yes, it’s me. Do you not check the caller ID before you answer?”

You grumbled something about it being too early on the weekend to have your head screwed on properly, to which he laughed, a vivid sound even through the phone. 

“Do you have plans later today?”

You hesitated. Technically, no, unless a hot date with Netflix and whatever leftover snacks you could find in your pantry counted as plans. You were due for a grocery trip soon. The three eggs and single sprig of spring onion in your fridge would not last for long. Cooking had never been something you enjoyed, especially not after a full work day, and yet living alone required so much of it. You didn’t want to make up a non-existent dinner reservation, partly because you knew he’d be able to tell the untruth just by listening to your voice, and partly because something unpleasant niggled at your insides at the thought of lying just to avoid him.  

“Why, what’s up?” you asked instead.

“Well, you know that jazz festival?” You gave an affirmative hum. “I have tickets for today. Mark and I were supposed to go together, but he just called me saying he can’t make it. Something about a leak in his apartment from all the rain. So…”

You stifled a yawn. “So?” Your brain was still trying to catch up with the land of the awake and living. 

“Come with me?”

The words took a while and a few blinks to register. When they did, your first instinct was to say no. Jaehyun was fine in small doses. A quick chat over coffee, sporadic texts throughout the day, conversation within the safety of a group setting — these were all fine. Manageable. Nice, even. But Jaehyun in the flesh, outside of the office, with nobody else around to buffer the strange sort of tension that seemed to always thrum between the two of you — that was an entirely different ball game altogether. Sometimes, a mere run-in was enough to have your heart going a little faster than usual, nerves lighting up at the unexpected sight of his face. 

“I am not above begging. Please don’t make me go to this thing by myself.”

And yet, there was a flicker of something pleasant and sweet, something akin to excitement that curbed the nervous flutter in your gut. You were fifteen again, waiting outside the movie theatre, a little too giddy at the thought of spending time with the boy whose sweet smile had become the cause of your stomach somersaults. And that was before you had even admitted to yourself that you liked him, as more than a friend. 

“What time is it?” you found yourself asking.

So maybe you were seriously considering it. You had been meaning to put that new film camera to use. The thing had been collecting dust in one of your drawers ever since you bought it on a whim one night scrolling through Pinterest. Somehow, the rows of tables and monitors in the office didn’t seem like the most interesting camera subjects compared to the scenes of concerts and beach bonfires that had driven your impulsive purchase. 

“Well, the doors open at 11, but the first performer is at 12. And Lauv’s set isn’t until later in the evening.”

“Lauv is performing?” Your voice had gone up almost an octave, but you couldn’t care enough to be embarrassed. This was a crucial piece of information. Now you had to be there. 

He laughed. “So is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s a yes.” The covers were flipped off your legs in an instant.

It wasn’t that Jaehyun looked bad in slacks and a dress shirt. That was not the case at all. But you had grown used to them on him over the last few weeks, and the sight of his long legs in a pair of well-fitting trousers no longer caused a spike in your heart rate. 

Jaehyun in casual clothes outside the office was uncharted territory. 

The midday sun was strong outside the subway station. Clad in a black graphic tee over a pair of baggy green cargos, Jaehyun stood idly at the entrance, face hidden by the brown baseball cap on his head and eyes trained on his phone. How someone could look so gorgeous in something so ordinary was a secret only he knew the truth of. He caught sight of you from across the road, waiting for the pedestrian light, and raised his hand in a wave. 

“It’s different seeing you out of your work clothes,” he said. 

“Different good or different bad?”

A soft smile grazed his lips. “Just different. You look younger.”

“So do you,” you replied. 

You look like the boy I was in love with all those years ago. 

“Did you taxi?”

“No, I took the bus. There’s one that goes straight from my building. I didn’t know you lived around here,” you mused to yourself.

“My place is really close.” He pointed somewhere behind him. “Five minutes that way, tops. You should come over sometime.”

A slight pause. Jaehyun’s eyes flitted down to the pavement. You weren’t sure if the heat in your cheeks was from the sun or something else entirely. 

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “we should probably go. It takes 40 minutes to get there, so if we leave now we should be able to catch the 1pm.”

The subway on the weekend was nowhere near as awful as it usually was during the weekday rush hours, but packed nonetheless. You definitely preferred being stuck in a carriage full of bright-eyed and chattering teenagers than the usual crowd of solemn-faced office workers. When a seat finally freed up, Jaehyun was quick to offer it to you, manoeuvring himself so that he could stand in front of you as you sat down. Toe to toe, the tips of his shoes grazed yours, and you were suddenly reminded of study periods at the library. The two of you could never agree on who first started the game of footsie under the desk.

“See those girls over there?” you asked quietly, nodding towards a group of likely high schoolers down the other end of the carriage. Jaehyun turned his head to follow your gaze, catching sight of the girls who immediately erupted in whispers and giggles upon making eye contact with him. “They’ve been staring at you for the last two stops.”

He was quick to turn back towards you, nose scrunching and slightly embarrassed. “Kids these days are so weird,” he said with a soft groan. “Why are they doing that?”

“You know they’re only staring because you’re handsome.” 

Despite the pinkness of his ears, he was smiling wide. “You think I’m handsome?”

You blinked up at him. “I didn’t say that.” Did I? “I meant they probably think you’re handsome. Which is why they’re staring. You know. It’s nice to look at good-looking people.” 

The rushed explanations did nothing to shake the feeling that you had slipped-up somehow, and he had caught it. Jaehyun’s dimples only deepened at your backtracking.

“You know what I mean,” you finally huffed, biting back a smile at the deep sound of his responding laugh. “Whatever. I think this is our stop.”

The festival couldn’t have picked a better day to be held. The skies were clear and blue, and the air carried a light breeze that provided a welcome relief from the heavy stickiness of midsummer. It was a nice change from the sporadic rainstorms that had plagued the city over the last two weeks or so. Mark’s leaking apartment was proof of the temperamental weather. If you had one bone to pick, the sun was a tad strong, but that was to be expected. You had come prepared, tugging the bucket hat down further to cover your face. 

Alaina Castillo’s set was well underway by the time you and Jaehyun made your way into the venue grounds. A decent amount of people had already arrived, trickling in to fill up the gated area in front of the main stage. The two of you filed in with the rest, finding a place towards the back of the growing crowd where there was ample room to breathe without inhaling someone else’s breath. 

You had never been one for being stuck in a swarm of people. A harsh reminder of why that was the case appeared when, out of nowhere, a stranger’s elbow dug into your arm, knocking you sideways in their determined path towards the barricade. 

The steadying hand around your shoulder was instantaneous. 

“Are you okay?” Jaehyun asked, and you mumbled something affirmative in reply, trying not to dwell too much on the warmth of his skin on your bare arm. His eyes followed the stranger who was still pushing on through the crowd in front. “People really need to watch where they’re going,” he muttered, brows drawn together in a frown.

The rest of the afternoon proceeded more smoothly. It was a little unsettling how normal and nice everything felt. Jaehyun kept close to you for the sets that followed, the distance between the two of you gradually shrinking as the crowd grew in size. The occasional brush of your forearms as you moved to the music was no longer something to jump at like you had the first time it had happened. You managed to snap a few pictures on your almost-new film camera, mostly of the artist performing, but there was one of you in there somewhere amidst the stage shots, taken by an insistent and smiley Jaehyun during one of the set breaks. 

“So this is why you wanted someone to come with you,” you said, sliding onto the bench and passing him one of the burgers from the food truck.

“It’s so much more efficient when you can line up for two things at once. If I was by myself, I’d either wait for the beer and let my burger get soggy, or wait for the burger and let my beer get warm and flat. This way the food is fresh, and our drinks are ice cold out of the fridge.”

You cracked a smile. “And here I thought you called me because you enjoyed my company.”

“I do enjoy your company,” he said without missing a beat. “The other stuff is just an added plus.”

You took a sip of the cold beer, hoping it would stave off the quick flush of your cheeks. Jaehyun said things so easily. Too easily. It was harder and harder to adhere to that invisible boundary you had been so adamant on protecting. 

Why were you so reluctant to let him back in? Why all the walls? He made it too easy for thoughts like that to creep in and loiter in the back of your mind. 

Evening had begun to settle, the brightness of the midday sky fading away to a twinkling twilight blue over your heads. The music was quieter at the picnic tables by the tents, where festival-goers sought respite from the main stage crowds with a cold beverage and something greasy. Between mouthfuls of an early makeshift dinner, you and Jaehyun sat in your own bubble, comfortably falling into conversation about the performances throughout the day, or whatever else happened to be on your minds.  

“Your mouth opens so wide,” you said, watching as he all but inhaled half the burger in one go. His nose scrunched up as he tried to take the massive bite, and the sight of it was such a far cry from his usual cool guy image that you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to snap a picture of it. The click of the shutter had him looking up at you mid-chew with a dismayed expression.

“That’s not fair. You attacked when I wasn’t ready!”

“I’d hardly call that an attack,” you said, not without a smile. “I was just getting a candid.”

He wiped his fingers on the napkin. “Okay, my turn then,” he said, gesturing for you to hand the camera over. You obliged, letting him point the lens at you and fiddle with the knobs along the top. His slender fingers navigated the controls with a practised ease.

“Relax,” he added softly, noticing your fidgeting. Twenty-something years, and you had made little progress in mastering the art of posing for photos. “Pretend the camera’s not here, and it’s just you and me.”

Right. Like that was supposed to make you loosen up.

“I actually used to be really into photography. Got pretty good at it too,” he said.

“Really? I don’t remember that.”

“Picked it up in uni,” he explained. “Had all this free time on my hands and didn’t know what to do with it. Besides drinking.” A pause. “Honestly, first year second semester was pretty rough after… you know.”

The last part caught you somewhat off-guard. After that fateful April night, you had always assumed Jaehyun was off living his best life, blowing through society events with the new friends he had made, maybe even letting a few of them warm his bed now that you weren’t around. It wouldn’t have been the biggest surprise. Even at nineteen, Jaehyun’s good looks were uncontested. His sweet and attentive personality was the cherry on top of an already delectable cake. Whatever he got up to when the sun set, you were none the wiser, having completely wiped his existence from your phone by the time your first semester exam period rolled around. 

Though you didn’t go as far as to block his number, he never reached out, and so Jeong Jaehyun became a relic of the past, embracing his newfound freedom now that he had shed himself of you, his unwanted baggage.

Or so you thought.

“But yeah,” he continued, “I started getting into photography. Burnt a hole in my wallet trying out a bunch of different cameras,” he said with a chuckle. “I liked film the most though, I think. It’s the only one I still use now.” 

“What do you like about it?”

He took a moment, pausing in thought. “The colours, mostly. How it’s a bit muted, it has that vintage feeling.” You hummed in agreement. “Selfies on a film camera are fun as well.”

“You must really like looking at yourself,” you teased, enjoying the sight of his ears flushing with colour from where they poked out above the camera.

“Not like that,” he said in reply to the raise of your eyebrows. “It’s more like… when you take a selfie on film, you can’t see yourself, right? Whether the focus is focusing, or if the angle is right.

“Or if your whole face is actually in the shot, not just your right eye.”

“Exactly. But then taking the picture anyway. That’s what I like.” He pulled away from the camera to flash you a small smile. “Isn’t it funny, the way we try so hard to capture moments of time?”

Jaehyun’s attention returned to the viewfinder, leaving you to quietly dwell on his words. How else could one keep a piece of time stored away if not through photos? And yet, photography would never be able to capture the entirety of a moment the way a memory could. The sound of the band’s bass guitar from the side stage in the adjacent garden. The smell of summer carried by the evening breeze as it ruffled through his hair.

The warm feeling in your chest as you sat across from him at this wooden picnic bench, surrounded by people, sharing wistful conversation and a basket of fries. 

The feeling of coming home.

The shutter clicked.

“Got it. That last one is going to turn out so nice.” Jaehyun smiled triumphantly, cheeks dimpling. “If you make this your profile picture you have to add the ‘photo by’. I need my credits.”

You blinked away the precarious thoughts. “Alright, mister photographer man, give it back now. Don’t use up all my film before Lauv.”

He handed the camera back to you, looking very pleased with himself. The light from the nearby tents cast a dusky glow over his face. Jaehyun from Digital was sharp and polished. The Jaehyun before you now, with his hair dishevelled from taking off the cap earlier, was softer, more open, and more subtle in the way he had slipped under your defences and picked the locks chained around your heart. 

The question now was whether you’d let him in further than you already had.

He tugged at his collar. “God, it’s still muggy at night, isn’t it?” 

“You stay here, I’ll get us some more beers,” you said, already standing up.

If anything, you were grateful for the errand, a welcome distraction from the tumultuous battle between your heart and your head that always forged on at any thought of him. The line for the bar was no shorter than it had been half an hour ago, to nobody’s surprise (this was a festival in Seoul, of course the queues would be severe) and it was a while before the two cold plastic cups were in your hands. 

The short time away from him had given you the space to steer your mindset back onto the charted platonic course. A little voice in the back of your mind objected, and was making a damn convincing argument about why you should be more inclined to go beyond plain friendship with Jaehyun, but you chose to ignore it, suppressing the nagging with a deep breath and a smile that you hoped looked less conflicted than how you felt. Beers in hand, you carefully made your way back to the picnic table — only to be met with a rather interesting sight.

Jaehyun was still where you had left him, thankfully. But the two girls that now stood around him were a new addition. 

“Hey,” you greeted, tapping him on the shoulder to pass him one of the beers. The taller girl visibly deflated when he flashed you a grateful smile, taking the plastic cup from your hand. The shorter one, however, ran her eyes up and down your figure with an almost calculating gaze.

“Is this your friend?” the shorter one asked, question directed at Jaehyun.

“Uh, yeah, um—hi,” you answered very eloquently, introducing yourself. You tossed a glance between Jaehyun and the two girls. “Do you um—are you guys friends?”

“Well, no, not really. Minjeong and Jimin just came—”

“We were actually going to ask if you guys wanted to join us up closer to the main stage?” the shorter one (Minjeong perhaps?) asked, flashing a sweet smile you suspected was more for Jaehyun’s benefit than yours. “We have a blanket and a few chairs set up, so you can sit and watch the closing set. It’s much more comfortable than standing inside the barricade.”

“Jaehyun looked a little lonely by himself,” the taller one added.

Lonely because you left him for ten minutes to go get some cold drinks? These girls were unbelievable.

“What do you say? Want to join us?”

Maybe you should’ve taken the group of highschoolers on the subway earlier more seriously as a forewarning. Not that you had any say in what Jaehyun could and could not do — he was his own person, and the closest thing you had to a claim on him had disintegrated years ago. If he wanted to go hang out with pretty strangers, he could go and do exactly that, and you didn’t have to follow him either. The invitation had clearly been meant for him more than it had been for you.

So what if you had been looking forward to enjoying the last set together? You were a big girl. You could brave the main stage crowds by yourself if you had to.

Jaehyun glanced at you, searching your eyes while you tried your best to keep your face neutral and devoid of the uneasy thoughts bubbling away beneath your skin. He was his own person. He could make his own choices. 

After a second or two, he seemed to find what he was looking for, and turned back to the two expectant girls with a polite smile. “We’ll take our chances with the pit,” he answered. “But thank you for the offer. That’s kind of you guys.”

The two girls made their exit shortly afterwards, but not without a final look at him, and a decidedly less enthusiastic one at you. It was quiet for a few moments, the two of you sipping on your beers without a word, waiting for the other to speak.

“You could have gone with them if you wanted to,” you finally mumbled, eyes fixed on the contents of your cup.

To your surprise, Jaehyun let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pretty sure Minjeong had an engagement ring on her finger.”

“Oh, what?” 

You definitely had not noticed, too occupied by the saccharine looks she was throwing his way.

“Yeah. It was a pretty big diamond too. I think she must have forgotten to take it off today.”

You turned to look at him then. Jaehyun already had his eyes on you, sporting a lazy grin. “Come on, you can’t think I’m the type to mess around with married women?”

“That’s not what I—I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry,” he interjected. “You’re still cute when you’re jealous.”

The quick heat rising to your face dispelled any of the remaining nonchalance in your expression. “I wasn’t—I’m not jealous,” you spluttered. “I was just worried—I mean, not worried,” you paused, sighing. “I thought you’d leave me.”

His eyes sought out yours, keeping them captive once they grabbed a hold. 

“I wouldn’t leave you.”

The teasing brevity to his voice had disappeared. Somehow, you had the feeling he wasn’t simply talking about the jazz festival. The sincerity in his gaze made it hard to look away, but you had to, in the name of self preservation. Too long staring into those brown eyes was an unnecessary test of the upper limits of your heart rate. 

“Maybe she came with her husband. He could be up there on that picnic mat, waiting for her.”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “Trust me, if her husband was here, she would not have been looking at me like that.”

To their credit though, finding a spot to watch the main stage proved to be rather difficult now that everyone had arrived to catch the final act. For a moment you considered leaving the pit to take the two girls up on their offer. But with Jaehyun by your side, you were able to navigate the crowds with a bit more peace of mind, his presence a solid and comforting anchor within the sea of people. A few rogue pushes here and there had you stumbling — and perhaps the two beers on a rather empty stomach were coming on faster than you had expected — but he was there, steadying you with a gentle hand around your arm, or the light press of his firm chest against your back.

And maybe you leaned into him for longer than necessary to regain your balance, but was that really a crime? To enjoy the touch of a friend? Was it a crime for warmth to pool in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him swaying along to Lauv’s Enemies?

No, the little voice in your head denied forcefully. Jaehyun grooving to the music had always been one of your weaknesses. 

As the closing chords of Paris in the Rain sounded out across the venue, you pulled out your film camera.

“Walking down an empty street.”

A gentle nudge of Jaehyun’s shoulder had him turning towards you, nose scrunched in a happy half-laugh from watching the performance. You moved to face the back of the crowd and raised the camera high, pointing it towards the two of you. 

Was the stage in the shot? Was Lauv? 

Were you?

“Puddles underneath our feet.”

Call it courage, or liquid courage, or just plain recklessness on your part. Rising up on your tiptoes, you pressed your cheek to his, and clicked the shutter button. 

The final chord of the song struck, softly, like an afterthought, and the crowd burst into appreciative hoots and applause, marking the end of the performance.

You were beaming as you turned back towards him. “Do you think I got that one?”

Jaehyun simply stared at you, lips parted and turned up slightly at the corners. He looked more caught off-guard than he had when you had told him you thought all the Cigarettes After Sex songs sounded the same. You felt the glowing smile on your face slip, little by little, as you let his eyes roam your features, gaze indecipherable. They flitted to your lips, and for a second you were sure you stopped breathing.

Just do it! Just fucking do it! screamed that little voice in the back of your mind.

And perhaps you would’ve done it too, whatever it was, if it weren’t for the shove from behind that sent you almost face-planting into his chest.

“What the hell?” you yelped, whipping your head around. 

What was with the people here today? You never thought jazz lovers could be so aggressive and insensitive to others’ personal space. Trying to find the perpetrator was a futile task, since the crowd had started to disperse following the end of the performance, moving in all directions.

Jaehyun looked over you with concern, the earlier expression on his face now gone. 

“Come on,” he finally said, fingers gently circling around your wrist. “Let’s get out of here before we get trampled by the crowd.”

Overhead, the blue-black sky that had been so cooperative for the whole day emitted a low rumble, as if to emphasise Jaehyun’s words. Sure enough, by the time the two of you arrived at the station, it had started to sprinkle. Perhaps the clouds had been holding back the rain until the very end of the festival. How considerate of them, you thought.

The ride back into the city felt shorter than the one to the venue, though it couldn’t have been. Saturday nights were even busier than the weekday rush hour, with people young and old out and about, ready to tame the weekend with sheer determination and a bottle of soju in the stomach. This time, there were no free seats in your carriage, but you didn’t mind. Standing with Jaehyun, your heads pressed together to go through the videos in his camera roll, made the time pass faster. There was something to his photos, you decided. Something in the angle, or the light, or the composition, that made them look nicer than the ones on your phone. Maybe you ought to take a photography course too.

The clouds may have been considerate enough for the festival to hold off dumping their contents during the day, but they certainly were not for the two of you tonight. Standing under cover at the subway station exit, you watched as the torrential deluge only seemed to worsen. Thunder cracked angrily through the air. It wasn’t July without the threat of flash flooding. 

“Any drivers around?” Jaehyun asked.

You gave a sad shake of your head. “Nobody’s picking up my request. Must be because of the rain,” you muttered. Overhead, the sky split open with a strike of lightning, startling you, and you jumped back a bit, further into the covered area of the exit.

“How about the bus?”

“I think I just missed one,” you answered, checking the timetable on your phone. “It says the next isn’t for another twenty minutes. But with the rain, it might be delayed even longer.”

You flicked through the taxi app, then the bus timetable app, and then finally back to the weather app, which you always seemed to forget to check on days like this. Three consecutive 100% signs stared back at you, and you let out a sigh. The sky would not be clearing up anytime soon.

“My apartment is only two streets down, if you want somewhere to wait out the rain,” he said.

You looked up at him. The smile on his face was guileless, but at the same time, there was something guarded about it, like he was expecting your rejection. Perhaps you had studied his face for too long, because then he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and averting his eyes to the ground.

“Or you don’t have to, we could just—”

“Okay,” you said.

His head shot back up. “Okay?”

You shrugged, a smile finding its way to your lips. “I’d rather not be soaking wet on the bus.”

“Okay,” he repeated, corners of his mouth turning upwards to mirror yours. “To my place, then.”

The usual five minute walk to Jaehyun’s apartment from the subway station turned into a two-and-a-half minute mad dash under the downpour. Despite your attempts at keeping to storefront shelters and ducking under the cover of big trees, the short trip had ended up with the both of you drenched to the bone, teeth chattering as you dripped rainwater all over his lobby.

You said a silent apology to the building cleaners. 

It was a relief to be dry again. Jaehyun’s sweats swamped you, the French terry fabric pooling around your feet as you sat on the couch in his living room. The top was no better, reaching almost to your knees, with the sleeves completely covering your fingertips. His clothes weren’t always this big on you. At least he still used the same pine-scented laundry detergent. 

The sound of the running shower blended smoothly with the raindrops pelting violently against the balcony window. You wrung your hands, unsure of what to do while you waited for him to come out of the bathroom. It was easy to feel out of place in a home foreign to you. The sleek furniture and minimalist colour palette of the apartment looked nothing like Jaehyun’s childhood bedroom. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to come to his place. While you were pretty sure he hadn’t invited you up with any ulterior motives in mind, there was still something ambiguous about being in your ex-boyfriend’s home and wearing his clothes. And only his clothes. 

You would have liked to keep your undergarments on, but they had also been soaked through. Going bare in these too-big sweats had seemed the less questionable option, compared to sitting with a wet patch around your butt and crotch. Heat flooded your face as you thought about your underwear and bra hanging on the heated towel rack in the bathroom. 

Whatever. It wasn’t like they were things he’d never seen before. And as for his clothes, of course you’d wash them before giving them back to him. 

It was then that you decided that you had enough of sitting around in a puddle of fabric and your own thoughts. Jaehyun’s living room wasn’t all that big, even if it felt roomier than your own, with enough space to fit a decently-sized couch and small coffee table. The tv on the far wall sat atop a rather large entertainment unit that, upon further inspection, also housed a record player and an impressive collection of vinyls. 

You padded over, eyes flicking through the various titles printed on the covers. One of them had been taken out from the shelf and sat splayed on top of the cabinet. Maybe he had meant to play it, or just forgotten to put it away. Slowly, you let a finger trace around the edge of the jacket and over the black lettering of the title. You’d recognise that white album cover anywhere.

Only you knew how much effort it had taken to source the thing, scouring auction sites and dodgy online stores until you finally bit the bullet and ordered it from a reasonable-looking seller with a 4.7 star rating. But it had all been worth it. The unadulterated joy on Jaehyun’s face as he undid the wrapping paper to reveal Frank Ocean’s Blonde was not something you could easily forget. Later, you found out that it had probably been a bootleg, since the official Blonde vinyls were a limited release, but he had hardly batted an eye when you broke the news.

“Still my favourite birthday present that anyone’s gotten me,” Jaehyun said. 

Dressed in a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweatpants, he leant against the bathroom door, surveying you with an easy smile. You must not have heard the shower turn off, the noise drowned out by the storm raging outside. His hair, still damp from the shower, hung over his eyes, and you watched as he brushed it back with his right hand, arm flexing with the movement.

The sudden flare in your lower belly was something you’d rather not feel, alone in these four walls with him, with nobody else around to witness or put a stop to whatever might follow. You’d like to think self control was something you had a firm grip on, but it seemed Jaehyun was made to put you to the test.

“Actually think it might be my favourite present ever,” he added, pushing off the door frame. He reached you in a few strides, maintaining a polite distance between your bodies.

“I didn’t even realise you still had this,” you murmured, letting him take the record from your hands. You tried not to flinch at the brush of his fingers against yours. “You didn’t even have one of these back then,” you said, lightly tapping the case of the record player.

“I changed my mind, actually. The turntable is my favourite present.”

An unfamiliar twinge of dread zipped through you. “Who gave it to you?” 

Could it be an ex-lover’s gift sitting on display in his living room? That did not sit nicely in your stomach.

“Myself.” 

He was holding back a laugh, eyes squeezed into crescent moons and too busy appreciating his own joke to catch the quick roll of your eyes. Instantly, your chest felt a little lighter, and the dread vanished as quickly as it had come on.

“Here, let me put it on,” he said, shuffling over towards you to lift up the case on the record player. With gentle fingers and a delicateness you didn’t see often, he unsleeved the record and carefully placed it on the turntable. A few fiddles with the side knobs and a precise adjustment of the needle arm later, the opening bars of Frank Ocean’s Pink and White filled the air of his living room.

For a minute, there were no words exchanged, the two of you simply content to enjoy the music as it filtered through the speakers. There was a quiet smile on Jaehyun’s face. You wondered if he, like you, was thinking of the last time you had listened to this album together.

The image of the two of you, sprawled out on his bed, sharing a pair of wired earphones, was hard to shake. It had been early evening, or nearly twilight. Sometime before sunset. The reflection on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom had changed along with the sky, until the only light left in the room was the dim blue glow from the laptop on his desk. At his mother’s call for dinner, he had gently shaken you awake, fingers light on your shoulder and against your cheek. 

Jaehyun was undoubtedly handsome in the light. But there was something about dusk and the softness of the shadows on his face that made him all the more compelling. You usually weren’t one to initiate, so the kiss you pressed to his mouth in the barely-lit room had surprised you both. 

Even now, the thought strangely sent a flood of heat to your cheeks.

“Sorry, did you want something to eat? I haven’t been a very good host.”

The grumble of your stomach answered before you could. You bit back an embarrassed smile, but Jaehyun was not so frugal with his amusement, letting out a short chuckle. Your feet followed him as he made his way to the kitchen. Perched on the marble countertop, you watched as he rummaged through the fridge.

“I have eggs, yesterday’s leftovers, and a shit ton of beer cans,” he announced. 

You exchanged a glance.

“Let’s do ramen, actually. That sounds better.” He bent down to dig through the pantry, pulling out two red packets, before moving back to the fridge and getting two eggs. “I can crack these in too, and—why are you looking at me like that?”

It was your turn to laugh, the wide grin on your face a contrast to the cautious smile on his.

“Are we having ramen?”

His brow creased a little. “I thought you liked ramen?” The innocent tilt of his head made him all the more endearing to look at.

“I do, but… did you really invite me back to your place… to have ramen?”

It took a few seconds for the ball to drop. You held back giggles as his ears flushed hotly, as they always seemed to do on the occasions you decided to indulge yourself and tease him.

“Come on, that’s not—you’re doing it on purpose,” he said, bottom lip jutting out with the suggestion of a pout. Despite his grumbles, the shape of his mouth slowly settled into a defeated smile at your visible glee of having flustered him. 

Jaehyun, soft-spoken and easy-going, was not the type to be easily ruffled. You excelled and enjoyed the challenge of it more than most.

“No,” he said once your laughter had somewhat subsided, voice low and velvety. “But I wouldn’t be opposed.”

And suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.

The silence that followed was a loud one. It was hard to ignore the way your mouth dried up at his words. Something warm and tingly spread from your stomach all the way down to your toes as you stood there under his level gaze, eyes drawn to his like magnets. He had to know. The effect his words had on you were surely plastered all over your face, obvious in the tight grip of your fingers against the countertop and the shortening of your breaths.

Jaehyun leaned in a little closer and you felt the inhale stick in the back of your throat. Then he cracked a crooked smile, pretty teeth all on display. 

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

He moved away then, busying himself with pouring water into a pot and bringing it to a boil while you tried to blink yourself out of the daze. “Ramen okay?” he asked over his shoulder.

You cleared your dry throat, somehow finding your voice again. “Ramen is fine. Thank you,” you added after a beat. You took a deep breath, waiting for the rush of blood to drain from your face. 

Something sour settled in your chest — something akin to disappointment, though surely it couldn’t be. Disappointed that what? Jaehyun wasn’t actually sexually attracted to you? When you were obviously still attracted to him, despite all your attempts at convincing yourself you weren’t?

You scoffed to yourself. As if.

A quick shake of your head was almost enough to clear your mind, save for the remnants of that sour feeling that lingered. You asked if there was anything you could do to help, not wanting to simply sit around on your thumbs and wait to be fed. He had insisted you do exactly that, warning you there was only enough space in the kitchen for one, and assuring that there was nothing he needed from you besides patience and faith in his cooking. 

Patience you could give him. Faith was a little harder to muster, given your memories of the kitchen disaster from when he had tried to make okonomiyaki. 

The questionable, half-burnt half-uncooked taste was one thing. You finding random pieces of cabbage on the tiled floor for days afterwards was another thing entirely.

However, it seemed Jaehyun had improved from his old ways. The steaming pot he brought over to the coffee table not only smelled delicious, but looked the part too. You helped carry over the small bowls and chopsticks, along with two cans of beer, despite his requests for you to just sit and be ready to eat.

You took the first bite, blowing on the noodles to cool them down before slurping them into your mouth. All the while, he watched you, an expectant expression painting his face. 

“Wow. You’ve grown up, Jeong Jaehyun. Who would’ve guessed you’d become such a whiz in the kitchen?” 

He smiled, a bashful one at your compliment. “Being able to cook ramen is nothing impressive,” he said, digging in with his own chopsticks.

“There was no way you could have made this for me when we were 17. Look at this egg!” The centre was perfectly soft, not too runny, but not rock hard either. Just the way you liked them. 

You took another mouthful. “You’re a changed man,” you said. “Honestly, your place is a lot cleaner than I expected it to be.”

“That’s what living with four other guys will do to you. I had to learn how to clean out of pure survival,” he chuckled. 

“Was it really that bad?”

He grimaced. “You should’ve seen my dorm room. Basically a biological hazard.”

“They didn’t let non-students into the building. Your building RA was crazy scary, remember?” Even now you could remember the perpetual scowl of the law major when Jaehyun brought you into the dorm lobby.

“It was probably for the best. You would’ve broken up with me on the spot the second you walked through the door.”

You shared a laugh. Strangely, jokes about your break-up were light-hearted in their landing, the words leaving much less of a prickly uncomfortableness than you had been expecting. Perhaps it was still an event of importance in your life, but that cloudy unpleasantness you had come to associate it with had dissipated. It was a turning point, certainly. But so was graduation, and moving out, and travelling overseas for the first time. 

Your feelings about those things weren’t all bad. As you shared the pot of ramen and sipped on your beers, you realised, neither were your feelings about Jaehyun.

“I’m telling you, I was drinking Taeyong under the table. And I do mean that literally. He was passed out and laid across the stools.” He grinned, proud at the memory of beating his senior even five years later. You couldn’t help but grin too, amused by the sincerity of his expression and the way his shoulders set in accomplishment.

“Okay, okay. So now you’re a better drinker, you’ve gotten good at cooking, and you’re cleaner too.”

“And funnier,” he added.

“That one is still up for debate,” you joked, and his eyebrows furrowed together in mock offence. Digs at his sense of humour were not taken lightly. 

“Just because you don’t get my high quality gags,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You’re missing out.”

You nodded, making a noise of agreement if only to appease him. 

“What about me? How am I different?” you asked, voice curious. 

Jaehyun didn’t miss a beat. “Hmm, I think you got older?”

“Come on, I’m being serious!”

His laughter subdued then, surveying you thoughtfully. A quiet smile tugged at his lips when he spoke again. 

“You’re more outspoken than you used to be.” He paused, taking a sip from his can while trying to find the right words, all the while keeping his eyes on you. “You prioritise yourself more. And you’re more sure of who you are. You shine brighter, I think.”

Strange, how a person’s gaze could strip you down and make you feel so naked. There was nothing but earnestness in his eyes, plain and absolute, and the intensity of it was almost too much for you to bear. After all your time apart, Jaehyun could still see you, and see through you. 

I think you still know me inside out, and that scares me, you wanted to tell him.

Instead, you looked away first, tearing your eyes away from his with considerable effort. The pot of ramen on the coffee table, lukewarm now, was almost finished. The music had also stopped playing a while ago. Neither you or Jaehyun had bothered to get up and flip the vinyl to the other side, too busy eating. All that was left was the rain, and even that had faded to a soft pattering against the glass, following its own rhythm. 

Hastily, you stuffed a piece of kimchi into your mouth, for lack of anything better to do. The crunch of it in your mouth was loud, and you fought back a cringe.

“Did your mother make this?” you asked, hoping your attempt at diverting the conversation wasn’t so obvious.

If Jaehyun noticed, he didn’t show it, only nodding in confirmation. 

“She dropped some off last month,” he replied. “Remember how you told me her’s was better than your own mother’s?”

You let out a scandalised gasp. “As if I would ever say such a thing! Don’t let my mother ever hear something so blasphemous about her favourite daughter.”

“You’re her only daughter.”

“And you care too much about technicalities. Just because I’m the only one doesn’t mean I can’t still be the favourite.”

The crisp crunch of another piece of kimchi punctuated the end of your sentence. There was certainly something different about Mama Jeong’s recipes. If there was one thing you missed besides Jaehyun himself, it would have been his mother’s cooking. The woman knew her way around a stovetop better than a Michelin chef, at least in your eyes. 

You thought of her warm smile, and her even warmer embrace. Jaehyun had inherited many things from her, kindness being the greatest of them. Back then, she had been so sure of your future place in their family, welcoming you into her home as if you were her own daughter. You wondered where she stood on that now.

Still clinging onto that idea, perhaps, or were her sights now set on someone else?

“You’ve got something…”  Jaehyun murmured.

He reached across the table, over the pot and the small bowls, the movement quick and almost instinctive. Soft fingers found purchase on your left cheek. His thumb was gentle as it brushed away the stray chilli flake from the corner of your mouth.

Just the lightest touch against your bottom lip. And the warmth of his hand cradling your face.

Then he froze, as if to catch himself, but the damage was already done.

Jaehyun pulled his hand back with a start, an inscrutable expression across his face. He spilled a quick apology that you smiled away, putting on a composed front. At least, you assumed it was an apology. It was hard to hear anything above the buzzing chaos of your mind. The air filled with idle noise as the two of you shuffled in your seats.

“I should um—I should probably get going,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. The meal had long been finished. Your hands were already beginning to gather up the bowls and utensils into a stack for easy carrying. 

Jaehyun hummed, something akin to resignation in the noise. “Yeah, uh… I guess so.”

“Let me help you clean up first, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Despite his protests against you assisting with any kind of housework, there you were at the sink, helping him scrub everything nice and clean within the small space of his kitchen. Maybe he was right about there only being enough space for one person behind the counter. The aluminium beer cans went into their designated bins, and you made sure to wipe down the coffee table too.

This time, your half-damp, half-dried clothes found their way into a Byredo shopping bag — Jaehyun would rather die than not smell good — though your shoes still squelched rather uncomfortably when you slipped your bare feet in. By luck, you were able to book a taxi and could pass on the wet walk to the bus stop.

You thanked him again for bringing you along, noting that you probably got more out of the alleged ‘favour’ than he did. 

“Trust me, going with you made the whole thing so much better,” he said, both cheeks dimpling in your favourite smile of his. “And let me know if you need to get the film on your camera developed. I know a place.”

The ride home was flavoured by a sudden loneliness. Maybe it was the view of the city at night, or the absence of people out on the rainy streets, that had an empty feeling settle in your chest. 

Perhaps you should have delayed leaving his apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have left at all, and instead weathered the night away with Jaehyun on the couch, some slasher flick playing on the television while you shook under the blankets and tried not to scream at the jumpscares, like you used to. You never did understand why he liked horror films as much as he did.

Perhaps he’d slot his fingers between your own and give them a reassuring squeeze, and gaze at you with the kind of amused fondness he only ever reserved for you.

Heat flooded your face. As if you were entertaining the thought of spending the night at your ex-boyfriend’s place. And getting butterflies at the thought of holding hands? 

How embarrassing.

One thing was for certain. The walls you had put up were cracking, and there seemed to be little hope of patching them up.

“Will you stop messing with that thing?”

Jungwoo clicked his tongue against his teeth, fingers still fiddling with the ribbon on the gift bag. 

“It’s not straight,” he grumbled, pulling at the bow.

“You’re so pedantic.”

“It’s called being detail-oriented,” he fired back, leaning against the backseat of the taxi with a sigh.

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I’m not.”

“Well,” he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. His mouth formed the shape of a smirk. 

You flicked a glance towards the rearview mirror, checking to see if the driver was paying attention to the two of you in the back. After verifying he was not, you landed a few (soft…ish) punches on Jungwoo’s upper arm, revelling in the shocked little noises he made, along with a few mumbles of ‘that actually hurts’ and ‘crazy woman’. 

How nice it was to let your hands fly without the threat of some other fifth floor witness reporting you for physical harassment. 

“I’m telling Joy the present is entirely from me,” you warned, turning around to face the front again.

“Right, except the card inside says my name too. So that’s not going to work.”

You reached into the gift bag, pulling out said card before rolling down the window. “Let me just throw this out.”

It was Jungwoo’s turn to deliver a light smack to your wrist. You dropped the envelope back in the bag, not without tossing an eye-roll his way. He knew just as well as you did that there was no real substance behind the threats — banter with Jungwoo was more for amusement than anything else. Deep down, you were quite fond of him, even if your actions tended to say otherwise, and you’d like to wager he quite enjoyed your company too. 

You couldn’t wait to get a few shots in him later tonight. Word had it he was a notorious lightweight. 

“Hopefully nobody vomits. I’d hate to be cleaning that up in my own house.” He shuddered at the thought. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” you smiled sweetly, patting him on the shoulder. “You just focus on sticking to your limit, okay? I heard what happened at last year’s wrap up event.”

He bristled. “Nothing happened! It honestly wasn’t even that bad. I’m getting unfairly slandered,” he sulked. “I think you should stop hanging out with Joy so much.”

“Yeah, alright. Should we just skip her birthday party and turn the car around then?”

“Shut up.”

The taxi pulled up in front of Joy’s apartment complex, a tall modern thing with much bigger windows than your own building. And so much more glass, too. After splitting the taxi fare with Jungwoo, the two of you stood at the entrance, waiting for the intercom to connect. 

“Are you sure you pressed the right buttons?” Jungwoo asked, peering over your shoulder.

“Yes, of course. Apartment 814.”

“Maybe you should let me try.”

You let out a sigh. “It’s three numbers, Jungwoo. How is it going to be any different if it’s you pressing them instead of me? Do you think the keypad is going to magically—”

“Hello?” 

An unfamiliar male voice crackled through the intercom. “Are you here for Joy?” 

“Yes,” you and Jungwoo answered in unison. 

“Great, I’ll come down to get you guys now. Will only be a minute!” and then the line disconnected.

You and Jungwoo exchanged a glance. “Is he going to let us in?” you asked. 

“He literally said he’d come down to get us,” he answered flatly. “Do you not listen?”

“It was hard to hear him clearly with all the noise in the background,” you grumbled in defence. Hopefully Joy’s walls were thicker than your own, and her neighbours would not lodge a complaint halfway through the night.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the face of the intercom answerer. It wasn’t detective work to match up the real thing to the pictures Joy would sometimes show you, though he looked taller in real life than he did in the photos from their weekend Jeju trip.

“Sorry about the wait, it was a bit hard to hear the doorbell,” he greeted, ushering you both inside with a warm smile. “I’m Doyoung, by the way.”

You and Jungwoo both introduced yourselves as you stepped into the elevator after him, to which he responded with a hum in recognition, and a knowing grin.

“Are you on door duty for the night?” Jungwoo asked.

Doyoung nodded, pressing on the button for the eighth floor. “It appears I am. She has her hands full with guests to entertain, so,” he trailed off, eyes glazing over for a split second, “you’ll see what I mean when we get up there.”

You had never imagined that a 2-bedroom apartment could fit so many people. Granted, it was nothing compared to the kind of parties you frequented during your university days where cheap spirits and green soju bottles lined the counter, but it was quite a distant cry from the gathering you thought it would be. Judging by the look on Jungwoo’s face, he had not been expecting this either. 

There had to be at least forty people. It almost made you wonder why she didn’t just book out a space instead of letting everyone invade her and her boyfriend’s shared home.

Doyoung made his exit rather quickly after letting you in, probably off to tend to one of his many other duties as unofficial host — poor guy was likely in for a very busy night — leaving you and Jungwoo to fend for yourselves in the entryway of the apartment. There was barely any room left in the tiled space for you to put your shoes.

How did Joy even know this many people? was the thought at the forefront of your mind as you helped Jungwoo stack his sneakers next to yours on a rack further down the hallway. Her present was left on a table near the entry piled with gift bags and wrapped boxes that you assumed was the designated drop-off area. 

Speaking of the birthday girl, you spotted her mingling in the living room and pointed her out to Jungwoo, though it was no easy feat finding her. The number of people, coupled with the dim ambient lighting, made it a challenge to recognise familiar faces. Joy, champagne glass in hand, was swept away in conversation with one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid eyes on. The gorgeous lady held a matching champagne flute in one hand, while the other was wrapped around the arm of—

“Junmyeon? What the hell is he doing here with that beautiful woman?” 

Jungwoo took the words right out of your mouth, a somewhat displeased noise making its way past his lips. You couldn’t help but echo the sentiment.

“Can’t believe this turned into a work function the moment we stepped through the door,” you all but groaned. “And here I thought having you around was bad enough already.”

You expertly dodged the elbow he jabbed into your side.

Joy spotted the two of you then, lingering by the kitchen, and quickly excused herself from the conversation to rush over. The champagne wobbled precariously in her glass as she approached, engulfing the two of you in a sweet-smelling hug.

“My little children! I’m so glad you could make it!” she cried, resting her chin in the space between your shoulder and Jungwoo’s. You exchanged a glance with the boy amidst the chorus of ‘happy birthday’s. 

There was a 77% chance she was drunk already.

“Had a little too much fun tonight?” you asked, helping to prop her upright again.

Joy only beamed in response. “All the more fun now that you two are here. My favourite fifth floor prisoners.” She gave your cheek a soft pinch.

“Quick question,” Jungwoo began, “why is our manager in your house?”

“With his arm around a beautiful woman way out of his league?” you added, swatting her fingers away from your face.

“That’s my sister Irene,” she said, like it was common knowledge. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you have a sister?”

“Okay, well not my real sister,” she amended, hurriedly waving off your words. “She was a senior in my department. I was really close with her back in university, so, basically my sister. I think we look pretty alike, honestly.”

“And her relation to Junmyeon is…?”

Joy threw a conspiratorial glance around before leaning in, beckoning the two of you closer. This time, a few drops of the champagne did manage to escape via the side of her glass, narrowly missing Jungwoo’s white socks.

“I set them up. On a date!” she whispered, eyes glinting with pride. Why she chose to whisper when it was already hard enough to hear her above the noise at her normal speaking level was beyond you.

You blinked at her a few times. “You set up a goddess like that… with our manager?”

Joy waved another hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Like Junmyeon’s not handsome too. You only think that because you’re too used to seeing him frown and squint at a monitor.” 

You cast a glance in his direction. Maybe she was right. Junmyeon did look somewhat more like a human without his glasses and the semi-permanent lines etched into his forehead. He even looked (dare you say it) quite nice. But maybe it was the poor lighting that made it seem that way.

“Anyways, it’s been about… two months now? I think they look pretty good together,” she mused, following your gaze. 

Junmyeon must have said something funny — a rather loose use of the word by your standards — because Irene had her lovely face scrunched up in a laugh, the pitched sound of it ringing out clearly above the noise of the apartment. In her amusement, she even threw a hand out to slap him lightly on the arm, which he appeared very pleased by.

Sure, you laughed at his jokes too, but it was more out of corporate self-preservation than actual amusement. 

“He kind of has been in a better mood recently,” Jungwoo said thoughtfully.

Joy grabbed his hand with fervour. “Yes, exactly! See? Thanks to my sacrifice, we can all enjoy a nicer, much more pleasant office environment.”

“I’d hardly call that a sacrifice,” you chuckled. “You take too much pleasure in playing matchmaker.” Joy’s response was nothing more than a guilty smile, followed by her emptying the rest of the glass.

It was then that you heard it — the deep, reverberating laugh that always bordered a little bit on breathlessness. It was slightly unnerving how quickly you could pinpoint the sound of his voice without even seeing him, or knowing that he had entered the room. 

You turned around first, eyes drawn to the entry hallway in search of the face to which the laugh belonged. Of course he was going to be here. You knew that. He had said as much two days ago, bidding you farewell across the cafeteria table with a promise to ‘see you on the weekend at Joy’s’.

Lunch with Jaehyun had recently become a rarer occurrence. From what he told you, and the bits of information you gleaned from Joy about Digital, Johnny had pulled Jaehyun onto his team to try and get a firmer grip on the reins not even two weeks ago. Already, the intensity of the new workload was obvious.

You certainly saw him less, much to your disappointment — you could admit that to yourself now.

Jaehyun emerged from the hallway then, midway through another laugh with an arm slung around Doyoung’s shoulders. Funny, how all the other faces were so murky and hard to identify under the dim lighting. And yet, the shape of his dimpled smile was unmistakable to you, as bright as the beacon of a lighthouse on the midnight sea. 

Doyoung scanned the room, catching sight of Joy with you and Jungwoo. He gestured at his girlfriend, and Jaehyun obediently turned in your direction, likely wanting to give his greetings to the birthday girl.

Your eyes locked, and your heart gave a woeful little squeeze in your chest.

“I’m just going to do a quick check on the drink inventory,” Doyoung said as they approached, “I’ll be right back. And please take care of my favourite guest.” With a final friendly pat on Jaehyun’s shoulder, he was off, ducking into the kitchen. 

“Happy birthday!” Jaehyun beamed, arms circling around Joy in a hug which she enthusiastically returned. He grabbed Jungwoo’s hand, pulling him in for one of those man greetings. (Since when were they close?) Their apparent friendship was an unexpected development. 

And then it was your turn. You wondered if it was as easy for others to find solace in a mere gaze as you did with Jaehyun. His eyes did not stray far, wandering around your face, something tender and comforting in his appraisal of your features. A hand came up to brush against your lower back, a gentle and quiet greeting against the excitement of the previous two. His lips pulled into a soft smile as he called your name in greeting. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Joy scoffed.

You inhaled sharply. Was it really that easy to tell? The depth of your attachment?

“You planned this, right? I mean seriously, matching outfits?” she asked, gesturing at you and Jaehyun.

You blinked a few times, looking down blankly at yourself. The dark wash denim and white silk that you had picked out yesterday looked back at you familiarly. Then you glanced at Jaehyun, taking in his white t-shirt, half tucked into a pair of jeans that were exactly the same wash as yours. 

The coordination was completely unintentional — you had no idea what you were going to wear tonight the last time you had spoken to him — but the look on Joy’s face told you there was no use in trying to convince her of the truth. 

(You would’ve argued that the cowl neck of your white silk top elevated your outfit above Jaehyun’s plain white tee, but you digressed.)

“Okay. I’m done with this,” Jungwoo said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’m going to do what single people do, and that is to get a goddamn drink.”

“Me too, another bubbly,” Joy chimed, grasping onto Jungwoo’s arm as he turned to leave for the kitchen. “See my success rate? Let me set you up with someone. My hairdresser’s daughter went to Korea University Business School and graduated not too long ago.” 

The rest of her appeal to play matchmaker for Jungwoo was swallowed up by the music and chatter of her guests. And then it was just you, and Jaehyun, and the thirty other people filling up the living room. 

The two of you shared a glance before dissolving into a few light giggles. 

“I do think I pull it off better,” you teased, giving Jaehyun another once-over. He was as handsome as always, the white cotton draped picturesquely across his lean frame while the dark jeans made his mile-long legs look even longer. He could wear a garbage bag and make it look couture. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said with a crooked smile. 

He raised his arm to reveal the denim jacket draped across his arm that you hadn’t noticed before, too busy making sad little googly eyes at him that you hoped other people couldn’t see. The jacket was coloured in the same wash as his jeans, and your own. 

You gave a scandalised gasp. “No, a matching set? How am I supposed to beat that?”

“You can’t. You can only admit defeat to the double denim. I out-Justin-Timberlaked you.”

“Justin Timberlake is not a verb.”

He only grinned in response, teeth pearly and eyes sparkling as he took in the slight pout of your mouth. 

“Whatever,” you conceded with a wave of your hand, though a smile crept its way onto your face. “You win. Let’s get something to drink.”

Jungwoo and Joy were nowhere to be found when the two of you made your way to the kitchen. What you did find was an impressive selection of bottles atop the marble counter, a selection that easily outdid the ones from your university days in both quality and variety. 

At least one thing was the same. Green soju bottles were always a dependable presence. 

“Shall we go for your favourite?” Jaehyun asked, holding up what looked to be a bottle of wine. You moved a little closer, peering at the label through his fingers.

“I do enjoy a good red,” you replied, accepting the glass he offered you with a quiet ‘thank you’. You took a small sip — because tonight, you felt no need to gulp down alcohol like a camel to ease your nerves — before adding, “Merlot is far from my favourite though.”

“Really?’ He raised an eyebrow. “I do seem to remember how you pretty much finished a whole bottle by yourself. At dinner, that time at the Italian place.”

You held back a wince at the recollection of that fated blind date. Of course he’d remember that. It would be hard to forget the way you all but sculled down three full glasses in the time it took him to finish one. A quick sideways glance revealed the slight upturn to the corners of his mouth, paired with a telling glint in his eyes. Jaehyun was teasing.

“It was honestly quite impressive,” he said, lips curling into a full-blown smile now.

“That was different,” you said. The next sip went down a little faster than you would have liked. “That was out of necessity.” 

There was no way I could’ve made it through that night without alcohol in my system, you almost said, but caught yourself just in time. 

A few seconds passed before either of you spoke again.

“Were you really upset to see me?”

Gone was the playful lilt to his voice. This question was asked softly, carefully, the sound of it so delicate you were afraid it would shatter in the air at your clumsy reply. Slowly, you turned to look at him, seeking the reassurance you were sure you could find in his eyes, but they had moved to the contents of his own glass. You followed their path, watching as he gave the liquid a few absent-minded swirls.

“Maybe. A little, I think,” you admitted. “I don’t know. There was a lot going on in my head that day. When I realised it was you.”

A pair of giggling women — Joy’s guests who you didn’t know — approached the counter, one of them tentatively reaching for something in front of you. Noticing her struggle, you shuffled slightly towards Jaehyun, trying to make some space around the counter. The one with her hand outstretched flashed you a grateful smile, which you politely returned, although with far less vigour. 

Perhaps the bustling kitchen in the centre of all the foot traffic wasn’t the best place for a conversation like this.

There was some fussing with the bottle cap, or whatever it was that they couldn’t quite get to work, followed by a considerably clean pour for two people who were clearly not quite sober. Then they were gone, giggling the entire way out of the kitchen and freeing up the space around you.

If you wanted to, you could have stepped back and returned to your original spot before their arrival. Put some more distance between you and Jaehyun again. Not that you were seriously encroaching on his personal space, but it was enough for you to recognise the proximity.

Instead, you took the smallest of steps closer and placed a hand on his forearm. His eyes flitted down at the touch, taking in the way your fingers lay feather-light on his skin, just above the ridge of his wrist. 

“I’m glad it was you,” you said. The words were true, but the honesty of them still tasted odd on your tongue, and you fought back a cringe. Jaehyun finally turned to meet your eyes, some semblance of hope, or maybe it was relief that coloured his expression. “And I’m glad we’re here, now,” you added.

You hoped he knew you weren’t talking about the far right corner of Joy’s kitchen.

Jaehyun smiled, and it was like the sun had finally risen up over the stark mountain peak, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. It was the kind of warmth you didn’t realise you craved until the full force of it spilled over you, washing away the blue and the cold. 

“Me too,” he said softly.

Even if you hadn’t fallen victim to Joy’s schemes, you would like to think the two of you would still end up here, only via longer and slightly different routes. Perhaps an unexpected run-in in the lobby on a Tuesday morning, or the eventual and excruciatingly awkward introduction through Joy. Whatever it may have been, you’d like to think you would’ve found your way to each other again eventually. 

Curiosity tickled your mind. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

He was still smiling, the lines by his nose just visible, and he had his eyes on you, though there was a faraway look about them. Something about his gaze reminded you of the way you’d regard a painting, framed and hung up on a wall in some art museum — carefully examining the details of the brushstrokes against the canvas, yet all the while trying to hold the whole piece in your mind’s eye, and let it touch the surface of that primal emotion somewhere inside of you. The depth of his gaze was enough to make you self-conscious, and you quickly averted your eyes, taking another sip from your glass. It was a good excuse to school your features before you spoke again.

“How did you feel when you saw me? Were you upset?”

Jaehyun regarded his own glass wistfully. “Not exactly upset, no,” he began, though a movement in his peripheral had him trailing off. 

Another of Joy’s guests had appeared, hovering beside the two of you with his eyes set on the bottle of whiskey directly in front of you. Politely, Jaehyun side-stepped away from the counter and wrapped a gentle hand around the bend of your elbow, guiding you out of the hectic buzz of the kitchen. It stayed there, warm and comforting, until you found your way back to the open space of the living room, and even then he was slow to let you go, fingertips lingering a just second too long before they retreated back to his side. 

“I think I was surprised, more than anything,” he continued. “Didn’t really know what to expect, not that I was expecting much. I never even thought I’d get to see you again after university. Thought you were gone for good.”

He paused, one side of his mouth quirking up slightly. The movement was small, and you wondered if you were supposed to have caught it at all.

“You stood there, with your bag in one hand and your cardigan in the other, looking like you were waiting for me to spontaneously combust—”

“Okay, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“—and all I could think about was how you were even prettier than I remembered. And back then I already thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.”

At that, you were quiet. Whatever silly rebuttal or attempt to defend yourself died quickly on your tongue as you let his confession settle beneath your skin, warming it from the inside out. Jaehyun was not even one bit fazed, looking like he had just said something trivial about the weather, or stated some objective fact like ‘grass is green’. For him, honesty had never been the heavy, cumbersome challenge it was for you. Judging by the resigned smile on his face, he wasn’t expecting some grand response from you either, which was all the better, because god, what were you supposed to say to something like that?

“Oh, there you are,” came a voice from behind you, followed by a hand on your shoulder. 

Joy’s timing was impeccable, as always.

“Sorry, this one is coming with me,” she said to Jaehyun, looping her arm around yours with half-drunken determination. “Us fifth-floors have some business to settle. With darts.”

Your eyes followed the direction of her outstretched arm, where sure enough, there was a dartboard hanging on the wall by the balcony. Jungwoo was there, standing obediently with his hands crossed in front of his stomach as he politely nodded along to whatever Junmyeon was animatedly saying. The beer bottle Jungwoo cradled, now forgotten, seemed more like an accessory than an actual beverage. He caught your eye and sent you a frantic look.

You whipped your head back to Jaehyun. “Please don’t let her take me.” 

Surely, he could see the pleading, the desperation in your eyes.

Jaehyun, having witnessed the whole exchange between you and Jungwoo, only grinned. “It does sound like some serious business,” he said, cheeks dimpling. Joy made a noise of agreement and gave your arm a little tug.

“You’re more than welcome to come and spectate, Jaehyun,” she called out over her shoulder as she herded you towards her destination. His only response was a hearty laugh. You stared at him in despair as you were towed away by the birthday girl. Next time you’d invite his boss to the function.

The game of darts (or seven games, if you were being precise) was decidedly less awful than you had expected. Junmyeon had promised not to speak about work and by some miracle, actually stuck to his word. Maybe you even got to know the guy a little better, outside of his office habits like the specific order in which he drank his three teas everyday (yuja, then chamomile, and lastly peppermint). Like you, he was somewhat of a wine enthusiast, though his knowledge of French vineyards was far superior to yours. 

By the third round, the game had clearly left your little work circle. Jaehyun joined in at one point, competitiveness getting the better of him. Doyoung tried his hand too, and he was honestly abysmal, but smiled the whole time and seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he had to pick the darts off the floor on every turn. Out of all the players over the course of the seven games, Junmyeon’s date Irene had been the most unexpected hidden card, scoring three bullseyes in a row. 

Oh, to be a goddess and have perfect hand-eye coordination. 

“You feeling okay?” you asked a rather blank-looking Jungwoo. His eyes were beginning to droop, and so was the rest of his body, long limbs sprawled out against the leather. You could swear he only had his initial bottle of beer and the two celebratory soju shots Joy had forced him to take (from which you were not exempt either), and yet here he was, half-asleep on the couch.

“Hmm,” was his eloquent reply.

The party was slowly drawing to a close, the living room much emptier now than it had been when you first walked in. Junmyeon and Irene had made their departure some twenty minutes ago, and there were only a handful of guests left, most of them getting ready to leave as well. Grown adults didn’t gamble with their sleep schedules. 

Doyoung emerged from the hallway, running a hand through the mess of hair on top of his head, already tousled from the fifty or so times he had repeated the action throughout the night.

“Okay, she’s knocked out,” he sighed. On his face, you glimpsed the first sign of relief you had seen all night. “I don’t think she’s going to puke, but I left a bucket by the bed just in case.”

You flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you for tonight. I can’t imagine it was easy having to wrangle all these people for so long.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. As long as Joy’s happy and had a good time.” 

Even though he was clearly exhausted, Doyoung smiled, and the fondness held within it felt like a private thing you shouldn’t have witnessed. Your mind went, now as it always did, to a certain dimpled smile.

“I’d better get this one home,” you said instead, gesturing at Jungwoo slumped on the couch. You turned towards the boy, patting his shoulder gently. “Come on, time to go.”

“Mmffh.” 

Another brilliant and enlightening response.

The owner of your favourite dimpled smile stepped out from the bathroom to the sight of you struggling to get Jungwoo upright enough to loop an arm around your shoulders. The half-asleep boy was lean, but definitely heavier than he looked, or perhaps the few glasses of wine over the course of the night had sapped some of the strength from your body. Jaehyun was at your side in an instant, shouldering most of Jungwoo’s weight as the two of you dragged him to a standing position.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, no room for discussion in his tone. You had no mind to protest anyway. 

Doyoung was already busying himself with clearing plates and glasses from the living area when Jaehyun bid him farewell. The guy seemed to have formulated a detailed plan of attack to get his apartment back to the no-doubt spotless state it had been prior to tonight.

“I sorted out most of the empty bottles so you should be able to just throw them out in the morning,” Jaehyun said over his shoulder. He crouched on the ground, guiding Jungwoo’s disobedient left foot into the correct shoe, carefully doing up the laces once both feet were inside their corresponding sneakers. 

You tossed a glance back at Doyoung whizzing around the place like a Roomba, feeling a pang of guilt for not having done much to help him clean up. Even though you had been a much more gracious and tidy guest than other people in Joy’s company, you couldn’t help but feel like there was more you could’ve done, apart from babysitting a very not-sober Jungwoo and making sure he didn’t crack his head open on the corner of the coffee table. 

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun said softly. You turned to look at him, half-surprised, and he only flashed you a small smile. “Doyoung likes to clean. I think he finds comfort in it.”

He was fluent as ever in your micro-expressions. Maybe one day you’d learn to stop being surprised by it. 

The taxi back to Jungwoo’s place was shorter than you had expected. His head lolled between your shoulder and Jaehyun’s in the backseat, before finally finding a home in Jaehyun’s lap. Even when you finally tucked the younger boy safely into his own bed — after going to great lengths to extract his building code which involved a series of profuse apologies to his neighbours who you had mistakenly rung in the middle of the night — there was an impressive imprint on his right cheek that exactly matched the side seam on Jaehyun’s jeans. You could’ve sworn there was a small, wet patch of drool left behind on the denim, and you were sure Jaehyun himself had noticed it too, but he gave no indication of complaint.

“Are you far from here?” Jaehyun asked once the elevator had brought the both of you back down to Jungwoo’s lobby.

“I’m actually just a fifteen minute walk away,” you answered.

The invitation in your voice was silent, and you knew he would’ve accompanied you home even if you lived on the other side of the city. Still, some achingly pleasant emotion settled over you when you heard his footsteps fall in with yours against the pavement. He took his place between you and the open street, shielding you from the bustle of late night delivery bikes and club bound taxis.

Though the days still resembled summer, nights were when the beginnings of autumn could reveal itself. The slight chill in the air was not unbearable, but still noticeable against your bare arms, and just enough for goosebumps to spring up on the skin there. Before you could even bring your hands up to wrap them around yourself, Jaehyun shrugged off his jacket and wordlessly draped it over your shoulders. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, drawing the collar close around your neck. The stiff denim was a little rough, but warm from his body heat all the same, with faint traces of his woody scent lingering on the fabric.

Jaehyun thrust his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Now you out-Justin-Timberlake me.”

“Still not a real word.”

You supposed there was something about night-time that made it feel all the more forgiving to the emotional afflictions of the human condition. Perhaps it was only against the muted palette of the midnight blue sky and the dimly lit city streets that you felt brave enough to face the truth of your feelings, without agonising over the consequences of acknowledging them. Even so, you found yourself wishing the night would stretch on for just a little longer. Honesty always seemed to wear off faster than it came on.

“You’ve been crazy busy lately.”

Jaehyun’s responding laugh contained little amusement. “Crazy busy is one way to put it. I can’t believe Johnny has had to deal with all of this the whole time. This client is so,” he paused, trying to find the right word, before finally settling on “demanding.” The look in his eyes gave you the feeling there were many other more colourful adjectives he wanted to use instead.

The two of you passed the convenience store corner of your street. Your place was not too far up ahead, the glass building doors almost visible if you squinted. The night was coming to an end, and something cold and heavy settled in your chest to accompany the realisation.

“They want us in New York working on the new client site as soon as possible, so we’ve been running around trying to get visas and everything sorted,” he sighed. 

Your footsteps faltered. 

“You’re going to New York?” you asked. 

He nodded. 

“When?”

“Within the next week, if everything comes back approved.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you had come to a standstill until Jaehyun’s footsteps also slowed to a stop. The both of you stood like that, under the dim glow from the streetlights, in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“We’ll probably be there until the end of the year, at least until the design piece is done,” he said. 

Did your face betray the sudden drop of your stomach? Did the sound of a fissure cracking through your chest escape through the slight parting of your lips?

It was silly, really. That one small piece of information could turn your entire world on its head. International travel on a project wasn’t a rare occurrence. And you supposed you would’ve found out sooner or later, even if he hadn’t told you, because he had no obligation to update you about every development in his life, even if they involved crossing continents. Even if you wanted to know every little detail. 

Jaehyun’s eyes moved from his shoes to your face. The shadows cast by the streetlights made it hard to decipher his expression, but you thought there was a pleading look to his handsome face. What he was pleading for, you weren’t entirely sure. 

You cleared your throat and finally found your voice again. “That’s really exciting, Jaehyun,” you managed, trying to keep your tone light. “I hear New York is gorgeous this time of year.”

The smile you pasted on your face was a flimsy one, and you could feel your top lip begin to tremble when he didn’t quite return it. Before it could turn into a grimace, you let the corners of your mouth fall. There had never been any use in putting on an act in front of him. Unsure what else to say without sounding insincere — though you were excited for him, truly, this little fit of sadness was a silly thing that would pass surely and quickly — you turned and resumed your steps towards your apartment. 

Another few minutes and you’d be in the safety of your own home. Free to let your top lip tremble and quiver, and let the inexplicable lump in your throat force its way out, rather than try to swallow it down.

It only took a few steps for you to realise that Jaehyun had not followed. You looked over your shoulder to find him standing there by the streetlight, eyes fixed on the ground again. 

“I don’t want to go,” he said, toeing at a crack in the concrete. “If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to leave…”

You.

He may not have said that last word, but you heard it all the same. Your chest squeezed with emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“But you have to,” you said softly. A gentle breeze blew through the early autumn air and you briefly wondered if your words had been carried adrift.

He looked up at you then, eyes burning into yours with unspoken sentiments. A thousand words were conveyed with that one look, those few seconds in which you understood everything he wanted to say, and nothing he wanted to say, because he hadn’t said much at all. Just like how he could read your emotions with a simple glance at your face, you saw his reluctance. You saw the irresolution in his resolve, and how it wavered as he turned over in his mind the things he wanted to say to you, and how much of his heart he was willing to risk. 

“But I have to,” he agreed. 

Jaehyun still knew you inside out, yes, but you knew him too.

Your feet dragged over the last few hundred metres to your apartment complex, until you finally reached the door and there was nothing left you could do to delay the inevitable.

“Here,” you said, handing his jacket back to him. “Thank you for walking me home.”

He took it from your outstretched hand, fingers just brushing your knuckles. “Of course.”

And maybe Jaehyun was just as unwilling to let you go. His feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete pavement in front of your building, even though you were pretty sure no harm would befall you across the five steps into the lobby. The two of you stood there for a while, neither quite knowing what to say, or how to ward off the odd melancholy you knew he felt too.

There were so few guarantees of forever in life. You knew that. And even if you had never really gotten him back in the first place, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing him again. Except this time, he wouldn’t just be a 67-minute subway ride away. This time, he’d be a 14-hour flight away, on the other side of not the city but the world, with 7,000 miles and the entire Pacific Ocean separating you. 

And yes, he’d come back eventually, but who could promise that the feelings between the two of you now would be the same upon his return? You knew that you were in no position to demand he refrain from exploring other romantic pursuits, to deter him from making new connections in the diverse metropolis that was New York City, and all the excitement and energy that came with it. 

You had unknowingly gotten in the way of that once.

“Well, I’d better get inside,” you said quietly, gesturing at the building behind you. Jaehyun only nodded.

This was it. All things must come to an end, you thought as you walked up to the lobby door. Even if they never really started. Perhaps you and your hesitance to let him in had played the biggest part of all, and whatever it was between you and Jaehyun wouldn’t be ending before it began if you had only been more forgiving at the start. Less pointy and disagreeable. Perhaps then you would be parting now on more certain terms, and you’d carry some peace of mind knowing he’d be coming back to you, instead of the crushing weight of disappointment currently lodged underneath your sternum.

And yet, what difference did it make? You’d be losing him anyway, no matter what you did. In two weeks’ time, he’d be sitting in a conference room on a different continent, regardless of whether you said nothing or cussed him out to his face right now.

Your hand froze on the steel handle for only a second before you turned around to face him again. Three determined strides was all it took to close the distance between you. 

“What is it?” he asked.

There had been few occasions where you had seen Jaehyun drunk, or at least not sober, in the years you had known him. Your split early on in university had not afforded you many chances to witness his supposedly high tolerance in action at weekend benders. Nothing more than a few underage sips snuck from his dad’s glass at the dinner table. You took a second now to look at him, really look at him, taking in all the details of the face you knew almost as well as your own. 

Pink. Everything about him was so pink, from the slight tinge around the whites of his eyes, to the lingering flush in the apples of his cheeks.

To the pretty colour of his soft, full lips. 

They parted with confusion when you approached. Carefully, you reached out a hand and placed it against his cheek, feeling the way he leaned into your touch almost immediately. His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments before they were searching your face again, almost fervently. 

“I just…” you whispered, trying to commit this picture of him to memory. 

What difference did it make?

It was hard to tell who moved first. You’d like to believe it didn’t matter.

The rhythm of your lips against his was unfamiliar at first, clumsy from years of disuse. Through slow and careful movements, you reacquainted yourself with the shape of Jaehyun’s mouth, the pillowy swell of his bottom lip as it gently slid in between your own. It fit there perfectly, like it always did. His hands came up to graze the curve of your waist, resting lightly on your skin as if he was afraid you’d crumble like sand in his grasp. 

You tilted your head, parting your mouth ever so slightly to let the tip of your tongue brush against the underside of his top lip. The kiss changed immediately. You felt his surprise in the small puff of air that escaped through his nose and landed softly against your cheek. His fingers gripped at you with a newfound strength, pulling you flush against him. Even through the fabric of your shirts, the outline of his toned chest was unmistakable. Your hands found their home in the softness of hair at the nape of his neck, revelling in the throaty sound that left him as you ran your hands through it. 

How had you denied yourself of this for so long?

Jaehyun must have pulled away first, because suddenly you could breathe again, shaky gasps coming in and out through your mouth. He fared no better, pressing his forehead gently against yours while he tried to catch his breath.

You couldn’t think. You felt electrified, as if every nerve ending in your body was simultaneously firing, as if your blood was laced with dynamite. Hell, you had half a mind to invite him up to your room and finish off what you had so brazenly started.

“It’s late,” he finally managed, voice rough. “You should head in.” His hands, however, stayed firmly in place around your waist. You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each swallow.

Right. Perhaps it was best to let the night end here, before you could do anything else that you might regret. 

“Yeah, I should probably,” you murmured, catching the way his eyes followed each movement of your mouth as you spoke. The sound of your voice seemed to break the daze he was in, and you felt his grip on you loosen, slowly and reluctantly. The arms you had looped around his neck made their way back to your sides. You were released from his warmth far too quickly.

Impulsive decisions (like inviting your ex-boyfriend to spend the night in your one-bedroom apartment with nowhere to sleep except in your bed) seldom ended well. You should’ve known better than to make those rookie mistakes.

You had barely turned around to walk up to your building doors when Jaehyun wrapped a warm hand around your wrist and pulled you back into him. He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing the small noise of surprise that left your mouth. This time, his kiss was softer, surer, and in it you tasted the sweetness of unspoken promises he was determined to keep. 

“I’ll see you when I get back,” he said, dark eyes fixed on you with conviction. Your lip colour had smudged by the side of his mouth, leaving behind a faint pink stain that only added to the pretty hue of his now kiss-swollen lips. 

He was still the most gorgeous person you had ever seen. 

“See you when you’re back, then,” you echoed. 

Some odd emotion, neither happy nor sad, settled in your chest as you pushed open the door to the emptiness of your home. You had rushed to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jaehyun before he left, only to find he had gone already, and the sidewalk outside your building was as vacant as to be expected for this hour of the night.

No matter. You’d wait for him to come back. 

“One more prosecco before he disappears to the bathroom for the rest of the night.”

You cast a glance at the catering table and clicked your tongue against your teeth.

“Half a prosecco,” you concluded, taking a sip from your own glass. 

Joy raised a shapely eyebrow at you. “You know it doesn’t hit until at least twenty minutes after he gets the munchies.”

“True, but he specifically told me he skipped lunch today so it would hit earlier, and he’d have the energy to mingle.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “I guess that’d do it.”

The two of you turned your gazes back to the catering table, where Jungwoo was doing some serious damage to the salmon ceviche tostadas. The glass in his hand was empty, and you watched as he asked for a refill from one of the waitstaff.

“Someone should really stop him,” Joy sighed. “Before we get a repeat of last year.”

“Someone should,” you agreed.

Neither of you made a move.

As far as year-end wrap-up events went, this one wasn’t too bad, even if it was your first at the company. This year, HR had managed to book one of the smaller function rooms at an upscale hotel, with an open bar and hors d’oeuvres menu to match. It was a nice chance to celebrate the year’s achievements, and get to know the other people in the department a little better. Already a year in this place, and you’d be lying if you said you knew the name of every person on your floor.

September to November had flown by in a blur. Recruitment for the company’s graduate program next year had been an intensive few months of screening, interviewing, reviewing, and then interviewing again. As hectic as it had been, the fruits of your team’s efforts had been warmly recognised with smiles and praises from the senior managers and higher-ups you’d had the chance to speak with tonight. 

Traditionally, each department hosted their own event, though from what you gathered, HR and Marketing were the only ones that put in any real effort. While HR liked to keep things classy, Marketing liked to go all out.

“Do you think it’s true that Marketing rented out a yacht this year?” you asked. Surely their budget wasn’t that excessive.

Joy made a face. “God, I hope not. It’s the middle of December. I’d be surprised if the Han River wasn’t all frozen over.”

Winter had come early this year, sinking its cold fingers into November and staking its claim. Yet, there had been no snow, even though it was only a few days out from the holidays. Though it was nice that your clothes stayed relatively dry all day from the lack of precipitation, you couldn’t help but miss the sight of the city covered in a blanket of white softness. 

“There he goes,” Joy said, nudging your arm. You turned to see Jungwoo excuse himself from the conversation, setting down a barely-touched glass on the tablecloth. He made a beeline for the men’s restrooms, or as close to a beeline as he could manage in his current state, face flushed and a little queasy.

It was a good thing the company’s holiday closure started tomorrow.

“Okay, you win. Want to come and get a refill with me?” she asked. “We can say hi to a few of the directors over there.”

The thought of having to network with more seniors, when you had already spent the last hour and a half donning bright smiles and laughing politely at their lacklustre jokes, was not a pleasant one. You knew it would be a good thing for you to go and introduce yourself, but your battery for social interaction had long since been depleted. Perhaps you should’ve taken a page out of Jungwoo’s book.

Still, you flashed Joy a grateful smile. “You go ahead. I might grab some air, actually.”

“Okay,” she replied, eyes warm with understanding. “But make sure you put your coat on. It’s freezing out there.”

She was right, of course. The toasty interior of the function room was a completely different world from the frigid gust of wind that greeted you as soon as you pulled the sliding door open. An upscale hotel needed to have a matching upscale view of the city. You leaned against the balcony railing, blocking out the icy sting of the metal against your hands, and took in the sight of the not-quite-frozen Han River below, and the sparkling Seoul Tower further away on the skyline.

You’d only be out here for a little bit, you told yourself. Just a few minutes, and then you’d head home.

Truthfully, you could have left half an hour ago when your reserves for socialising had just run out, and be within the warm and familiar confines of your own bed right now, doom-scrolling to your heart’s content. But these days, the solitude of your apartment that you had once found comforting had evolved into a loneliness that you’d rather avoid. 

The empty echoes of your own footsteps across the tiled floors didn’t bounce against the walls like deep laughter did.

Absent-mindedly, you thumbed at the pendant sitting at the hollow of your throat. You had turned your jewellery box inside out, almost fully convinced that you had lost the thing entirely until you finally spotted the milky pearl set in white gold, underneath all the other chains. It was gorgeous when you had first opened the velvet box all those years ago, and it still was now, even if you hadn’t seen it for quite some time. Jaehyun always had an eye for beautiful things.

You weren’t the only one who endured a few packed and chaotic months. Johnny’s team had flown out of the country the Wednesday after Joy’s birthday and had been sequestered in New York ever since. Between your swamped schedules and the 14 hour time difference, conversations with Jaehyun were intermittent at best, and sparse and uncoordinated at worst. Sometimes he’d message with silly little things, like the time he sent you a picture of a doll sitting in the window of an antique shop.

this reminded me of you, the accompanying text had said.

He was due back soon, and there was still much left to be said, but above all, you only hoped that he was well, and that the New York winter was much more forgiving than it was here at home.

The cloudy wisps of air formed by your breath floated upwards before they dissipated into the night sky. No wonder the balcony was empty — who would want to be out here when there were mozzarella stuffed mushrooms and central heating on the other side of the glass?

You heard the doors slide open behind you as someone else equally as crazy decided to step out into the cold. Just as well. It was time for you to head back anyways. You turned to make your way inside, only to freeze in your tracks.

“They told me I’d find you out here. You really know how to pick a spot, huh?”

A soft gasp left your mouth.

“Jaehyun?”

He gave you a smile, your favourite smile, where his dimples were only just visible, and there was the hint of a pout to the shape of his lips. He was here, and he was in front of you, looking at you like you were the most wonderful thing in the world that he would ever have the good fortune of knowing. Your chest swelled almost painfully at the sight of him.

“When did you get back? How did you even get in here?”

“We landed in Incheon earlier this afternoon. I had to pay the door guy outside a hundred bucks for him to let me in.”

Your eyes widened. “He can’t make you do that!”

“Just kidding,” Jaehyun chuckled. “I only had to show him my company ID.”

He walked over to where you stood by the railing and rested his arms against the metal. His profile was sharp against the darkness of the night sky, and you took a moment to study the details while he took in the view. 

“Are you tired?” you asked. “It can’t be easy adjusting to the time difference.”

“A little,” he admitted. The bags under his eyes were dark and purple now that you could see his face up close. He must have been exhausted. Nobody ever slept well on long haul flights. “You should see Johnny though. He would have come tonight, but jet lag is seriously kicking his ass.”

You shared a laugh, traces of your breaths mingling in the air. Beside him, you settled back into your original spot, mirroring the way he leaned against the metal railing. Jaehyun was close, but not too close, your elbows only a few centimetres apart. A mellow silence settled over the balcony as you gazed out at the river, watching the never-ending stream of cars as they circled the waterfront. 

With even this, you were content. His mere presence next to you was a remedy in itself, regardless of the words shared or touches exchanged. You felt more at home in this moment now than you had in over 3 months.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, still gazing out into the distance. The gravity in his voice hinted at circumstances beyond the recent season he had spent on the other side of the world. And yet, he had said it so simply, as if the words were an immovable truth that would withstand the corrosion of time.

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied.

Maybe it was just that simple, because it was the truth. The nights weathered away in your own apartment were only lonely because there had been an absence of him, an absence that was known to you, even if you had not felt it for many years.

He turned to you, taking in a shaky breath. “I should never have let you go.”

“Oh, Jaehyun—”

“I was young, and foolish, and I thought I knew what I wanted. And I had you, but I thought I wanted more, because I wanted everything. I wanted the whole damn world.”

Something sharp pricked behind your eyes as you listened to the honesty pouring out of him.

“And then I lost you, and it was—god, it was… like someone had sucked all the colour out of my life. And I had no one to blame, because I was the one who did that to myself. To us.”

It was so hard to not notice the pain etched into his beautiful features. The tight set of his jaw. The redness that rimmed his eyes. Your fingers ached to reach over and smooth out the crease between his brows.

“There were so many things I could have done to make things right between us again. Even if you wouldn’t have me back. But my pride, and my ego… I did nothing—”

“You can’t pin it all on yourself, Jaehyun,” you said, shaking your head. “I had no idea what I wanted. And even when I did, I never acted—I never stood up for myself. I could’ve fought for us, but I didn’t. I just accepted everything. Hell, I never even told you how I felt.”

You flashed him a watery smile. “We needed the time away from each other, don’t you think?” 

There was a moment where the two of you simply stared at each other. A hurricane of repressed emotions swirled in your chest, finally breaking the surface five years on. Jaehyun must have felt the same, reliving all those memories now. You could see it on his face.

Youth was so beautiful, and precious — even the heartbreak, and all the other foolish things that came along with it. 

“I let you go once, and maybe that was meant to happen.” He took a step closer. “But we’re not dumb teenagers anymore. I’m not… I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

His eyes locked on yours as he gazed at you with reverence. “Don’t you still feel the same? Even after all these years?”

I do, you wanted to say. 

You would have too, if it weren’t for the small speck of white that landed in Jaehyun’s dark hair. It was visible for only a few seconds before melting away. You looked up and sure enough, the night sky was dotted with white.

“First snow,” you breathed, watching as the snowflakes fell from the sky. “Do you know what that means?”

Jaehyun gave you a small shake of his head. Of course. He never believed in superstitions.

You reached for his hand, feeling his fingers respond to yours immediately. He was so warm, and his touch breathed life back into your frozen body.

“If you see the first snow with someone you love, it means that your love will be true and long-lasting.”

A few seconds passed as he took in your words, trying to make sense of them.

“You… love me?”

“I do,” you admitted. A teardrop finally spilled out from your waterline, leaving behind a wet track on your cheek that stung in the cold. “Even when I thought I hated you, deep down, I think I still loved you.”

One of his hands came up to wipe away the trail of moisture from the escaped tear. The action sent a shiver through your entire body.

“I never stopped loving you,” he confessed softly, stroking your cheek. You felt it then, that deep, aching feeling that had threaded itself into the very marrow of your bones. 

Longing. You longed for his presence, his smile, his touch. You longed to hold his heart in your hands again, and give him yours in exchange. You had missed him more than you could bear, and here he was, telling you his heart was where it had always been, sitting in the centre of your palm. 

Perfect moments didn’t exist, but damn did this one come close.

“Come here,” Jaehyun whispered, pulling you into him. 

His mouth was just as sweet as you remembered. His lips were a little rougher, slightly chapped from the cold. His kiss was slow and patient, taking his time to explore the shape of your mouth and mould to it again. You felt his smile, the slight tension in his bottom lip giving him away, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate, a quiet giggle bubbling in your chest before escaping through your lips. 

“I really fucking missed you,” you mumbled against his mouth, another giggle accompanying the words. “You kissed me and then you were on a plane to the other side of the world.” 

“I told you I’d see you when I was back, didn’t I?” he reminded, giving your waist a small squeeze. “And for the record, you kissed me. Not that it matters.”

You swatted a hand against his chest. “I see you still care too much about technicalities.”

Jaehyun only laughed, that deep and familiar sound you had craved to hear for the last 3 months. He pulled your hands into his warm ones, and pressed his lips to your knuckles. 

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around yours. 

“Well, I was about to head back inside when you found me. It’s nice and toasty in there.”

“Do you want to go in now?”

You looped your arms around his neck and buried your head into the crook of it. “Let’s just stay out here for a little bit longer,” you said, words muffled by the fabric of his coat. “You always run hot in the colder months anyways. Enough to keep me warm.”

He hummed in agreement, holding you flush against him as the snow fell around you. In his arms, you were the most at ease you had been in years, and the thought was almost enough to bring a fresh new wave of moisture to your eyes. 

“What is that—something’s digging in,” he suddenly said, pulling away from you. His eyes landed on the pendant that had slipped out from underneath the lapels of your coat. Wordlessly, he reached for it, running his thumb across the pale pearl that hung from your neck. 

“You kept this?” 

“Of course,” you answered. “You kept yours.”

He smiled, a big one, dimples marking his cheeks. “Of course,” he repeated. 

“We’re lucky, aren’t we? To have found each other again after all this time?”

Jaehyun’s reply took the form of another sweet and unhurried kiss. It warmed you from the inside out, all the way down to the tips of your toes.

“So we’re really doing this, right?” he asked. “We’re giving us a second chance?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you said all that earlier just for shits and giggles?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled, squeezing your sides again. “I just wanted to make sure. I think I might lose faith in the world if you tell me you don’t want to be with me.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” you reassured. The snow was sticking to his hair, and you took a second to run your hands through it, brushing off the half-melted pieces. His eyes fondly followed your every movement.

“Good, because I plan on keeping you for a long time.”

You returned inside shortly after. The snow had picked up and it was clear that you couldn’t stay out for much longer (unless you wanted hypothermia, which neither of you did). The function hall was much emptier now than it had been when you stepped out, and of the remaining faces, none of them were familiar. 

A quick glance at your phone showed a few unread messages from Joy. 

joy [08:32 pm]: hey, had to leave, doyoung’s still working tomorrow so it’s an early night for me joy [08:33 pm]: hope you and jaehyun work things out joy [08:33 pm]: i’m rooting for you guys!!

joy [08:37 pm]: also can you see if jungwoo is okay joy [08:38 pm]: i don’t think he’s come out yet

“Can I ask a favour, just before we go?”

Jaehyun smiled back at you sweetly, devotion written in his eyes. “Anything.”

“Pop into the men’s room and check if Jungwoo’s still alive?”

Life was a funny thing. 

“There are so few things in life that are guaranteed. Death, for one, and taxes, for another. Sorry if that was a bit dark and killed the mood. You can laugh, by the way. But I think everyone here would agree, neither of those two are all that conducive to happiness.”

Roundabout. 

“So when the girl you’ve been chasing, for what feels like an eternity, finally gives you a second chance, you absolutely cannot take it for granted. You grab onto that chance with both hands, and even your teeth if you have to. It’s no guarantee for happiness, but it’s your best bet.”

Unpredictable. 

“I’m not a God-fearing man, but I’m a God-believing man. I thank God everyday for bringing such a magnificent woman into my life.”

He raised his glass. 

“Joy, you make me the happiest person in the world, and I can’t wait to be married to you.”

The crowd broke into warm applause as Doyoung finished off his impromptu speech by planting a kiss on his bride-to-be.

“He’s so good at talking,” you mused, wrapping your arm around Jaehyun’s. “If that’s his toast for this, I wonder what his vows will be like.”

A year ago, you would never have believed that you’d be attending your co-worker’s engagement party, much less with your ex-boyfriend who you hadn’t seen in 5 years. Spring had well and truly arrived, and with it came promises of love and new beginnings. The last rays of the April afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows of the riverside art centre. The venue was gorgeous, floating on the edge of the river with unobstructed views of the skyline and where it met the water — as always, Joy knew how to pick a spot.

“I didn’t know she rejected him before they got together. He must have really liked her.”

Jaehyun gave you a crooked smile. “Four years of university, and he never gave up. Even when she started dating that blockhead from liberal arts.”

“I bet he would’ve felt like the luckiest guy in the world when she finally said yes to a date,” you said, watching as the happy couple shared a moment, giggling about something nobody else was privy to. Jaehyun followed your gaze and made a small noise of agreement.

“Not as lucky as I am to have found you again.”

He ran his thumb across your knuckles. You could’ve sworn there was stardust sprinkled into those pretty brown eyes of his.

Life was a funny thing, for sure. It had a funny way of bringing back things you once thought you had lost forever. You knew now that you had to seize them before they passed by. Who knew if they’d ever turn up again?

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Jungwoo set his glass down on the table with a loud thunk, lightly startling you.

“I’m right here. You guys know that, right? I am right in front of you.”

A sheepish smile was thrown his way. “Sorry.” You patted his hand once, softly. “Your time will come, I’m sure of it,” you reassured. “How did the date with the KU Business girl go?”

“I flaked,” Jungwoo said simply.

“No! Why?”

He sighed. “Blind dates are really not my thing. It’s too awkward. And it feels so superficial. Like, what if you have nothing in common, or there’s no physical attraction, or—” 

Jungwoo paused, cutting himself off. “Actually, I’m not talking about this with you people. I’m going to get another drink.” With that, he turned and headed straight for the cocktail bar. You and Jaehyun gazed at him from behind as he walked off.

“I’m gonna be babysitting him again tonight, aren’t I?” Jaehyun asked, the question directed at nobody in particular.

“People are going to start wondering if you’re dating me or him.”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Should I give them a reminder?”

“My boss is standing right over there, so no.”

Junmyeon and Irene were still going steady, to your surprise. You’d probably be seeing more and more of him, since Joy and the rest of the Parks genuinely treated Irene like one of their own. The thought wasn’t exactly a pleasant one, but not awful either. Maybe you were warming up to him.

“Also, you should probably be careful about who you call blockhead,” you said to Jaehyun, holding back a smile.

He fixed you with a suspicious stare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” you trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his head. The smile broke through, your cheeks lifting as you tried to keep the laughter from coming out. He, on the other hand, was thoroughly unimpressed.

“You should really watch your mouth,” he said lowly, though he was smiling. There was a look in his eyes that sent a jolt straight to the pit of your stomach.

“Or what?”

His hands were all over you before you even made it through the door.

“My beautiful, gorgeous, sexy girlfriend,” he mumbled, peppering your neck with kisses between each adjective. The keypad finally beeped and you pushed down on the handle, letting the door swing open as you pulled him in by the collar.

“Stop talking and just kiss me,” you sighed, dragging his face back up to yours. He was all too eager to comply, mouth slotting over yours with practised ease. His tongue brushed along yours in the way he knew you liked, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure. Fire licked at your insides as he drew a light moan from you.

Four months in, the second time around, and everything with Jaehyun was still electrifying.  

Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, finally succeeding with undoing the top one after a few tries. Hands came up around the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto his kitchen countertop. The marble was cool to the touch, and you felt it through the silk of your dress, a soft gasp of surprise flying from your mouth into his awaiting one.

“Been wanting to do this all day, ever since you put this thing on,” Jaehyun rasped. The heat of his body radiated into you from where he stood between your parted legs. He was so warm up against you, and he smelled so good, you were positively light-headed with desire.

His mouth ghosted over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through you. “You look so fucking good,” he said, teeth gently grazing the skin of your neck. “My pretty girl.” The quick press of his hips into yours pulled another moan out of you, and you braced a hand against the marble countertop.

Your fingers knocked against the edge of something sharp and sent it tumbling to the floor, where it landed with a heavier thud than you were expecting.

“What was that?” you forced out in between gasps. Jaehyun’s teeth nipped at your collarbone, showing no signs of letting up. “Wait, Jae, something fell on the floor.”

You had smashed a mug in your apartment in the midst of it once. Better safe than sorry.

Reluctantly, Jaehyun detached himself from you and bent down to retrieve the fallen item. He was breathing hard as he picked up a thick, padded envelope, and flipped it over to read the details.

“Photos,” he finally managed, tossing the package back onto the counter. “We can look at them later.”

His mouth was on you again, working at the spot between your neck and shoulder that always had your knees weak and toes curling. 

“Wait,” you giggled, “my film photos? I want to see.” He had sent the camera off almost two weeks ago, and you had been (im)patiently waiting for the developed pictures to be sent back. 

Jaehyun looked up at you with hooded eyes. “Really? You want to look at them now?”

You nodded. 

A beat passed before his face broke into a lazy smile. 

“Okay,” he chuckled softly, reaching for the envelope again. 

There was a good stack in there. The ones on top were more recent, with a few shots from his birthday that had recently passed. You had taken him ice skating at the outdoor rink atop Namsan Mountain. The twinkling lights that hung from the trees surrounding the rink were still beautiful, even through photos. Jaehyun was good at so many things that it was unfair — how could he be so talented and have a face like that? — but on that day, you discovered that ice skating was not one of his strengths, and the bruises on his tailbone could attest to that. 

“The colouring on these is really nice,” you murmured, flicking through the photos.

He hummed. “They are. This place doesn’t over-saturate the images, which is why I like them.”

A few more pictures from Christmas, where the two of you had set up a pillow fort — it had always been a childhood dream of yours — and stayed in watching movies for three whole days because it was too cold to do anything that required leaving the house. Funnily enough though, you had spent New Year’s Eve out in the cold with a few thousand others, waiting for the annual fireworks. There were a few shots of those as well. 

You neared the bottom of the stack, recognising the blur of colours that formed the crowd of the jazz festival from last year.

“All of these are out of focus,” you complained, a pout adorning your lips. The shots of the stage, of the artists, even the one of Jaehyun and the cute face he made trying to fit the burger in his mouth. Only the two pictures of you were crisply defined, because he had taken them. 

You flipped to the last photo. It was the one you took at the end of the show, during the closing bars of Lauv’s set. Miraculously, this one was in focus. You could see the press of your cheek against Jaehyun’s, and the slight surprise in his eyes as you had clicked the shutter. Lauv was nowhere to be seen, but maybe a clear shot of him as well would have been asking for too much. 

“Can I say something cheesy?” Jaehyun asked softly. 

“You’ll say it anyway.”

“I really wanted to kiss you. On this day.”

Strange, that it was these words which brought heat to your cheeks. Surely there were other things that would be more appropriate to blush about, instead of a months-late admission that was degrees more innocent than your current situation, where Jaehyun’s shirt was half undone, and the fabric of your dress was bunched up around your hips. 

“I wanted to kiss you right there, in the crowd. And then I wanted to kiss you again, here, when you made that stupid ramen joke. And when you had that chilli flake stuck on the corner of your mouth.”

You set the last photo down on the counter and turned back to Jaehyun, who was still standing between your knees. 

“And how about now?” you asked, the corners of your mouth lifting in a teasing smile. 

He cradled your chin, tilting your face towards his, and let the pad of his thumb brush over the swell of your bottom lip. 

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

The crescent moon was high and luminescent in the sky when you caught your breath again, the last few waves of euphoria ebbing away through your body. Jaehyun always indulged you.

Maybe a little too much. 

You turned to him, nestling your face into the crook of his neck and breathing in the scent of soap and his skin. A finger lazily traced over the ridges of his stomach. 

“That tickles,” he mumbled into your hair. It must’ve still been damp from the shower, but he didn’t seem to mind. Fatigue was already tugging away at him. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked softly, looking up at him. 

He shook his head, just slightly. “I like knowing you’re there.”

You resumed your movements, but it was only a few seconds before Jaehyun was shifting, soft laughs filling the intimate space of his bedroom.  

“That really does tickle,” he said, smile threaded into his voice. One of his hands reached for yours, pulling it up to rest against his chest. The gentle press of his lips on your forehead was a delicate thing. 

You fell asleep like that, feeling the steady beat of his heart, quiet and sure beneath your fingertips. It was warm in his hold, and safe. There was no other home you needed to know.

[serotonins-stuff]

Katsuki is the type to sing love songs under his breath while cooking you breakfast. Hair messy and no tshirt on, just him, his headphones and your clingy ass wrapping your hands around him from behind.

Occasionally he shifts one headphone to the side, tilting his head to glance at you from over his shoulder. It's either to check if you're still awake or to ask about your breakfast.

"You want your eggs scrambled t'day or sunny side up?"

"Suprise me" you mumble sleepily against his back, whinining when he shuffles towards the fridge.

He huffs in amusement, and a smug smirk tugs it's way onto his lips. "Told you to stay in bed"

"And I told you It's cold-" you pout, before trailing your fingertips over the soft textured skin of his scars "And you're the warmest thing in this house right now, and your singing is so soothing"

You're cute, so dangerously cute that he can't help but shy away from the flutter of his heart after your comment and gentle tuch. However he plays it cool by clearing his throat and shifting his focus back onto the task at hand.

You tighten your arms around him, and your cheek smooches quite comedically against."What song are you singing?" The comfort of his broad and warm back putting you into a comfortable daze.

"Die with a smile by uh- Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga"

You hum with acknowledgement, and he continues to dish up breakfast with you attached to his back like a koala. Occasionaly he'll place bits of food up to your lips and you'll accept them eagerly and hum in delight.

As his song gets to the best part he can't help but turn around suddenly, his firm touch on your hip as his other hand finds the warmth of your palm, and he slips his fingertips past yours, steadily intertwining your hands.

Your head finds comfort on his warm chest and you can feel every harsh thump of his heart while he sways with you side to side. He pushes his embarrassment and shyness to the side, wanting nothing more than spending the early morning with you before you would have to go.

"I'd wanna hold you~" he sing, just below a and his raspy voice reverberates through his chest and against your ear. "Just for a while~"

"And dieee with a smile"

"If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you~"

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A/n

Just a lil something for you guys

Thank you so much for 1k! ❤:)