#this song has been stuck in my head ALL weekend | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

agustdiv1ne · 1 year ago

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💨‧₊˚.° 11:58 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun & kang taehyun

genre: smսt, threesome, doms!fratboys!taejun, sub!fem!reader, friends to ???, high sex + car sex = 😵‍💫

wc: 4.9k (someone sedate me pls)

becoming friends with frat boys was never part of your plan for college.

alas, here you are, two of them basically surgically attached to your hip. your first semester of junior year has been full of surprises thus far, your blooming friendship with yeonjun and taehyun being the most significant one; what started out as partners for a project has transformed into a close friendship with the two guys, and your new norm now consists of grabbing starbucks together before heading to class, hitting the gym with either one or both of them in tow, and — for better or for worse — attending their frat’s infamous parties every weekend.

and lucky you: you’ve just arrived at one.

as you climb the steps of tau chi tau’s gigantic house, you spot the bright blond hair of one of the pledges on door duty — your favorite pledge, actually.

“sunoo!” you greet, tackling him into a hug as soon as you reach him. he reciprocates easily, his lips curling into a small smile before he’s pulling away.

“you’re late,” he teases. “your boyfriends are already high off their asses.”

you scoff, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “first of all, they’re not my boyfriends. second of all, they knew i wasn’t gonna be here for a while, and i promised i’d be their d.d. tonight, so,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes playfully, but opens the door for you anyway.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. they should be in the basement,” he says, gesturing for you to go inside. “just be careful, it reeks down there.”

you laugh. “thanks, dude.”

as the front door shuts behind you, you take in the state of the house. the air is hot and humid against your skin, your shoes getting stuck on the floor that is covered with liquids you’d rather not identify. some rap song pounds in your ears, and you nod your head along to the beat as you slip between a small space between two groups, finally reaching the door that leads down to the basement. the moment you swing it open, the potent stench of weed bombards your senses. your nose scrunches up — sunoo wasn’t wrong.

in vain, you wave your hand in front of your face as you make your descent. the haze floating in the air grows a bit thicker the further that you go, your only goal now being to get them out of here before you start feeling the effects as well. you eventually have to drive, for christ’s sake, and you’re not looking to get a dui anytime soon. with one last step, you make it to the bottom of the staircase. the music is quieter down here, but the smell is far worse than upstairs. a familiar laugh pulls your attention to the couch facing away from you, two very familiar heads of hair catching your attention. as you sneak up behind them, you press your index finger against your lips, silently telling beomgyu — who sits on the couch opposite to them — to keep quiet. he simply smirks at you.

“y/n’s here,” he calls. annoyed, you flip him the bird and send him a scalding glare before leaning over the back of the couch, your scowl quickly being replaced by a grin. two pairs of red-rimmed eyes find yours, widening in tandem when they register that you are, in fact, there.

“my baby!” yeonjun cries, his hands reaching up to pull you down towards him. his lips meet your forehead, pressing an aggressive kiss there, palms squishing your cheeks to hold you in place. you struggle to pull away from his grip, ignoring his pout and insistent grabby hands once you do. you sate him by linking your fingers with his.

“you’re later than usual,” taehyun comments from next to him, a smile permanently etched on his lips, the sight a testament to his inebriated state. unlike yeonjun, he doesn’t move to touch you, perfectly content with watching.

“i literally told you earlier that i had a paper due at twelve,” you remind him, removing your hands from yeonjun’s as you round the side of the couch, aiming to sit on the arm of it. that is, until yeonjun pulls you between them so that you rest on his left thigh and taehyun’s right. yeonjun wraps an arm around your waist, while taehyun rests a hand on your upper thigh. you try your best not to squirm. they’re your friends, but you’re not fucking blind.

“you could’ve asked me for help,” taehyun murmurs close to your ear, squeezing the meat of your thigh. his warm breath tickles the side of your neck, and you gulp. directly across from you, beomgyu meets your flustered gaze, an amused eyebrow raised as he sinks further into the couch. you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your fingers twiddling in your lap.

“i-i didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, and he emits a giggle. the hand not sitting on your thigh reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“you’re so cute,” he coos, and for some reason, the praise goes straight to your center. “i wouldn’t’ve minded.”

okay, time to go. you don’t think you can handle any more of their pda, and you’re starting to feel a bit weird after inhaling all of that smoke. if you want to get to their apartment, you need to leave right now. standing, you stretch your limbs in a poor attempt to rid them of their shakiness.

“time to go,” you voice, turning to face them. their eyes are dark and hooded as they look up at you. you falter a bit, stumbling when yeonjun rapidly leans forward and gathers you in his arms again.

“but i don’t wannaaaa!” yeonjun whines, pulling you back onto the couch and straight onto his lap, his grip around your waist tightening enough that you’re pulled against his chest. “ten more minutes!”

sighing, you wiggle in his grasp, to no avail. you look over at taehyun for help, only to find him laughing at the sight. then, an idea pops into your mind, something that you know will appeal to both of them.

you turn your head towards yeonjun. “what if i take you to mcdonald’s?”

that gets them going. after one last odd look and crude gesture from beomgyu, you guide them out of the house and into yeonjun’s car. taehyun rides shotgun, while yeonjun mumbles in the back about how that’s unfair treatment — it’s his car, after all. despite yeonjun’s initial complaints, the drive over to the closest mcdonald’s is filled with loud, off-key singing from yeonjun and hysterical giggles from taehyun. it makes your eyes roll, but a tiny grin pulls at your lips all the while.

“you’re lucky i love you guys,” you mumble, pulling into a spot in the parking lot after giving the drive-through worker the largest order that they have probably ever received, digging into your mcflurry as they silently inhale their burgers, fries, and their own mcflurrys. the pace at which they eat both impresses and terrifies you.

as soon as all three of you have finished, you begin the drive over to their place. you assume that they will let you stay over given how late it is, and it’s not as if they’ve ever minded before. after a few minutes, you realize how oddly quiet they’re being, and you look over to find taehyun staring at you, eyes unblinking and full of an emotion you can’t quite place. you whip your head back to the road — until you hear a sharp shink from the back. looking through the rearview mirror, you find yeonjun’s lighter poised to a brand new joint that rests between his plush lips, the flame bright and inching closer and closer to the paper.

“dude, you are not about to hotbox this car,” you groan. “put the fucking lighter down.”

“it’s my car. i can do whatever i want,” he mumbles in defiance, the lighter moving precariously closer again and illuminating his face in the dark backseat. you swing an arm between the two front seats in a poor attempt to grab the lighter. a hand moving to your thigh — taehyun’s hand — and squeezing nearly causes you to swerve the car before you gain control again.

you glance over at the boy next to you as his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh, panic lacing your pupils, but you are distracted once again when the flame in your peripherals returns. “yeonjun, i swear to god—”

“don’t you want some?” taehyun interrupts, his hand stilling on a patch of skin high on your thigh, dangerously close to your center. “you worked hard today, you should let loose.”

you do. you really, really do. the stress built up in your muscles has become almost overbearing, and you’d think that it would be gone after your paper was out of the way, but no. honestly, all you want to do right now is relax, and taehyun’s offer is more than tempting — but you also don’t want to crash yeonjun’s car. at the same time, you are within walking distance to their apartment, so maybe…

“fine. just— just let me park first,” you concede, pulling into the nearest empty parking lot, parking in the dark back corner and subsequently cutting the headlights. twisting in your seat, you find yeonjun already prepared with an old pill bottle full of pre-rolled joints. an insane amount of them, actually. you snatch one and place it between your lips, reaching for the lighter in yeonjun’s other hand, only for him to pull it away.

“nuh-uh,” he drawls with a lazy smirk. “c’mere.”

in curiosity, you lean forward, wondering what, exactly, his game is. he sets the bottle down, and his fingers reach up to grip your chin, fingertips lightly digging into the skin as he brings the lighter up and lights the joint for you. your stomach flips, your thighs automatically closing around taehyun’s hand. wrenching your face away, you turn towards the front again, heart racing in your chest as you take your first hit. then another. you block out the other two as you allow your high to take over. you don’t notice taehyun’s grip on you slip away.

over the course of what you think is a few minutes, your body begins to relax into the seat, head thrown back against the headrest as your brain fogs up. blurry eyes stare up at the gray ceiling. you eventually register just how hot it is, then notice the sheer amount of smoke that’s floating past your vision. a finger pokes your cheek, and you follow the hand back to taehyun. you smile subconsciously.

“such a lightweight, so cute,” he says, tapping his finger against your cheek again. you notice that he doesn’t have a joint of his own. “gimme a hit.”

“get your own,” you reply with a defiant hum, cheeks warming as you jokingly shield your joint with your body. he sighs.

“c’mon, i just wanna try something. you trust me, right?” he murmurs. blinking hard, it takes you a moment to send him a lethargic nod. he peels the joint from your fingers with ease. “come closer.”

you obey, leaning over until mere inches separate your faces. he grabs you by the collar of your t-shirt, urging you to come closer. his eyes flit to your lips before they meet your gaze again — as if the weed wasn’t enough, this whole situation is rendering you even dizzier.

silently, he pushes a thumb against your lips, pressing forward to part them. your mouth immediately accommodates the digit, and it presses against your tongue for a moment before dragging down to your bottom lip, your saliva mixing with your lipgloss. something quiet and pathetic sounds from your throat, your breath stuttering in your chest when he bites down on his own lip, his big, wide eyes far from innocent as he stares at you.

“keep it open,” he quietly orders, voice low and demanding, before he removes his thumb completely. you sit there, mouth agape like a fish out of water while he places your joint to his lips and inhales deeply. the seam of his lips closes immediately. then, he leans in, his lips mere millimeters away from yours. he holds your gaze as he opens his mouth and blows the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale it with a shaky breath. it travels down your throat and deep into your lungs, but the heat that spreads through your body isn’t from the smoke — no, it’s something overwhelmingly feverish. needy, wanton.

the moment your eyes flutter close, taehyun’s lips are on yours, the taste of him sweet from the ice cream he ate earlier. the smoke you exhale passes between your parted mouths, drifting out into the cabin of the car. he feels around for the cupholder, then for his soda, using a single hand to pop open the lid before he’s dunking the lit blunt into the liquid, the movement of his lips unwavering all the while. he wastes no time in curling his palm around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he devours you whole.

“holy fuck,” you vaguely hear yeonjun gasp, too far gone in the sensation of the languid, saliva-slicked kiss. it feels as if you are floating on top of a cloud, and you move to grab at his bicep to ground yourself. taehyun slips his tongue past your lips, curling the muscle around your own and immediately establishing his power over you. whining into his mouth, you attempt to pull away, only for yeonjun to cup your face and take over the kiss. taehyun’s hand slides down your neck and to one of your covered breasts, groping the soft mound of flesh over the fabric of your t-shirt. you moan into yeonjun’s mouth.

gentle hands pull you over the center console and into the back, yet yeonjun doesn’t break the kiss as he gathers you in his lap, your trembling thighs straddling his hips. you feel his cock press directly into your center when presses you down by your hips. your arms throw themselves around his neck, your lips slotting against his like a matching puzzle piece. the car rocks when taehyun slinks to the back as well, but yeonjun refuses to share you, hips angling upwards to grind his boner harder against your panty-clad core.

“quit hogging her, you asshole,” taehyun growls from next to you, flipping your skirt up in the process to reveal your lacy panties to their eyes. the man next to you caresses the swell of your ass before landing a light smack. you jolt on top of yeonjun with a pathetic squeak, and his hand comes down again. in stark contrast to his actions, his tone is kind, perhaps a bit condescending, as he addresses you, “ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it? our baby likes to be spanked?”

their baby? something warm fills your veins at that, a quiet whimper muffled by yeonjun’s mouth. with the thin fabric of your panties embarrassingly sticking to your folds, you tear your lips away from yeonjun’s to hide your face in his chest, unable to face either of them. however, the rhythm of your hips does not falter. yeonjun forces you to look at taehyun with a firm grip that squishes your cheeks together, your lip puckering involuntarily.

“answer him.” his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks. a shiver racks your body despite the feverish heat surging through your body. knowing your voice will betray you, you opt for a shaky nod.

taehyun’s gaze burns into your own, the blunt, rounded edges sharpened by lust. his dark pupils are the only thing that you can see in full clarity, the rest a foggy blur. “use your words.”

“yes,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut and your cheeks hotter than they’ve ever felt before. the feeling has spread down to your neck, your chest, the epicenter settling in your lower stomach. it festers there and tears at your insides like a feral beast and all you can think about is them — them using you, them fucking you. your breathing grows heavier before you feel a tap to your cheek, the skin stinging at the contact.

“open your eyes, baby.”

you’re not sure who says it, but either way, you submit. eyelids fluttering open, you find both of them peering at you like two wolves stalking a soft, wide-eyed little lamb. your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth when they exchange scheming looks, their hands all over you as they maneuver your body as if you’re a doll. when did they plan this? how did you not notice their soft murmurs?

you end up sitting between them, legs spread wide with one leg thrown over each of their laps. taehyun aims his focus towards your breasts, shoving your t-shirt up and yanking your bra down with little care, a hand tweaking one of your tits as the other curls itself in your hair and yanking your head back against the headrest. you cry at the sensation of his lips mouthing at your neck and his fingers pulling and groping your sensitive flesh. on the other side of you, yeonjun wastes no time in attempting to divert your attention back to him. shifting your panties to the side, he caresses your folds before dipping down to your entrance and groaning.

“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked,” he groans as he gathers your wetness on his fingertips. “tae, you gotta feel her.”

said man’s hand leaves your breast, reaching down to join yeonjun’s at your center. a light brush over your clit causes your hips to twitch before he’s reaching down to swipe your entrance and—

“shit, you’re right,” taehyun breathes against your neck. “that’s so hot.”

without speaking, they begin to work in tandem as they pick you apart. a quiet, barely there voice in the back of your mind wonders if they’ve done this before, but that thought is quickly shooed away once two of yeonjun’s long fingers slide into your needy hole to the knuckle, the delicious stretch of your walls causing you to keen. your spine arches off of the seat when he begins to slide them in and out, curling up and grinding into that sensitive little spot inside you that you can never quite hit. meanwhile, taehyun ghosts a finger over your clit that aches for stimulation, his free hand digging into your thigh to keep you spread wide for them, your leg twitching in his grasp. he circles the sensitive bud as yeonjun adds a third finger to the mix, his movements growing faster as he feels your walls relax around his digits. taehyun ducks his head down to your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly against it. crying out, you plead for them to keep going.

“such a tight little pussy,” yeonjun rambles directly into your ear, and you clench around his fingers. he nibbles at your earlobe before he continues, voice deep and growly and too much. fuck, it’s too much. “you look s’sexy right now, y’know that? so fuckin’ pretty. gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but us— gonna fuck you so dumb, baby. haven't even had our cocks ‘n you’re already losing it. s’cute.”

with how wound up you are already, it doesn’t take long for the heat building in your stomach to bubble over, the overwhelming sensations all over your body coaxing you through your intense orgasm, waves a pleasure wracking your trembling body, your release coating yeonjun’s fingers while taehyun leans up to capture your lips. your whimpers are muffled by his mouth. the pleasure seems to have no beginning nor end, dizzying and causing your mind to drift somewhere far away, barely able to reciprocate the kiss. neither of them stop their ministrations until you’re pawing at their hands with a pitiful whine, your words staccato and incoherent.

you sit there, chest heaving and your clothes disheveled, barely able to comprehend the way the two boys argue over who should have you first. hands fly in front of your vision, a closed fist versus a flat hand, and though you can barely see through the smoke floating through the air and your terribly cloudy vision, you recognize that they’re playing a petty game of rock-paper-scissors. a dopey giggle shakes your body as you throw your head back against the back seat. they share a concerned glance.

“y/n? can you look at me?” taehyun carefully asks. your empty-headed grin remains on your face while you turn to face him, humming in half-baked acknowledgment. he frowns, a hand coming up to cup your face as he takes in your red-rimmed, glazed over eyes. he peers around you towards yeonjun. “i don’t know if she can take more, jun.”

the words sober you up slightly, your grin dropping. “n-no! wan’ more, wan’ your cocks,” you ramble. “need them, please.”

“you heard her. she needs us,” yeonjun muses, already reaching for your loose limbs. “‘n i won, so c’mere, baby.”

yeonjun gathers you into his lap like earlier. this time, however, you feel his tip pressing at your fluttering entrance, an arm around your waist to hold you up. he looks up at you with a smirk. “ready, baby?”

you nod, and he wastes no time to begin slowly pushing your hips down. the flared, leaky head of his cock breaches your entrance. you whine, walls fluttering around him already as he moans. the rest of him presses into you inch by inch. it seems as if you can feel him everywhere — in your stomach, in your throat, the length of his cock almost too much for you to handle. the tip curves perfectly against your, his shaft grinding against your g-spot as he gently rocks his hips, allowing you to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. your whines grow pitchier as he finds his rhythm, hands on your waist as he bounces you up and down on his cock. he curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. he watches you with his tongue between his teeth, lips curled into something cruel and patronizing.

“feelin’ good, pretty?” he breathes, eyes rolling back into his skull as he begins to snap his hips to meet your own. the slap of skin grows louder, echoing throughout the car along with each of your moans and whines. your eyelids flutter, speechless, a cry tearing from your throat when he swipes a thumb over your slick clit, your walls tightening further around him. he doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response, and with a string of curses, he slams you down harder, lips clashing with yours as both of you chase your highs. desperation coats your tongues as he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it back as you whine, clinging to him desperately, nails biting his skin and leaving deep half-moons in their wake. the slight sting of pain spurs him on, pulling away to spew filthy words into your ear.

“gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside you— ohh fuck, you seem to want that, hm? t-tightened so much around me. you need my cum, don’t you? say you need it,” he demands, holding your face close to his, dark pupils searing into your skin. a light slap to your cheek wakes you up a little. “c’mon— shit. say it or i won’t give it to you.”

“n-need it!” you unabashedly sob, feeling your high hit you. “please, jjunie, cum in me. pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

a deep groan cuts your pleas off, a warmth that floods your walls following close behind. he paints your insides white as he whimpers against your neck, hips twitching as he fucks it further into your hole. you quiver on top of him, holding him close with your arms slung around his neck, nearly in tears at how amazing it feels, sweat clinging to your skin and sticking to your shirt. it takes you much longer to come down this time, your body twitching erratically as the aftershocks continue to roll through your body.

“jesus christ,” taehyun mutters next to you, and you remove your face from yeonjun’s violet hair to look over at him. his cock lays heavy in his hand, veins bulging as he strokes up and down, pausing at the top to swipe the bead of precum at the tip and smear it over the angry head. the sight causes your mouth to water. the urge to feel him against your tongue is almost too much for you to bear. sliding off of yeonjun with a whine and sore legs, you go to lean down for a taste — before taehyun stops you with a firm hand.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, jaw set as he leers over you.

“i-i just wanted to—”

“nuh-uh, baby. you don’t just get to do what you want. jun and i are in charge here,” he says, squeezing your jaw roughly. “now, get on your back. head on jun’s lap.”

silently, you do just that, finding yeonjun’s dick already rock hard again right near your face. your juices mixed with his cum gives his lengthy cock a light sheen in the low light, but your attention is soon pulled back to taehyun when he wraps his legs around his waist. towering above you, he guides his head along your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your and yeonjun’s last orgasm along himself. he taps it against your clit, chuckling when your hips jump.

“such a sensitive little thing,” he coos. taehyun doesn’t warn you as he guides his cock to your entrance and pushes his hips forward in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt in seconds. the feeling of his cock inside you is far different than yeonjun’s; taehyun’s is a little shorter, but much thicker, the stretch of your hole borderline painful.

“h-holy fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, voice sharp as he tries to hold himself together, resting there for a moment as he allows you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the moment your hips start to grind against him, his jaw ticks, rolling his hips into you as he watches your brows furrow and mouth fall open into an ‘o.’ hands grip your waist as his thrusts quickly sharpen, harder and deeper and cruel. you blink up at him, whining. smoke hangs around his head like a halo, but the cruel snap of his hips is far from holy.

diverting your gaze away, yeonjun poises his tip at your lips for you to suckle, breathing shaky as your soft tongue delivers kitten licks to the head. just as he curls a hand in your hair, you slip your tongue into the small slit at the very top as your moans vibrate against him, reveling in how he hisses at the feeling, his thighs flexing beneath your head. your dopey smile returns, eyes rolling back as taehyun continues his hard thrusts, quiet grunts falling from his lips as angles his hips upward in an attempt to get your gaze back on him. it works, your eyes widening adorably as he presses his cock right against your g-spot. his teeth graze his bottom lip, biting down hard when he feels you clench around him, a direct result of yeonjun tweaking one of your puffy nipples.

taehyun is quiet as he fucks you, only quiet curses coming from him as he uses your body to chase his orgasm. a hand slides up your stomach to wrap loosely around your throat. he barely puts any pressure, but it’s enough to send you reeling, a third high, weaker in magnitude washing over you. after the amount of teasing he put himself through earlier, taehyun isn’t far behind, fingers slightly tightening against your neck as he thrusts into you quicker, coaxing you through your orgasm as his own finally hits him. his moans are high-pitched and whiny as he spills inside you, his cum mixing with yours and yeonjun’s, sticky and hot and satisfying. yeonjun cums against your lips immediately after, forcing you to take his tip into your mouth to taste him. you greedily swallow his release, allowing him to gather the escaped liquid with his fingers and shove it against your tongue.

pulling out, taehyun watches as the thick, white liquid spills from your hole and onto yeonjun’s leather seats. he gulps, pushing it back into you with thin, lithe fingers as you barely react, brain practically rendered mush.

“that was…wow,” yeonjun mumbles, caressing your cheek as your eyelids flicker closed. taehyun hums in agreement as he fixes your clothes back into their proper place. lethargic and dumb and feeling so, so warm and full, you drift off into quiet, bleary dreams. their voices seem far away now, their tones faintly worried at your state. a cool feeling washes over your body, causing you to shiver, eyes blinking open for a moment to find the windows now rolled down, airing out the smoke. the cool air feels fresh in your lungs; you’re grateful for it. you close your eyes again, finally passing out for good.

none of you are sure where this situation will lead when you wake…but you suppose you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.

masterlist

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ylangelegy · 1 month ago

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babe for the weekend ❄️ soonyoung x reader.

Everybody thought that you and Kwon Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion, but then he had to go and change the ending. Six years after the breakup, he decides to come home for the holidays— and now, you’re stuck between your pride, his dreams, and the road not taken. ‘Tis the damn season, indeed.

୨ৎ pairing: dance studio ceo!soonyoung x lawyer!f!reader. ୨ৎ genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, romance. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of food, alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. post-breakup dynamics and quarter-life crises. high school lovers to exes. law terms. spiteful reader. rated T for languages and themes. title and synopsis shamelessly reference taylor swift's t'is the damn season. ୨ৎ word count: 16.6k ୨ৎ footnotes: this is part of @camandemstudios's winter with you collaboration! ´◡` thank you so much for trusting me with soonyoung. also eternally grateful to @shinwonderful and @biniaiahs for beta reading. may revisit this to do edits in the future, but for now, we settle.

in the words of a, i am the 'harbringer of doom and angst.' happy holidays, everyone! + tag list in the comments.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ winter with you masterlist ┆ my masterlist ┆ the official babe for the weekend playlist.

This has to be the universe’s idea of a joke.

It’s like the time your professor refused to round up your grade in college and you almost got set back a semester. Or that one day at work, where the forecast said it would be sunny— only for you to get caught in a downpour on your way home.

The universe had to be an aspiring amateur comedian, because why else would Kwon Soonyoung be in front of you right now?

“What?” Soonyoung chirps. “No ‘hello’ for your favorite ex?”

Six years. It’s been six years since you last saw each other, and those are the opening words he decides to go with.

You’re torn between smacking him upside on the head and strangling him. Maybe both, you muse, as you survey the ways he’s changed over time.

His hair is blonde now. His once-pale skin is a little more tan. And— as much as you loathe to admit it— he looks more fit. You can vaguely make out the muscles straining underneath his casual wear.

Dancer’s build, you begrudgingly concede.

When Soonyoung calls you out in a bid to snap you out of your daydream, you physically flinch. Your name still rolls right off his tongue like honey. You don’t have the right to call me that, a small, bitter voice says in the back of your mind. You don’t have the right to talk to me at all.

“Hellooo,” he sing-songs, waving one of his palms inches away from your face. “Did you have a stroke or something?”

That prompts you to speak.

After all that time, your first words to Soonyoung in six years are cold and curt: “Get out.”

A corner of Soonyoung’s mouth twitches upward. The infuriating bastard. He probably anticipated a reaction like this from you.

He straightens until he can shove his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. “I don’t see any signs that say I’m not allowed to be here,” he says. “Did I miss it?”

He makes a whole show of looking around your family’s restaurant. A part of you is grateful that you’re the only one on today’s shift; your parents would’ve undoubtedly had over-the-top reactions to Soonyoung’s sudden reappearance. It’s only through years of conditioning that you’ve learned to keep your reactions under control, even when the world throws you curveballs such as these.

Your expression is perfectly blank as you dryly note, “There’s a sign out on the front, actually.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah. No strays allowed.”

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Brutal,” he says, but there’s still that hint of a smile on his face.

If you strained your ears, you might hear the trace of affection in his tone. The thought of it— of Soonyoung holding any sort of fondness for you— makes you want to scream.

You manage to tamp that urge in favor of jerking your head towards the front door of the restaurant. “Out,” you repeat, your gaze briefly flickering to the CCTV in the corner of the store.

Your father would probably kill you if he found out you were turning someone away. A supposed family friend, at that. But this wasn’t just a customer, and you weren’t sure if you could still call Soonyoung a friend, and it’s been six years, damn it.

“Is that any way to treat a customer?” Soonyoung goads.

“You’re not a customer.”

“You haven’t given me the chance to be.”

“That’s because you’re not welcome here.”

“It’s pretty bad for business that—”

That wasn’t going to fly. You weren’t about to take business advice from Kwon Soonyoung of all people.

One minute, you’re behind the counter with your hands clenched into fists. The next, you’ve closed the space between you and Soonyoung. He falters as you approach, looking almost like he’s holding his breath.

It’s not a slap that greets him. Most definitely not a hug, either.

Instead, one of your hands dart out until you’ve got a firm grip on his ear.

Soonyoung is still taller than you, but he folds over at your rough tug. “Ow, ow, ow!” he screeches, his own hands flying out of his pockets in a futile attempt to either push you off or shield himself.

In his split second of indecision, you manage to haul him back over to the entrance. Because you had been manning the fort, you hadn’t even noticed that it had started to snow. The first of the year.

You don’t have the time to appreciate it. Your focus is entirely on channeling your energy to shove Soonyoung out of the restaurant. He stumbles out on the sidewalk where he rubs his offended ear with a scandalized expression on his face.

A lesser man might have snapped back, might have demanded an explanation for being manhandled so shamelessly. To your sheer annoyance, Soonyoung only laughs.

It’s a full-bodied sound, one that practically bounces off the street. He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs, clutching at his stomach like this is the funniest thing in the world.

Remember how, earlier, you thought you might scream? Now, you truly almost do. Because the years have passed— but Soonyoung still laughs exactly the same.

You don’t stick around to find out if you do end up yelling. Instead, you march right back into the restaurant with your chin jut up in a show of confidence. You can hear him trying to choke out words between his laughing fit, something akin to, “Hey, wait—,” but you’re not about to hear him out.

Not today, not ever.

It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world, getting to slam the door in his face.

“Why did you come home?”

“I got hungry.”

“ — tried to give me business advice! Me, business advice!”

You punctuate your exclamation with a slap to your office table. Jihoon and Wonwoo are a little too familiar with your fits of passion to be surprised; Wonwoo barely looks up from his round of Block Blast, while Jihoon only shakes his head.

“Sounds like something he would do,” Jihoon offers empathetically.

You lean back into your chair, your expression contorted into one of utter frustration. The three of you rarely meet in your office, but you had called a DEFCON 1 situation in light of recent events. Jihoon and Wonwoo lounged leisurely in front of you as you ranted your heart away for the past thirty or so minutes.

“Who does he think he is?” you seethe. “Showing up here unannounced!”

Wonwoo pipes up. “It wasn’t unannounced.”

Jihoon silences Wonwoo with a warning glare. You can only glance between the two boys before Jihoon heaves out a sigh and admits, “We knew that he was coming back to visit.”

The look of betrayal on your face must be clear as day, because Wonwoo guiltily pauses his game to flash you a sheepish grin. “We met up with him— yesterday, was it?”

Yesterday. “And you didn’t tell me?!” Your voice is a little shrill and a whole lot incredulous.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jihoon quips, “You’ve always said that you want nothing to do with him. I presumed that involved knowing whether or not he was coming home.”

Damn it. Jihoon got you there.

You’re not sure what you would’ve even done, really, if you’d been given a heads up. Would you have boarded up the doors to your home? Would you have sought him out yourself in a prideful bid to maintain some twisted sort of upper hand?

You’re still mulling it over when Wonwoo delicately says, “Look at the bright side. You probably won’t run into him again.”

Jihoon attempts to distract you by getting you to talk about your most recent client— a stubborn chicken shop significantly behind on mortgage payments. You give in, if only because you want so very badly to believe in Wonwoo’s words.

You should’ve known better, really, because of course your friends would lie to you.

That’s the only thought on your mind as you keep your eyes firmly ahead and away from the smirking blonde in your peripheral vision. Already, you’re contemplating the bodily harm you’ll cause Jihoon and Wonwoo for leaving out this vital piece of information.

But you can’t be wrathful. Not in front of the kids.

The gaggle of twenty-something elementary students sit cross-legged on the floor, their gazes all trained on the newcomer. They’re whispering excitedly among themselves, so much so that Teacher Kang has to clap more than thrice to recapture their attention.

“Now, everyone,” Teacher Kang announces. “Do you remember what I said about having a very special guest for today?”

A high-pitched chorus of “Yes, Teacher Kang,” resounds throughout the auditorium.

“Very good. Can we please give a warm welcome to Teacher Kang’s friend, Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung makes his way to the front of the gaggle with an easy grin and a relaxed gait, like he belongs here. And maybe a part of him does. This was his turf once, too.

“‘Soonyoung’ is a bit long, isn’t it?” he says, speaking to both Teacher Kang and the kids in front of them. It’s a small grace that he isn’t calling you out just yet, though you wouldn’t put him past it.

“Everybody!” Soonyoung proclaims. There’s a bit of a flourish in how he moves, how he looks down at the awe-stricken kids with a bright, wide smile. He puts up one hand to his face and bends his fingers in an imitation of a paw. “You can call me Hoshi!”

The kids echo it back to him— “Teacher Hoshi!” “Hello, Mr. Hoshi!” “What’s a Hoshi?”— while Teacher Kang only smiles fondly. For your part, you keep your expression perfectly controlled, even though you’re telepathically trying to get Soonyoung to combust.

It’s one thing for him to waltz back into your life like it’s nothing. It’s another thing for him to come around and introduce himself with the pet name you used to have for him.

Suddenly, you’re teenagers again, visiting the zoo on a field trip. The two of you had tried so hard to hide from your chaperones that you were holding hands in the pockets of your winter coats. In hindsight, it had been the most obvious thing in the world.

Soonyoung had excitedly pointed out the Bengal tigers lounging in their enclosure, and you joked about how similar he looked to them. 호랑이의 시선. Horangi-ui siseon, the tiger’s gaze.

Soon after, you took to calling him Hoshi when he was on stage, when the two of you were arguing over something petty, when you wanted to be affectionate. Hoshi, let’s get ice cream today. Hoshi, take me to the library. Hoshi, I love you!

Something that was once yours alone was now everybody else’s, too. It bothers you more than you care to admit.

You’re so caught up in reminiscing that you almost miss Teacher Kang saying, “Soonyoung— er, Hoshi— is going to help us with the Christmas showcase. He’s a very popular dancer in Seoul, so we’re happy to have him here.”

The betrayal that rises up within you is sharp albeit short-lived. Teacher Kang didn’t owe you a warning the same way that, say, Jihoon or Wonwoo might’ve. But still. Any indication at all would have been nice.

One of the younger students— an absolute sweetheart by the name of Iseul— tugs at your pant leg. You lean down so she can cup her little hand over your ear.

“Do you know Mr. Hoshi?” she whispers conspiratorially.

How fitting, for a five-year-old to pose the million-won question. It’s a loaded gun of a query even though there’s technically no right or wrong answer.

Of course you knew ‘Mr. Hoshi’. Your mothers were best friends. The two of you were in the same classes. You dated him throughout high school. You knew him well, like the back of your hand.

That was before he got up and left without so much of a glance over his shoulder, though.

You give Iseul a tight-lipped smile. “I knew him once,” you answer. It’s not quite the truth, but it will have to do for now.

“Why did you come home?”

“Took a wrong turn and ended up here.”

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time, or…?”

You answer Soonyoung’s prodding by ignoring him.

The past week has been largely uneventful, sans Soonyoung’s occasional effort to poke his nose into your business. He at least had the decency to not show up at your family’s restaurant again, and whether or not he knows of your office is yet to be seen.

Your interactions with him have been largely limited to the one-hour a day that you’ve dedicated to Yangjeong Elementary School.

Yangjeong was yet another thing that the two of you shared. You were once a pig-tailed menace who outran all the boys on the playground, and Soonyoung was your snot-nosed partner-in-crime.

Planning Yangjeong’s Christmas showcase has been your yearly commitment for as long as you can remember. Even when you were off at college, you had made it a point to set aside time for it. Volunteers have come and gone throughout the past, though this year’s volunteer was undeniably one of the more annoying ones.

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know.” Soonyoung practically flops himself onto the desk in front of you, the sudden weight of him making the table creak. As you turn your face away, you catch sight of the pout beginning to form on his lips.

You almost snipe at him, something along the lines of stop that or grow up or that doesn’t work on me anymore. You hold your tongue, in favor of wordlessly getting up to move to a different chair.

Soonyoung is right. You will have to talk to him soon enough.

But as you sit as far away from him as possible, readying yourself for the day ahead, you can at least decide that today will not be that day.

Preparations for the showcase involve discussing the program with the teachers and readying the students for their performances. It’s never anything spectacular— just your run-of-the-mill rotation of tone-deaf singing and middling dances— but the town’s overzealous parents are always more than happy to indulge the show.

Today, you and Soonyoung are set to meet with Teacher Kang to discuss the showcase’s overarching theme.

The sixty-something-year-old woman had been your teacher as well, and so it’s understandable why she’s eyeing the pair of you with poorly concealed amusement. There’s a palpable tension between you and Soonyoung, though a significant majority of the awkwardness is likely from your end.

“Have the two of you not kept in touch?” Teacher Kang asks as she sets down two mugs— coffee for you, hot chocolate for Soonyoung.

“No,” the two of you say simultaneously.

Soonyoung steals an all-too obvious glance. You keep your eyes on the coffee in front of you.

Teacher Kang— bless her heart— decides not to push it. She settles in her own seat, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

“The principal wants all the kids to do a number. Nothing too flashy, but something that will give everyone a chance to be on stage.” The elderly teacher sips at her drink before going on. “That’s why I called you in, Soonyoung.”

“I’m the reinforcements,” he jokes.

Teacher Kang gives a short laugh in response. “Something like that.”

She turns to you, then, with that same motherly simper that you’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to. You wonder if she’s doing this on purpose— pulling all the stops to get you to agree to what she’s going to say next.

“I know your hands are going to be full with the program and the staffing,” she starts. “But you’ll work with Soonyoung, won’t you?”

What kind of person would you be if you said ‘no’? If you threw a fit and demanded for Soonyoung to be thrown out?

“Of course,” you say, the word gritted out through your teeth.

At your side, Soonyoung lets out a loud cough to disguise his grumble of ‘bullshit’. You fight the urge to kick him in the shins.

The beguiling expression on Teacher Kang’s face is merciless. At this point, she’s no longer hiding the way that she’s watching you and Soonyoung’s heatless bickering. And when she comments on it, when she says “You two haven’t changed,” you almost walk out then and there.

I’ve changed, you want to insist. He’s changed. We’re both changed; we had to.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been worth it. The breakup, the distance, all of it.

Soonyoung recovers before you do.

“Ah, before I forget!” He digs for something in his pants pocket, which he eventually holds out for Teacher Kang. “You asked me for this, the last time we saw each other.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but try and crane your neck to catch sight of what had been handed over. Soonyoung catches the small shift and huffs out a laugh.

“You could just ask, you know,” he says, reaching back into his pocket.

Your protest of “I don’t—” is cut off by him shoving the same thing in your hand. Your fingers close around the calling card bearing the illustration of a tiger and a string of unfamiliar numbers.

Hoshi, A.K.A Kwon Soonyoung, it also says. Chief Executive Officer, Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio. B1, 47, Dogok-ro 27-Gil, Gangnam-Gu, Seoul.

“So you know where to find me,” he says with the world’s most obnoxious smirk.

“Why did you come home?”

“I forgot something.”

“From six years ago?”

“From six years ago.”

Everybody thought that you and Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion.

It had been your stereotypical small town romance. You were kids together and then you were teenagers together. Some might have blamed it on forced proximity, but you like to think that the attraction and affection was real. That it wasn’t a matter of not having any other choice.

You had chosen Soonyoung happily. He had chosen you right back.

After an awkward dance of ‘will-they-won’t-they,’ the two of you started dating in your freshman year of high school. It was the type of thing that had everybody— your respective families, your mutual friends— breathing a sigh of relief. Something akin to finally.

For nearly four years, Soonyoung was it for you.

He was the one walking you home, the one you messed around with behind the library building. The two of you shared nearly every first that mattered. Every first that a high schooler could afford, anyway.

First date.

First kiss.

And, so it goes— first heartbreak.

Soonyoung had worn his heart on his sleeve; it was abundantly clear to everyone what he cared about. Two things in particular defined him: You, and dancing.

If you really tried, you can still remember the first time that Soonyoung had choreographed a dance himself. He had been young, scrappy, hungry— all the qualities that made it possible for him to tear up the stage and leave the rest of you in awe.

He went on to be president of your school’s modern dance club. He went on to compete, both in groups and by himself, and win.

You picked up on it, too, if only to indulge him. The two of you had your fair share of semi-viral dance covers and podium finishes at local contests. It was yet another testament to your partnership, to what everyone presumed would spell out endgame.

Except you only loved to dance, while Soonyoung lived for it.

“Come with me,” he had invited you the night before your high school graduation.

The two of you were supposed to be in bed, but your phone buzzed underneath your pillow and you couldn’t resist one last act of rebellion. You climbed out your window and met up with Soonyoung at your typical halfway point— the derelict playground the two of you have long since grown out of.

“To where?” you asked, your sandaled feet dragging through the sand beneath the swing. Uncharacteristically, Soonyoung hadn’t kicked off at all, instead opting to remain still.

His fingers had been tightly clenched around the rusting chain of the dated swing. You remember that much. In hindsight, he looked nervous.

There is a timeline where he might have proposed to you that night, might have asked for an early hand in marriage, with how on edge he was acting.

But, instead, you had prompted, “Have you finally decided on a uni?”

A beat.

His voice— soft and vulnerable— broke the silence of the February evening. “I’m not going to uni.”

You should have stopped swinging, then. Should have ground to a halt and grabbed Soonyoung by the shoulders. Should have called him crazy, insane.

Maybe you should have asked him to reconsider. That might have changed things.

Except you only kept on pushing. Back, forth. Back, forth. Like this was just a normal conversation and not a relationship-defining, life-altering moment for the two of you.

“I’m going to Seoul,” he elaborated, desperate to fill your silence. “I’m going to try and be a dancer. You— you could, too.”

Your answer was immediate. “I’m not as good as you.”

“You are,” he argued. A muscle in his jaw jumped, then. You’d known him for long enough to recognize his little tells and ticks, and that had been one of them. An indicator of a lie.

“I’m not.” You kept swinging, kept your face angled away from your boyfriend who was slipping through your fingers. “I’m going to uni, Soonyoung.”

“But—”

“But what?”

You’ll never admit this, but you had been cruel back then. You know that now.

There are things you would have done differently. You wouldn’t have snapped. You would have looked at him.

You were young, though, and angry. Your heart had been shattering in your chest and the only thing you could do was go back and forth on that creaking swing as Soonyoung tried to get through to you.

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise. Soonyoung’s general disinterest in college applications— and his constant rumblings about city life— had given you some idea of what his plans might be.

You just thought you would be more involved in it. That you wouldn’t be simply handed the decision, as if it were something you would have to accept.

Young, angry, and selfish to boot.

“Nothing.” Soonyoung eventually said. His words sounded like a concession, like some form of twisted acceptance. “You’ll go to uni.”

“And you’ll go to Seoul.”

In your peripheral vision, you had seen Soonyoung tilt his head away as if trying to hide his face from you. Six years is a long time ago. You can’t tell if he had cried, or maybe you’ve chosen to erase that from your memory.

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung repeated, an edge of defeat in his tone.

You swung, and swung, and swung, like it was the only thing keeping you tethered.

Back, forth. Back, forth.

The quiet had stretched, giving you a chance, an opportunity. To convince him otherwise. To change your own mind.

But—

“And I’ll stay,” you had responded.

That’s the thing about endings: They’re susceptible to change.

The first civil words you utter to Soonyoung are “Yeah, I think the kids will enjoy Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

He’d been spewing out prospects for the showcase’s group dance, though each idea had to be delicately shot down by Teacher Kang. Jingle Bell Rock? Performed three years ago. Baby, It’s Cold Outside? Perhaps not the most appropriate for children.

You can see from a mile away, the signs of Soonyoung’s growing frustration— the downturn of his lips, the furrow of his brows. When he recommends the Maria Carey classic, you throw him a bone. Just to try and wipe that look off his face.

You immediately regret your kindness, because Soonyoung’s head whips around and he looks at you with the most disbelieving, wide-eyed expression. You return the overreaction with a half-hearted glare.

“What?” you ask defensively.

“It’s—” He pauses, his eyes flicking to Teacher Kang. “Nothing, nothing.”

His jaw ticks. All that time apart and he’s still never learned how to get better at lying.

You don’t have to poke and prod to know what’s coming. Once your little meeting draws to a close— Teacher Kang eventually agreeing with Santa Claus Is Coming to Town— Soonyoung makes a beeline for your side, his excitement barely concealed.

“Is the world ending?” he asks you.

You attempt to shoulder past him, but he only follows you out of the classroom, sticking to your side. “You said we would have to talk eventually,” you point out. “Here’s your ‘eventually’. Don’t be too happy about it.”

“But I am happy about it,” he responds, his tone almost like that of a whining puppy. “Not too much. Just an appropriate amount.”

So help me, God.

You keep your gaze ahead as you walk out of the school. Soonyoung matches your pace, humming underneath his breath. You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why.

Once the two of you are out the front doors of the school, you’re greeted to a light dusting of snow on Namyangju’s sidewalks.

“So,” Soonyoung says casually as you pull out your phone to check the weather for the rest of the day. “You don’t work full-time at your parents’ restaurant, do you?”

Involuntarily, a derisive snort of laughter escapes you. “Small talk? Really?”

There’s a boyish grin on Soonyoung’s face. “Gotta take advantage of you being chatty,” he shoots back, which only prompts you to shake your head.

You could ignore him, like you always have. You probably should. That had always been Soonyoung’s style.

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.

And yet—

“No,” you grumble, your eyes still absentmindedly scanning your weather app. “I only work at the restaurant part-time.”

“The rest of the time?”

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a talk show.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m primetime’s most charming host—”

“Law. I work at a law firm.”

The answer is ripped from you in a bid to avoid Soonyoung’s theatrics, and you find yourself blinking with mild surprise, like you hadn’t prepared to divulge the detail at all. Soonyoung notices, and his lips curl in a smug smirk.

“I know,” he says simply. “Jihoon told me.”

You make a mental note to berate your mutual friend as you exasperatedly say, “Why did you ask, then?”

“Because I wanted to hear it from you.”

Soonyoung lets his words hang, linger, before he goes on. It’s just four words, what he utters next, but it still threatens to tilt your world on its axis.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’ve heard your fair share of the platitude throughout the years. From Jihoon and Wonwoo, when you first got into law school. From your parents, when you passed the bar exam. From Teacher Kang, every December, when the Christmas showcase is pulled off.

This is something entirely different. This has you shoving your phone back into your bag, just to hide the way your hand had begun to twitch at the words.

“You can’t say stuff like that to your ex,” you snap.

Soonyoung’s answer comes without a moment’s hesitation. “Why? Being exes doesn’t take away the fact that I’m proud of you.”

Too much, too much, too much. It’s too much for your pride, your emotions, your heart. You wish you could take this for what it is— a compliment, some kindness— but the history goes deep, and the words feel like a scab being picked.

You do what you do best. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away.

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow you. But he’s nothing if not vexatious, so he squeezes in a sing-song cry of “Byeee, attorney!” as you leave.

You quicken your pace just a little bit more.

Jihoon has the tendency to look like a kicked puppy when he’s being told off.

He doesn’t pout, no, but the expression on his face is a close thing as you give him grief over telling Soonyoung about you. Wonwoo, stuck in the middle as per usual, only calmly cuts into his lunch.

“Why did you have to tell Soonyoung about my work, huh?” you demand as you slice a little too forcefully into your bulgogi. “Giving him free ammunition or something?”

Jihoon finally gets a word in edgewise. “It’s because he asks about you,” he deadpans.

The thought of it is so insane that you bark out a laugh. The retort— bullshit!— is right on the tip of your tongue, but it dies out when Wonwoo bobs his head up and down.

Wonwoo has always been the less likely of the two to lie to you. You’re still a bit baffled even as the bespectacled man confirms, “Yeah. He asks me, too.”

“Asks what?”

“How you’re doing.” Wonwoo is so nonchalant about the whole affair that you’re tempted to call him out, too, but the lack of teasing in his tone gives you some sense of where his head is at. “What you’re up to. Stuff like that.”

Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs on you.

In the years that you’ve tried to bury the memory of your friendship, of your relationship, Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs.

“He—” You clear your throat when your voice comes out a little more high-pitched than usual. If Jihoon and Wonwoo notice, they mercifully don’t call you out.

You manage, “He could have just reached out to me.”

Jihoon, who had taken advantage of the reprieve to shovel some spoonfuls of rice into his mouth, swallows hard before speaking.

“Would you have answered?” he inquires, one eyebrow arched upward.

The truth— rarely plain, never simple— lies in a single, two-lettered word. No. No, you probably wouldn’t have answered. And even though you want to defend yourself, to claim otherwise, both Jihoon and Wonwoo would only do what you had wanted to do earlier. Call bullshit.

You let out a groan of defeat, slumping forward until your forehead has planted on the table in front of you.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Wonwoo chirps, and though you can’t see him, you can already imagine the smirk that he’s sporting.

“Why did you come home?”

“I thought there would be a high school reunion. I think I got the date wrong.”

The abundance of existing routines for Santa Claus Is Coming to Town makes it somewhat easier for you and Soonyoung to dumb it down for the kids.

You spend the next week keeping the students in line as Soonyoung teaches them how to shimmy, how to slide, how to do jazz hands. Every so often, you catch him at a loss— like when one of the younger boys tries to eat a crayon, or when the kids go into a scream-filled debate about the existence of Santa Claus.

These are things you’re used to. These are things you can handle.

Taking the crayons away or assuring the kids that Santa Claus is real is far, far easier than being in forced proximity with the one that got away. You’re reminded of that, now, as Soonyoung taps out for a breather and you sub in to go over the routine with the kids once more.

They’re more prone to listening to you, and so you easily get one run of the song down without a hitch. In the years that you’ve voluntarily choreographed for the showcase, you’ve never thought too much about the technicalities of your skill. You danced well enough to teach, to pull off a decent, child-appropriate routine. That had been enough.

But with the scrutinizing eyes of dance studio CEO ‘Hoshi’ following your every move, you feel that simmer of competitiveness in your stomach.

After three more runs of the number with the children, you let them go. As you go to catch your breath over one of the auditorium’s bleachers, you’re surprised by a hand holding out a Cool Blue Raspberry Gatorade.

“Is this still your poison?” Soonyoung asks with a hint of amusement as he settles into the space next to you.

You don’t answer. Briefly, your mind goes to those days— the salsa competitions, the random play dance events. How Soonyoung’s backpack always had his Game Boy Color, a change of clothes, and a blue Gatorade. The last one, always for you.

You uncork the drink, tilt your head back, and take a long swig. It’s as close to a confirmation that you’re going to give him.

The two of you sit in silence as the children begin to file out of the auditorium. Once the only two of you are left, Soonyoung speaks up, the words far too quiet in the otherwise empty room.

“You really are good, you know.”

It takes you a beat too long to realize that he’s talking about your dancing. If the two of you were on better terms, you might have teased him about that night on the playground, many years ago, when he had fibbed about you being as good of a dancer as he is.

As it is, you can only respond with an equally soft, “Thanks.”

Being the bigger person lasts for all of fifty seconds, though, because Soonyoung’s next words prickle.

“Could’ve been much bigger.”

“Excuse me?”

He freezes, an oh shit type of expression crossing his face. Even so, he doubles down. “I'm just saying,” he starts, his tone growing slightly more defensive. “You could have done much more—”

Your words are cold as your fingers close tighter around the half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “Am I not doing much where I am right now?”

“You’re twisting my words,” he shoots back.

“Those are exactly your words,” you fume.

It’s an old wound, one that Soonyoung poked with something sharp the second he returned home and made his presence known. You’ve done everything you can to ignore it, to keep the ache and the bitterness at bay, but you can’t help the way that it rises in your throat like bile. Something acidic, and foul, and unwelcome.

You get to your feet, leaving the offered Gatorade on the bleacher. “Sorry not all of us moved to the city and had a big break, Kwon,” you say as you begin to gather your things.

“Jesus Christ.” Soonyoung’s cuss is punctuated with a laugh, but it’s not like any of the laughs you’re used to from him. The sound is annoyed, pained. Almost hurt, even, though you try not to dwell on that.

Your relationship, your breakup, is an old wound that hasn’t completely healed. It’s been on the edge of festering ever since you lost contact with him.

And, now, as you leave him stewing in his emotions, you figure that it’s only going to fester some more.

Back then, the two of you had dubbed each other The Great Pretenders.

Dating in high school required a certain level of delicadeza. While your relationship was largely accepted and acknowledged, there were still a number of things you had to hide from your families and friends. Tear-stained faces after petty arguments. Hickies under the collars of your school uniforms.

It’s been years, but The Great Pretenders makes a reappearance when the pair of you have to face Teacher Kang the next day.

It goes unspoken that whatever the hell is going on between you two shouldn’t affect the showcase, shouldn’t be obvious to anyone that matters. And so the two of you update her on the kids’ progress, and sip the warm drinks that she offers, without any indication of having had a spat.

The check-in winds to a close after a couple of polite exchanges. Teacher Kang seems pleased with preparations so far, though she looks even more happy about you and Soonyoung’s perceived civility, which damn near bowls you over.

“By the way, Soonyoung,” Teacher Kang says conversationally as the three of you pack up for the afternoon. “How’s the studio?”

“All good.” He pauses, like he realized he hadn’t given that sufficient of an answer. “We’re usually busy around this time of year, but I have one of my staff keeping watch while I’m here. I plan to head back once the holiday season is over.”

You should’ve seen it coming, but something beneath your rib cage still twinges at the thought. You ignore the feeling in favor of shouldering your backpack.

“You shouldn’t wait so long before coming back again,” Teacher Kang half-jokes.

Soonyoung’s chuckle— a dry, unconvincing huff of ha-ha— is chased with the cool delivery of “I’ll try to make it a more regular thing.”

In the corner of your eye, you catch what Teacher Kang misses. The most imperceptible tick in Soonyoung’s jaw.

Liar, you think. Liar, liar, liar.

You and Soonyoung had mastered the art of pretending, sure, but you could never quite get away from each other.

“Why did you come home?”

“I’d forgotten the sound of my mother’s voice.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The snow returns with a vengeance.

It’s that time of winter where the streets are blanketed with white, where the sleet and rain makes conditions horrendous. You have no choice but to soldier through the soft hail as you make your way to the school, which you’re committed to reach come rain or shine.

Except when you get to the front doors, you’re greeted by a bemused-looking Soonyoung.

You pat down your snow-clad clothes as you look him up and down. “Where are you going?”

He answers your question with one of his own. “Haven’t you heard?” He holds up his phone. “Practice is cancelled today. Everybody’s snowed in.”

You were rarely the type to walk and text, so your phone has been sitting pretty in your pocket this whole time. When you go to check it, you find messages from Teacher Kang. Canceling showcase preparations in lieu of the weather. Stay safe and dry.

“I just found out myself,” Soonyoung says delicately.

Ah. That explained why he was the only other person around.

Disgruntled, you glance at your surroundings. There’s barely anyone present, and the snow is only seeming to fall heavier with each passing minute. You’d be lucky to get a cab at this rate—

“Or I could just drive you.”

You jump a bit. At what point had you started saying that last thought out loud?

“That’s not necessary,” you start to say, but Soonyoung is already fishing for his car keys in his jacket pocket.

“I know you hate my ass,” he responds bluntly. “But that hatred isn’t worth freezing to death over, no?”

His face is turned away from you, so there’s no way for you to tell what expression he’s sporting. It’s a small grace. Even though you dread the thought of being stuck in a small space with nothing but your thoughts and an old ghost to keep your company, you do hate the prospect of hypothermia even more.

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of Soonyoung’s beat-up Hyundai Pony, which stutters and bucks every time he has to take a turn. It’s the very same car that you both learned to drive in, though it’s looking significantly worse for wear.

While nostalgia has proven to be a bitch, you can’t resist the jab on the tip of your tongue. “Jesus,” you breathe, your fingers tightening around your seatbelt as Soonyoung barely makes a corner. “I can’t believe this thing’s still alive.”

“That makes two of us,” he quips with a grimace.

Once the car miraculously makes its way past a snowed-out road, Soonyoung notes, “Remember when my dad first taught us how to get through rain?”

The memory brings the flicker of a smile to your face. “You were so scared you might run a squirrel over,” you say.

“You swore up and down that you’d never drive on a wet road,” Soonyoung shoots back.

“I still don’t,” you respond, glancing out the window for the lack of a better thing to look at. “I ask my dad to drive whenever it’s raining.”

Soonyoung’s next words make you pause. “Your dad hated me,” he huffs.

You let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not true. He really liked you.”

“He always left the room whenever I came in,” Soonyoung argues.

“He wanted to give us privacy.” You can’t help the sigh that slides past your lips, the sound edged with annoyance. “Really, you’ve got to stop blaming other people for why we didn’t work out.”

The words hang heavy in the din of the car. You wonder, for a second, if you’d been too callous, but there’s something like a rueful smile that tugs at Soonyoung’s face.

“Sorry. Coping mechanism,” he responds, and you don’t push any further.

An awkward couple of moments follow. Unfortunately for you, Soonyoung has never learned the art of tact— always pushing it just a little bit, right to the point where the tension is drawn like a rubber band.

“You know, my mom has been asking about you,” Soonyoung says conversationally as he turns into your neighborhood. “Says I should invite you over for lunch.”

Your grasp on the seatbelt is white-knuckled. It wasn’t like you were actively avoiding the Kwons; you were perfectly polite when you saw them in public, when you ran into them in the supermarket or at church. But it’s been years since you last stepped foot in their house, and for obvious reasons, too.

“I’m not ready for that,” you answer tersely.

Soonyoung is either oblivious to your agitation or ignorant of it. Regardless of which, he goes on, “I said the same thing. I guess she still thinks—”

“Let’s not go there.” Your tone is just cutting enough to give Soonyoung pause, to have him stammer to a halt as he pulls to a stop in front of your house. “I’m hot having this conversation with you, Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t apologize, though he does back down. “Right,” he mumbles as he parks. “Right.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, careful to keep your gaze trained away from Soonyoung. “Thanks for the ride.”

Soonyoung is graciously quiet as you step out of his car, though that lasts for all of ten seconds— just enough for you to almost close the door on him— when he speaks up.

“Hey. For the record,” he starts, leaning over the center console to get in the last word. “I don’t blame anyone else for our breakup. I know whose fault it is.”

You raise an eyebrow. He throws you an infuriating grin before reaching over to pull the door close himself.

Soonyoung peels away, once again leaving you with more questions than answers.

“Why did you come home?”

“It’s cold in the city, during the winter.”

You and Soonyoung find yourselves doubling your efforts as the date of the showcase looms.

You spend more of your time with Teacher Kang. You extend a little more patience to the kids. You dance— dance the routines, dance with Soonyoung, dance around the truth.

But when the elephant in the room is as big as it is, ignorance is not an option. And Soonyoung never did learn how to keep his mouth shut.

It’s late in the evening, the two of you having pulled extra hours to work on decor. You’d felt like it was going a little too well with the way that the two of you were uncharacteristically cordial throughout the afternoon. But of course that was too good to be true, because just as you were packing up for the night, Soonyoung had to go and say—

“Are you happy here?”

You freeze midway into packing away the multi-colored, Christmas tree-shaped banners. That familiar flash of frustration, that inkling that he’s looking down on you, rises up again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say, and he’s immediately prickly.

“It’s nothing.” He shoves some of the props behind the stage, hasty in his pursuit to end the conversation as fast as possible. “Forget I said anything.”

“Come on,” you bristle. All the while, you’re also putting things back in place— your movements just a little more forceful than necessary. “Spit it out. You started it.”

“I was just asking.”

“You’re never ‘just asking’. Go on, say it.”

“You—”

The two of you are glaring at each other, now, your face red and Soonyoung’s fists balled at his side. When you speak, it’s with a tone that could cut through ice.

“Just because I chose to stay,” you say. “It doesn’t mean my dreams are smaller than yours.”

Soonyoung looks dumbstruck. His voice is impossibly tight; his words, reverberating in the otherwise empty hall.

“I wasn’t going to say your dreams are small. It’s just… We—” He backtracks, like the pronoun had been a scalding slip of the tongue. “You could’ve sold out auditoriums.”

Your answer is immediate, if not a little strained.

“A sold out auditorium doesn’t matter if the one person you want isn’t at the recital,” you say. “Some people find happiness right where they are, and this is mine.”

And that’s always been the crux of it, hasn’t it? Soonyoung has tried to make a name for himself in cities, in rooms full of people cheering his name. His definition of success was only achievable in quantity, in scale. Yours was different, and he could never really quite accept that.

There’s a moment where Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with a pinched expression on his face. He opens his mouth like he might say something—

“Oi! You two!”

You and Soonyoung jump, the tension that had been simmering between you two disappearing at the interruption. The school’s ancient janitor lingers by the door, squinting at you two.

“Whaddya think yer still doin’ here?” the old man croaks, wielding his broom in a fashion that still makes you recoil. “It’s past curfew! Geddout!”

Never mind the fact you and Soonyoung were now in your late twenties and long out of high school. The two of you still cower and meekly mumble, “Sorry, Mr. Cho.”

It’s snowing again when the two of you step out. Soonyoung’s face is set in stone as he mumbles, “Get in my car.”

Right. Like that was going to happen.

With a wordless huff, you begin to march in the opposite direction to him. “Hey,” he calls out. “Where are you going?”

“Home!”

“In this— hey, it’s snowing!”

“That’s what happens during the winter!”

You’d be a little more conscious about having a screaming match in the streets if it wasn’t nearly midnight. Something about the incessant snowfall and the cloak of darkness gives you just a little more courage to speak your mind, to toe that line that the two of you have so haphazardly drawn.

Soonyoung marches after you, his own misgivings about the weather momentarily forgotten. He’s raring to fight, and it shows in the way he stomps through the snow like an overgrown child.

“So that’s it, then?” he hollers from a couple of paces behind you. “You’re just going to stay here for the rest of your life, playing it safe? Work at the family restaurant because of filial piety? Marry— I don’t fucking know— guy-next-door Joshua Hong, and have babies, and—”

“What is your problem?!” you snap, rounding on Soonyoung. He skids to a halt, stopping himself from completely barreling into you. “Why are you acting like you know me?”

“Because I do!” His voice cracks on the last word. “I know you!”

“No, you don’t.”

“I know you very well.”

“From what? Jihoon and Wonwoo’s stories?” There’s a muscle straining in your neck from the way you’ve raised your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to back down. “Think that’s enough to fill a six-year gap?”

That seems to get Soonyoung. “You never reached out to me! Not once!” he seethes.

“Well, neither did you!”

“I didn’t think—” His breath catches. He pushes on. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“What’s your excuse, then?” he shoots back. “Come on. I’m dying to hear it.”

What’s your excuse, he’s asking. Why haven’t you reached out? If you were so angry and upset about the radio silence, why did you do nothing about it?

Several answers occur to you at once. There was Soonyoung’s own flimsy reasoning. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.

There was something close to the truth, something a little too vulnerable to be spoken out loud. I was mad at you. I hated you for a bit. I think I still hate you even now.

There was the whisper of something treacherous, something damning. I was scared that I would only end up asking for you to come back.

None of those words come out. You stay standing across from Soonyoung in the wake of his challenge, your face flushed, your gaze narrow. He glares right back at you, unyielding in his pride and his pain.

The silence stretches. It becomes an answer in itself.

“Exactly,” Soonyoung says with a heavy exhale. There’s a spark of flint in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be likened to hurt. “It takes two people to break up. You always seem to forget that.”

As he begins to stalk away, you’re overcome with that feeling again. That heavy weight in your chest, put there whenever you know he got the last word, whenever he turned out to be right. Soonyoung has only taken about three steps away before you’re bending down and cupping some snow in your hands.

The hastily-made snowball hits Soonyoung on the back of his head. It splatters against his hair, leaving tiny, glistening flakes tangled in his blonde strands.

He freezes, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, Soonyoung is already crouching down to retaliate. He’s quicker and much more savage, and his revenge soars through the end to land squarely in your chest.

You stagger backward, the gasp catching in your throat. Oh, it’s on.

What ensues is the most ruthless snowball fight that your small town has seen. Snowballs are hurled with reckless abandon, the ice crystals getting everywhere from your clothes to your socks. Neither of you even bother to try and hide from the onslaught. The two of you take each other’s attacks, every hit punctuated with heatless insults that have simmered too long.

“You never called—” Soonyoung screeches, sending a cold sphere against your shoulder.

“You didn’t visit—” you shriek as you shape ammunition in your gloved hands.

“You deleted every photo of me off your Facebook—” A snowball to your side.

“You talked to Jihoon and Wonwoo, but not me—” Another square hit to Soonyoung’s chest, sending a puff of powdery snow up into his face.

“Coward!”

“Asshole!”

It feels like hours before the two of you let up.

The two of you are covered in snow from head to toe; your chests heaving from exertion, your cheeks ruddy from the cold. The heat of the exchange leaves you both puffing breaths that cloud the air between you.

There’s a hint of something in your stances. Something that feels like it belongs to another time— before the breakup, before the distance.

Quietly, Soonyoung starts to laugh.

His hands are on his hips and his head is tilted back. The flakes catch on his eyelashes, his hair, but he keeps his face upturned to the sky as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

That old, familiar sound. The one that warms you up from the inside, whether or not you care to admit it. You’re doubled over, your hands on your knees, as you watch him look more and more like the boy you loved and lost.

“I hate you,” you choke out, though a corner of your mouth has twitched upward.

He doesn’t even look at you as he responds.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Missed you, too.”

“Why did you come home?”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“Soonyoung says you two kissed and made up.”

You shoot Jihoon an unamused glare.

From across you, he raises his hand in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t believe him, of course,” he insists, though you don’t miss the way he and Wonwoo try to discreetly exchange money under the table.

Wonwoo catches your suspicious expression and gives you an apologetic grin in return.

“Made a bet,” he says.

“You two suck,” you groan.

Your three’s weekly lunch has gone mostly swimmingly up to the point that Jihoon had brought up Soonyoung. Now, though, with the topic broached, neither of your friends see the need to be discreet about it.

“I do wonder why Soonie decided to come home now, after all these years,” Wonwoo muses aloud, toying with his chopsticks as he speaks. “Seems a bit out of the blue, doesn’t it?”

“He came home because Teacher Kang asked him,” you point out.

One of Jihoon’s eyebrows cocks upward. “Teacher Kang has asked him every year for the past couple of years,” he says. “So it’s not just that, I’m sure.”

Wonwoo chimes in with, “Must be something real important, then.”

Jihoon nearly smirks. “Or someone.”

What feels like your nth groan of the evening escapes you. “Put a sock in it, you two,” you grumble, drawing snickers from your friends.

Jihoon mouths something to Wonwoo. You can’t make it out for certain, but it looks suspiciously like a wordless grumble of Bet’s still on.

Civility is a rare thing to share with Soonyoung.

With the showcase mere days away, it’s a welcome development. At least it’s easier for the two of you to iron out the chinks in the routines, to ensure the program is up to par with the school’s standards.

But with civility comes an even more fragile thing— hope.

It’s in the way Soonyoung will hold open doors for you or haul the heavier props on your behalf, much to your chagrin and to Teacher Kang’s amusement.

It’s in the way Soonyoung starts to make small talk about everything from your day job to your parents, never minding much that he’s the one who has to carry half the conversations.

It’s in the way Soonyoung tries to make you laugh, and how, one afternoon, he finally succeeds.

You can’t even remember what it was. Some terrible joke about the kids, maybe. All you know is that a snort of laughter had slid out of you, the sound not quite the derisive giggles you’d been giving him the past couple of weeks.

You’re still chuckling when you see Soonyoung’s face.

Immediately, you sober up. “What?” you ask, because he’s staring at you with his jaw slack and his eyes slightly wide.

He tries to rearrange his expression into something more acceptable; it’s too late, given that you’ve already caught him. Soonyoung may have not always been honest, but he was expressive.

You glare at him, indicating that he’s not about to escape, and he huffs out a defeated sigh.

“It’s just— I forgot, okay?”

“Forgot what?”

“How good happiness looks on you.”

Who the hell says something like that on a random Thursday?

Soonyoung still has that vaguely dazed look in his eyes, even though you’ve begun to stare at him like he’s insane. As he walks away to go and refill his water bottle, he nearly collides with one of the auditorium’s poles, drawing raucous laughter from the kids.

You shush them, the tips of your ears beginning to flame.

“Why did you come home?”

“It was about time.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle, how you, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo all end up at the same table at Taco Joe’s.

Jihoon had been the one who proposed the idea. So casually, too, like he was readying himself for one of your infamous tirades or a flurry of your punches. Soonyoung wants to grab drinks with all of us.

To Jihoon and Wonwoo’s surprise, you had only responded with, “When?”

Neither boys want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they’re extra careful in playing their cards right. Wonwoo vows to be the designated driver. Jihoon holds back on making any jokes about the whole affair. And, Soonyoung— well, he’s just happy to be there.

“This place really hasn’t changed, huh?” Soonyoung snickers as he sips at his beer.

There’s not a lot of bars to choose from in your small town, making Taco Joe’s something of an institution. Its low lights, Top 50’s playlist, and cheap drinks attract more of the mid-twenties crowd, though there had been a time in your teenage years when you’d all tried and failed to sneak in.

“Joe threatened to ban us for life when we first stepped foot in here,” Jihoon reminisces.

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his face by the bridge of his nose. “Worse,” he says. “He said he would tell our parents.”

Simultaneously, the four of you shudder. A small smile tugs at your lips as you extend your cocktail for the boys to cheers with.

“To vindication,” you announce.

There’s a ripple of laughter among your friends.

“Vindication,” they echo, clinking their bottles and glasses with yours.

A part of you is suspicious at how pleasant the night is going. The conversation is easy, if not a little on the safe side. The drinks are good. The music is more often a hit instead of a miss. It’s shaping up to be a decent evening, though there are a handful of interruptions here and there.

Kwon Soonyoung is a bit of a local celebrity, after all.

Everybody and their mother knows about his swanky dance studio in the city, about the idols and celebrities he’s met in his line of work. Every so often, someone will stop by to greet him, to exchange a word or two with him.

Soonyoung is perfectly amicable to all of them. His smile, practiced; his words, cool and smooth. After the fourth or so person has come up to say hello to the Hoshi, Jihoon voices out what you’ve all been thinking.

“It’s so exhausting hanging out with you,” Jihoon says dryly.

Soonyoung giggles mid-swig of his alcohol. “Can’t help it.” He fakes a tired sigh, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Everybody wants a piece of me.”

“I’ll tear you to pieces if anyone else comes up to us,” Wonwoo warns.

Your gaze flicks over Wonwoo’s shoulder, towards someone approaching your corner table. “Get those claws ready, Wonu,” you say.

When Joshua Hong saunters up to your group’s table, though, his greeting for Soonyoung is cursory at best.

“Nice to see you back, Kwon,” the man says politely before turning his attention to you. “Hey, you.”

You straighten in your seat. Jihoon and Wonwoo exchange a look. Soonyoung’s eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gives a grumbled ‘hello’ to Joshua’s lackluster greeting.

It’s apparent that Joshua isn’t there for him, because Joshua is instead smiling at you. “Hey,” you respond in kind. “What’s up?”

Joshua had been an upperclassman during your school days, part of the infamous trio featuring troublemaker Yoon Jeonghan and varsity captain Choi Seungcheol. But Joshua was more on the mild side, known for his volunteer work at the local choir. He wasn’t any less unattainable, though, and you’re reminded of why Soonyoung so callously threw his name out during your more recent spat.

Prior to dating Soonyoung, you did have a raging crush on Joshua, after all. You’re briefly reminded of it as he flashes you a warm smile. “I was hoping I could buy you a drink,” he says. “For… you know.”

There’s absolutely nothing coy in Joshua’s words. He’s not suggestive, not trying to come on to you. All the same, the three boys at your table react like Joshua had just proposed.

Jihoon bites back a grin. Wonwoo cocks his head to one side. Soonyoung shoots back a quarter of his beer.

For… you know, Joshua is saying, and you know exactly what he means even though the rest aren’t privy to it. You’re already getting to your feet before you can register it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding towards the bar. “Let’s go.”

None of your friends say a thing as you step away with Joshua, but you can feel their eyes on your back. You know you’re going to get hell for it later— but, for now, you focus on the small talk that Joshua has to offer.

He lets you pick out your cocktail of choice. As the bartender goes to make it, Joshua smiles down at you. There had been a time where you might’ve keened over at the sight of it; now, though, it only makes your heart flutter a bit.

His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the thumping music, but low enough that it’s just for the two of you.

“Thank you for your help,” he says. “Really. You’re a life-saver.”

Your expression softens underneath the lights of the bar. “How’s your dad?”

Joshua’s smile is a little tight, but not any less sincere. “Better,” he responds. “It’s rough, of course, but he’s coping.”

Earlier in the year, Joshua’s father had been one of your firm’s clients. It had been a lot more challenging than you thought, working with someone you personally knew. The arduous process had involved unsecured debts, scarred credit scores, and seized collaterals, but you were ultimately able to help the Hongs in closing down their music school.

“I’m glad.” You pause, as if realizing that’s not quite the right thing to say. “I’m not glad about what happened—”

Joshua’s laughter cuts through your tirade. Your shoulders ease when you realize it’s not a particularly mean laugh. More of an amused sound at your panic.

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he reassures as the bartender slides your drinks to you. Joshua gives the other man a nod and a mumbled promise of tipping later.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Joshua says. “Just wanted to show my appreciation.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your fingers wrap around the drink he brought you. “But thank you, anyway.”

Joshua nods, grins. The lines are clear as day. He’s not flirting, not trying to get in your pants or anything. The drink is exactly that: A show of gratitude. Nothing more, nothing less.

Some old version of you might have been disappointed. Tonight, you are only oddly relieved. The two of you talk a little more— about things that are neither here nor there— before Joshua lets you go.

Upon your return to your table, you’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes.

Somehow, in the fifteen or so minutes that you were gone, Soonyoung had already shot back his first bottle of beer. As you slide back into your seat next to Wonwoo, your bespectacled friend quietly divulges, “That’s his third one.”

“Third?” You glance toward Soonyoung, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning or something?”

Soonyoung only flashes you a grin before taking another swig. He ignores your question in favor of chatting Jihoon’s ear off; the latter throws you a bemused look before going back to his conversation with Soonyoung.

You huff out a sigh as you go to nurse the cocktail that Joshua got you.

“I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Wonwoo says, his tone just a little too smug for his own good.

You shoot him a sideways glare. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, hiding his blooming smile behind a sip of his soda.

As the night wears on, you begin to feel that familiar buzz in your system. The telltale signs of your tipsiness leave you pleasantly sated— your laughter a little less restrained, your brain a lot more empty. So when Soonyoung leans across the table to yell at you, “Let’s dance!”, your first instinct is not to say Fuck off.

The words that come out instead are “To what song?”

Soonyoung is already standing up and moving around the table to get to your side. An intoxicated Jihoon and sober Wonwoo only watch on, spectators to this impending dumpster fire, as Soonyoung reaches out to tug you out of your seat.

“Any song,” he breathes. His face is flushed a deep shade of red, but his eyes are as bright as ever. “Anything you want.”

There’s a right thing to do in this situation.

The right thing to do would be to let Soonyoung down politely. To tell him no, you’re not interested in dancing. You’re happy to drink with him and your friends, but you’re not about to indulge him with the thing that once made the two of you so close. You don’t think your heart can take it.

But you’re two cocktails in. The music is good. And Soonyoung is looking at you with that absolutely incandescent expression, faring not any better than you in the game of sobriety. How could you deny him?

You let him pull you to your feet. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist as he drags you out onto the dance floor, as he leans over to the DJ and yells, “Do you have any GD?!”

The current track transitions into the unmistakable beats of Good Boy. Soonyoung’s face lights up like a firework.

You’re drunk enough to laugh at him, with him, as you easily fall into the decade-old dance routine. No matter how long it’s been, it seems like your body still remembers every step, every hand movement.

You’re drunk enough to not care that Wonwoo is not-so discreetly filming the two of you, that Jihoon is wearing a knowing smirk. Come tomorrow, your friends will have a lot to say about this moment. But, right now, it’s all inconsequential.

You’re drunk enough to dance. To dance in a way that isn’t simply for Christmas showcase purposes. To dance and remember why you loved it so much in the first place.

To dance with the boy who got you into it in the first place.

Good Boy spins into Home Sweet Home, then Fantastic Baby, then Gee. You and Soonyoung dance through it all. Honestly, you’re no longer built for this the same way that you once were, and you’re certainly not up to par with Soonyoung.

His drunkenness does nothing to dampen his energy or his dancing skills. He moves across the floor with the practiced ease of a professional, putting everyone to shame without even trying. His toothy smile never leaves his face as the two of you swing and pop and glide.

By the time the DJ starts to play more modern pop, you call for a time-out. Soonyoung stumbles after you and the two of you collapse onto a nearby couch, boneless from the non-stop dancing.

Wonwoo is off to one side, chatting with a girl, while Jihoon is nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t hold it past the latter to be on a smoke break of some sorts; nights out always tended to drain him, after all.

“Insane,” Soonyoung croaks out. Blonde strands of his hair stick to his face due to sweat. You resist the urge to fix it.

“I haven’t danced like that in ages,” you say, rolling your shoulders to fight off the growing ache in your body.

Soonyoung tries to laugh. The sound comes out more like a wheeze. His next words are mumbled in between attempts to catch his breath. “You’re good, babe.”

Come Back Home is thumping through the speakers. You try to focus on that instead of Soonyoung’s Freudian slip; you fail miserably, and it must show on your face because Soonyoung sucks in some air through his teeth.

“Sorry.” He’s laughing, but the sound is a bit rough around the edges. “Moment of weakness.”

A beat. “Wanna dance some more?” he prompts.

Whether it’s a desperate bid to run from his words or a sincere offer by a man who simply lives to dance, you don’t question it. “Yeah,” you say a little too quickly. “Let’s dance.”

You dance until you feel like your feet are going to fall off. Soonyoung matches your pace, never missing a beat. When he needs to take a break, he drinks some more— an endless cycle of dance floor shenanigans and drawn-out sips of beer.

It’s probably why he’s swaying by the time that you’re all calling it a night. Wonwoo and Jihoon flank Soonyoung on either side, the blonde still somehow having the tenacity to chatter while dragging his feet. He’s talking out of his ass about one thing or another, like music these days “not being as good as the OGs,” and you can sense Wonwoo’s exasperation over the whole thing.

“Living in Seoul has done absolutely nothing for your tolerance,” Wonwoo grumbles, prompting Soonyoung to go into a long-winded rant about the cultural differences in drinking culture.

The relief on Wonwoo’s face is palpable as he shoves Soonyoung into the backseat of his car.

Jihoon gives a nod of his own. “You’ll be good to drive?” he asks Wonwoo.

“Didn’t drink a drop,” Wonwoo chirps. “You?”

“Sobered up, like, two hours ago,” Jihoon says wryly. He gives you a vicious side eye— wordlessly blaming you for not being able to go home any earlier, since he was your designated driver— and you raise your shoulders in a half-shrug.

“You were the one who invited me out to drink.” Your voice is hoarse from all the alcohol, from the physical exertion of non-stop dancing.

You’re somehow lucid enough to register that Soonyoung is calling for you. There’s a slight pout on his face, like he’s upset to be missing out on the conversation. He’s bracing himself against the frame of the car door, his legs swung over the seat, as you gingerly approach.

“What?” you ask.

This close, you can smell his faint cologne, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat.

This close, you can see the way his eyes are slightly unfocused; his mouth, still bearing the hint of a glowing smile.

“You—” he croaks out.

His gaze darts to your lips. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. You don’t miss it.

Your breath stills in your chest, and Soonyoung is looking up at your face like he’s searching for something. Denial? Reciprocity?

He must not have found what he was looking for, because the words he grumbles are, “I’m going to hurl.”

Wonwoo’s panicked shriek cuts through the otherwise quiet parking lot.

“Not in my fucking car, asswipe!”

Soonyoung’s hangover the next day is comical.

You can’t help but snicker as he rolls up to the showcase’s dry run with shades over his eyes and a large cup of coffee in his shaking hands.

“You suck,” he hisses to you as he slides on to the bench next to you. Teacher Kang is busy heralding the students, getting them into their costumes and places, so the two of you have a minute alone before the hubbub strikes up.

“You’re the one who can’t hold down his alcohol,” you respond, eyeing his slumped form with amusement.

Soonyoung mumbles some incoherent cusses, his free hand reaching up to rub at his temples.

“God, my last memory was Hong coming up to the table,” he grouses.

You’re reminded of the inordinate amount of alcohol he downed in your brief absence. I wonder what’s gotten into him, Wonwoo had said.

“That clears,” you say sympathetically.

There’s a moment’s pause before Soonyoung tentatively asks, “Did the two of you ever…?”

You don’t immediately register what he’s asking about Joshua. When it hits you, though, you find a startled laugh sliding past your lips. Because there’s Wonwoo’s answer, even though you don’t recognize it then and there.

“Hong? No, no.” For reasons you can’t quite explain, you feel compelled to tack on, “I haven’t really had the time to date.”

“Oh.” It kills you, how Soonyoung almost sounds relieved. “Me, too. I mean— me neither.”

“Ah.”

“Running a dance studio is a lot of work.”

“Right.”

“And I’m sure— law school, right? That was a lot of work, too.”

“Right, yeah.”

It’s a stilted conversation, one heavy in its implications. The real things that the two of you want to say, want to address, linger on the surface, but neither of you seem to want to break that ice.

You settle, instead, for this moment. For the negligible distance between the two of you on the bleachers and how it closes, slow but steady, like the ticking hands of a clock.

Your shoulder just barely presses against Soonyoung’s.

Neither of you move away.

“Why did you come home?”

“Because I love you, and I miss you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Only one of those is a lie, actually.”

You’ve always liked being front of house during the showcase.

You’re a familiar face to the parents of the children, to the community members who attended the event every year. Their warmth is a welcome reprieve from your nerves.

You make small talk. You usher people to their seats. You try not to wonder where the hell Kwon Soonyoung is.

Despite having his calling card, you haven’t deigned to reach out. It’s tucked away in a drawer at home; you don’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe you’ll actually save his number one of these days.

You’re entertaining the thought when you feel a hand at your elbow. The smiling face of Iseul’s mother— the pompous but well-meaning Mrs. Hwang— greets you.

“There’s no need for that,” she says with a chuckle as you fold into a bow. You don’t miss the way she nonetheless preens at your formalities. It’s why you keep up with it.

You let her link your arms and, out of instinct, you begin to lead her to one of the free seats in the auditorium. “Are you excited for this year’s show, Mrs. Hwang?” you ask conversationally.

“You know it,” she answers. “Iseul has been talking non-stop about her performance, but she refuses to tell me what song to expect!”

You’d recognize Mrs. Hwang’s baiting tendencies from a mile away. With a curt giggle, you tell her, “You’ll find out soon enough, Mrs. Hwang. I promise it’ll be worth the suspense.”

The older woman gives you a disapproving frown, but it smooths out as she seems to realize a change in topic. The auditorium is notably a little more packed this year, enough to have the volunteers bringing out additional Monobloc chairs.

“I guess people want to see what the Kwon boy has done to the showcase, hm?” she notes, speaking into existence the fact that you’ve neglected to acknowledge so far.

Surprisingly, you don’t feel bitter about it. People were showing up to assess Soonyoung’s choreography, to bask in the product of his labor. There’s a twinge of something in your chest. It could almost be mistaken for pride.

Mrs. Hwang tacks on, “Mighty shame.”

That throws you off. “Pardon?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes zeroing in on an empty chair by the front of the stage. She practically drags you there as she continues, “It’s really so unfortunate. The whole thing about his dance studio tanking.”

The whole thing about his dance studio tanking.

What the hell was she talking about?

The universe, once again, had to be messing with you. You’re convinced this is some skit. Some buildup to a joke.

But the punch line never comes, and you end up admitting, “I don’t think I’ve heard about that yet, Mrs. Hwang.”

Your voice is surprisingly even for someone whose world was closing in. If Mrs. Hwang can sense the trepidation in your demeanor, she makes no indication of it. You’re grateful for her obliviousness, even, because she only keeps talking as she settles into her seat.

“My girls are always talking about it,” she says, referring to the group of forty-something-year-old women who like to gather and gossip in the town’s sole Italian restaurant. “That’s why he’s back. Couldn’t hack it out there.”

When she glances up at you with a scrutinizing expression, you just know you’re not going to like what she says next. You’re proven right when she says, “We thought he’d ask for your help, actually. Isn’t liquidation your specialty?”

You can’t be bothered to correct the woman over the technicalities. You give her a tight smile, a nod of your head, a polite ‘goodbye’ as you take your leave.

There are much more pressing matters, you think to yourself, as you go to greet more guests, make sure the music is all queued up, check in on the host’s script.

You didn’t spend over a month preparing for tonight only to lose yourself before it’s even begun. You refuse to let the new piece of information trip you up, even though it has your heart acting like a caged animal underneath your ribs.

The showcase goes by without a hitch. The children are more than phenomenal; they’re perfect.

The audience is enamored. The teachers are overjoyed.

You want nothing more than to go home and tear up Soonyoung’s calling card.

As the showcase wraps up to enthusiastic applause, Teacher Kang snatches the microphone from the host for one last announcement.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without two of our very tireless volunteers,” she says, and— from backstage— you wince. Before you know it, you’re being pushed out onto the stage.

Soonyoung exits from the other stage wing.

He’s managed to evade you the entire showcase, and now you realize why. In his arms, he holds a monstrous bouquet. Yellow acacias, striped carnations, bunch-flowered daffodils. Your first thought is how expensive it might have been, to find out-of-season blooms in the thick of winter.

Your second thought is that you want to hurl, but that’s neither here nor there.

As Soonyoung strides in from the other side of the stage to meet you in the middle, he sees it. He sees the hint of trepidation underneath your practiced grin, sees the way your eyes flash momentarily. His own grin drops ever so slightly.

But the two of you are in an auditorium, on a stage in front of Namyangju’s best and brightest. Neither of you can afford to give voice to what you feel.

Soonyoung hands you the bouquet. You nod in acknowledgement.

The two of you instinctively reach for each other’s hands.

You hadn’t noticed that the crowd had gotten to their feet. A standing ovation. It feels like an echo of the past, a cruel reminder of an alternate universe.

Even so, your smile never wavers. Neither does Soonyoung’s. He raises your hand. The two of you take a bow.

The Great Pretenders put on their best show yet.

“What was that?”

A part of you is surprised that Soonyoung found you. The moment the showcase officially concluded, you were booking it out of the auditorium before he could even get a word in edgewise. Gracefully, the dozens of people hounding him for photos and small talk let you widen the gap.

Still, he caught up. Just as you were passing by the godforsaken playground that had witnessed the ending of it all. Oh, the universe and its jokes.

Soonyoung is red-faced, like you’d embarrassed him somehow despite the convincing act you both put on. Your fingers tighten around the bouquet he gave you.

“What was that?” he repeats, and what little restraint you had left snaps.

“Why did you come home?” you ask point blank.

“Teacher Kang—”

“Don’t,” you snipe. “Teacher Kang asked you last year. And the year before that. Why did you come home now, Soonyoung?”

The question hangs heavy in the early December evening. You and Soonyoung are staring at each other, mere paces away from the swing set where the two of you made your choices.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you prompt him with, “Is it because of me?”

Soonyoung misinterprets the question. You can see the way his eyes light up, the way his lips part like he’s just about to say something of consequence.

You almost feel guilty about the next words that tear out of you. “You’re going bankrupt,” you say, and the hope on his face fizzles out like a popped lightbulb.

“Who told you—” he chokes out.

“So it’s true?”

Kwon Soonyoung is struck dumb.

Soonyoung, whose mouth ran faster than his brain. Soonyoung, who was full of quick quips and witty remarks.

Soonyoung, who is now staring at you like you’ve told him the world was about to end.

You contemplate throwing his bouquet in his face. It will make for a dramatic, pretty picture— the petals falling onto the soft snow, the fuck you loud despite being unspoken. For now, you only clutch the arrangement closer to your chest like it's a lifeline.

“And here I thought—” Your breath hitches on a scoff, the puff of air visible in the chill. “I was a fool who thought you came back for me.”

The truth cuts. Your laugh bitterly as you go on, “I guess you still did, though, huh? Because you need me. What? Were you hoping to avail of cheap services, Kwon?”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly it!” Your tone is shrill. Soonyoung always did bring out the worst in you. “You were away for six years, and now you’ve come crawling back—”

“Do you think I wanted to fail?”

Soonyoung’s voice rises, his frustration bubbling over to match yours.

“I starved out there,” he bites out. “Ate cup noodles for a year so the studio could afford rent for one more month. Sold half of my stuff so I could pay my employees. It was so hard.”

The way Soonyoung’s voice breaks on the last word makes something in your heart clench. For a moment, you think it might be pity, but you kill the feeling as soon as it tries to make itself known.

You don’t want to pity Soonyoung, which is both an insult and a grace.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask instead, even though a part of you already knows the answer.

A sound that’s almost like a delirious laugh escapes him. “Not when I was the one who made it out,” he responds.

You never realized how much you’d prefer Soonyoung’s cocky, self-assured self over this version of him. This boy— man— who is defeated and resigned. Even in your anger, there is a small part of you that wants to do something to wipe that look off his face.

“I made it out,” he repeats wearily, like it’s taking everything in him to face the truth of being Namyangju’s failing poster boy.

He continues, “I gave up everything to be there. I gave up you.”

Your grip on the bouquet tightens. There’s a faint prickle behind your eyes, but you refuse to let those tears fall. “You did that like it was easy,” you mumble, your voice just loud enough to carry.

Soonyoung meets your gaze. He looks like he’s on the verge of sobbing himself, but his tone brokers no arguments.

“It wasn’t,” he says.

And that was that.

You’ve never been able to stand not having the last word. You clear your throat, attempting to speak through the lump forming there. “Yeah, well,” you say shakily. “You’re not the only one who lost something.”

It’s a shitty comparison and you know it. Soonyoung’s sacrifices dwarf yours. You weren’t the one who moved away, who bore the weight of an entire city’s pride.

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t call you out on it. He only takes a sharp exhale and turns his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the swings.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Almost like the words are an afterthought. “For the record— that night?” he says. You don’t have to ask for clarification. You know exactly which night he’s talking about.

“I was hoping you’d change my mind,” he confesses.

A physical blow to the chest would have hurt less. You stagger, but you try to mask it like you’re taking a step back. Like you’re walking away, even as your eyes never leave Soonyoung’s face.

“And I was hoping I’d be worth staying for,” you say with a humorless laugh, the distance between the two of you growing, growing, growing.

Your parting words are the proverbial nail on the coffin: “I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.”

“Why did you come home?”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

For once, Jihoon and Wonwoo have nothing to say.

No wisecrack. No jab. No exchange of money in some backhanded bet.

They listen as you recount the salient points of the argument. You keep the personal stuff out of your own retelling, focusing only on the broad strokes. The biggest concern lies in one nagging question.

“Did you know?” you ask, your hands bracing the table in front of you.

“No,” Jihoon says immediately.

Wonwoo chimes in with a quiet “Me neither.”

You know these boys. You’ve seen them lie to their parents about their homework, lie to their girlfriends about where they were.

They’re not lying now. You know that much.

A shaky exhale escapes you. It’s been three days since the fight and you’ve yet to run into Soonyoung. You wouldn’t hold it past him to avoid you, either by steering clear from the places you frequent or getting on the first bus back to Seoul.

“When he asked about how you were doing,” Jihoon says gruffly. “I thought it was just— yearning or some shit.”

“Me, too,” Wonwoo adds.

Yearning or shit. The words almost make you laugh.

The pinched expression on your face prompts Wonwoo to ask, “Are you upset?”

‘Upset’ feels like too light of a term to describe the maelstrom of emotions within you. There are facts: You wish you had known. You could have afforded to be kinder. You are afraid that you will never stop being angry.

You answer Wonwoo’s question with a mumbled, “Would it be cliché to say that I’m just disappointed?”

“Ah.” His face is thoughtful, understanding. “Because you expected something from him.”

“That’s not it,” you say dryly.

It is.

The three of you lapse into contemplative silence. Jihoon breaks it after a couple of moments, his tone soft and serious.

“I know it’s shitty,” he says. “But I do hope that he’s okay.”

That would be the mature thing to do. Even Wonwoo is nodding his agreement, willing to set aside his own gripes in favor of well wishing.

You can’t bring yourself to do the same. The platitude sticks in your throat until you feel like it will suffocate you.

Soonyoung has an alibi for not showing up to Teacher Kang’s post-processing session.

You’re grateful that the elderly woman doesn’t go on about the details of his absence. She mentions something about him being busy with the holidays, and you take it in stride.

You try not to picture the way his jaw might’ve twitched before sending out the text, before lying to get away.

“Everybody loved the show,” Teacher Kang gushes. “I’m so proud of you, dear. I really do hope we can have Soonyoung on board more often.”

An offhand joke of “we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of him in the near future” crosses your mind, but you hold it back. You may be calloused, but you’re not heartless.

You nod. You agree with Teacher Kang. You hold it together, up until you’re halfway out the door and she calls you back for one last word.

“You know,” she starts. “I remember the two of you when you were kids.”

You’d been dreading this— the inevitable trip down memory lane. You thought you had escaped it, but now you’re facing it with one of the world’s fakest smiles.

“That was a long time ago,” you say.

“It was.” There’s a glimmer in Teacher Kang’s eye. Something unbearably tender. “Soonyoung always made you smile a certain way. You’ve started smiling like that again. It’s nice to see.”

You don’t know how you manage to laugh it off, to bid Teacher Kang goodbye and make your way back to your car. Your hands are shaking as you slide into the driver’s seat of your car.

The school’s parking lot is gracefully empty. It’s a good thing, because then no one can hear you as you fold in half and screech.

You scream until your voice goes hoarse, until the windows shake.

You scream until you can’t hear the way your chest is caving in on your heart.

Your theory of running into everyone but Soonyoung is proven when you’re sooner to cross paths with Mama Kwon.

Your carts nearly collide in the pasta aisle of the grocery store. You’re already bowing, apologizing profusely, when you realize that you recognize the woman holding a can of pesto.

She says your name with the fondness that could rival your own mother’s. It takes everything in you not to bolt at the sound of it.

“What a coincidence,” she says with a tinkling laugh.

You know in your heart of hearts that it’s exactly that. A coincidence. Still, you can’t help but think some higher power is out to get you. Call it karmic justice.

“How have you been, Mrs. Kwon?” you ask, feeling the slight nip of not addressing the woman as you typically might.

She notices too, if her slightly furrowed brow is any indication. She manages to rearrange her expression into something more neutral as she answers.

“You know how the holidays are,” she says, wielding her pesto bottle in an absentminded gesture. “It’s a full house!”

That stings.

You’ve heard from your mother how the past couple of years, Mama Kwon would complain about her household feeling empty during the holidays. The seat at the dining table stayed vacant for the son that refused to come home.

You don’t know how much she knows about the state of the dance studio, so you decide to play it safe. “I’m sure it is,” you say.

The small talk is tearing you up from the inside, but you don’t want to be rude. Don’t want to be a stranger to the woman who once cared for you so deeply— who probably still cares for you, if you really thought of it.

The question is out of you before you can hold it back. “Are you with Soonyoung?”

What would you even do with that information? Would you have booked it if she said ‘yes, he’s right around the corner’? Would you have cried if she revealed that he headed back to the city?

You’re not sure.

Here’s what happens instead: A sigh nearly breaks out of you when Mama Kwon responds, “He’s in the next shop over, getting some repairs for the car. We’re meeting at Italianni's for lunch.”

Still here, a small voice murmurs in the back of your mind. Hasn’t left for Seoul just yet.

You shake the thought away as Mama Kwon delicately prompts, “Would you like to join us?”

Mama Kwon is probably not inviting you solely out of politeness. She’s making the offer because she wants you to be there. She wants you to be at the same table as her family, sharing a pizza and whatever the restaurant’s special for the day is. She wants you to sit next to Soonyoung and play nice, even though you currently can’t stomach the thought of being anywhere near him.

For some reason, it makes you want to cry.

To lose somebody in a breakup is painful, yes. To lose all the things that came with it— like the family that you might have learned to love yourself?

A different type of ache all together.

Your smile is so painfully fake, almost hurting the edges of your mouth, as you try to let her down gently. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” you say. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

For once, The Great Pretenders is met with negative reviews.

Then again, nothing ever really escaped Mama Kwon’s scrutinizing gaze. She surveys your expression and purses her lips. You can practically see the way that the cogs turn in her brain, as if trying to decide on the response that will do the least amount of damage.

It doesn’t matter how gentle she tries to be. The words that she eventually extends still hurt like a bitch.

“He still talks about you a lot,” she muses.

Oh.

“Oh?”

“Nothing bad,” Mama Kwon says quickly. She laughs again, smiling very much like how her son might.

“Just—” She leans in. Your body autonomously mimics the action.

You’re reminded of being younger, of when she’d do the exact same thing to whisper you some ‘secret’. I got Soonyoung new shoes for Christmas. The car side mirror is busted because of me. I packed you extra of those choco pies you like.

Today, she whispers, “I think he came home for you.”

“Why did you come home?”

“I had a nightmare that I visited and I couldn’t recognize a thing. All the street names were different. The buildings were new. I kept running, trying to look for something familiar, and I just— I was just lost. And that sucked. This was mine once. You know?”

“It still is.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. It isn’t anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

“You know, I really have missed your mother’s cooking.”

You smile ruefully at Soonyoung’s words.

He’s digging heartily into your mother’s signature kimchi jjigae, and you have half the mind to tell him to close his mouth as he chews. Instead, you let him devour the dish.

It had taken a little bit of masterminding to pull this off. Maybe it would’ve been easier to send Soonyoung a text of Let’s meet up, but your blasted pride was one of the last things you had left. You’d be damned if you were going to give that away, too.

You enlisted Jihoon and Wonwoo’s help in orchestrating this, in convincing Soonyoung that he could sneak into your family restaurant undetected. Sure, the blonde had been more than a little miffed when his friends ditched him and left him with you, though his irritation was short-lived in the face of the food he had been craving for God-knows-how-long.

“Maybe that’s because you’ve only been eating shin ramyun,” you point out.

Soonyoung barely looks up from his bowl as he shovels more food into his mouth. “Low blow,” he says in between bites.

You wince. “Sorry.”

“You’re not really sorry.”

“No, I am.”

That drags Soonyoung’s attention away from his stew.

His guarded expression slots right back into place, like he’s realizing you have some ulterior motive beyond feeding him. He rests his spoon against his bowl and leans back into his chair. With one eyebrow raised, he says, “This feels a lot like the lead-in to a breakup.”

A bark of laughter escapes you. Of course Soonyoung would make a joke like that.

You reach into your pocket until you’ve found what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you slide it across the table until it’s resting by Soonyoung’s hand.

“I’ll give you a discount,” you tell him. “But only, like, fifteen percent. Anything more than that is just pushing it.”

Your calling card stares up at him. It bears your name along with your firm’s address, your phone number, and your title. Consumer bankruptcy lawyer.

Even now, Soonyoung can’t help but be expressive. His wide eyes are fixed on the card you’ve laid out. For a moment, your offer hangs in precious balance, but you don’t have a single urge to take it back. It’s entirely, wholly for Soonyoung to take.

He asks the question that you know is coming. “Why are you doing this?” he says, his words like a raw nerve.

You almost smile. Almost.

In the past week that you’ve mulled it over, you’ve reached at least a dozen different answers.

Because Jihoon and Wonwoo worry about you.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

Because Teacher Kang talks about you like you hung the stars and the moon.

Because I owe you one.

Because I don’t want you to let Mama Kwon down.

Because I’ve missed you, and I want you to be happy, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me.

The answer that eventually, finally comes to you is none of the above.

You simply say, “Because you’re my favorite ex.”

The call asking for your help never comes.

A couple of days after that lunch, you find something on your desk. Your calling card.

If it weren’t for one small thing, you would’ve thought that it was a stray card of yours that you’d forgotten. But then you catch sight of a doodle in one corner right before you’re about to tuck the card away in your closet.

A crude drawing of a tiger, with crescent-shaped eyes and a toothy smile.

You instantly know what it means. Sure enough, you hear from Jihoon that same evening.

Kwon Soonyoung has left as quietly as he arrived.

There is relief. There is regret. How you feel ultimately doesn’t matter, because you knew it would always come to this— a choice being made.

He left. You stayed.

The world spins madly on.

The last of the snow is melting on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon when your phone pings in your pocket. You fish it out to find two texts from an unknown number. The first is a link to a news article.

You’re suspicious, but curiosity always did kill the cat. The article loads and fills your screen.

Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio To Start Offering Child-Friendly Dance Lessons

By: Xu Minghao

SEOUL, South Korea – Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio, founded by renowned choreographer and performer Kwon Soonyoung, better known as HOSHI, is expanding its mission to inspire a new generation of dancers. The studio announced it will officially begin offering child-friendly dance lessons following a successful pilot program last month.

Parents and young aspiring dancers can look forward to the official launch of child-friendly lessons early next year. According to HOSHI, the initiative aims to “nurture the joy of dance from an early age and build a foundation for self-expression and confidence.”

The studio piloted its first all-children dance classes in January, offering a creative and supportive environment for young dancers to explore movement. The program’s success has led to an upcoming showcase featuring the children at the KB Art Hall in Gangnam.

HOSHI, celebrated for his innovative choreography and passion for dance, revealed the inspiration behind this new direction.

“There was a time I felt lost, like I had lost my purpose for dance,” HOSHI shared, reflecting on a challenging period in his career. “I was going through the motions, using dance as a way to distract myself from everything else, rather than embracing it as a part of who I am.”

“But I realized something important recently,” he goes on. “Dance shouldn’t be an escape or a vacation. It should be a homecoming.”

And that’s exactly what they hope to do with their upcoming showcase. Details on the event can be found here.

The second text bears only a couple of words, but it changes the ending of everything.

There’s only one seat that will matter in that auditorium, it reads.

Please make sure it’s not empty.

“Why did you come home?”

“Home had you.”

#winterwithyoucollab #svthub #mansaenetwork #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #soonyoung imagines #hoshi imagines #soonyoung fic #hoshi fic #soonyoung angst #hoshi angst #svt fic #seventeen fic #( <3 here it is! my love my light the fruit of my labor etc. )#( annotations/editing are imminent. but for now know i was insaneee over this )#(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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sailornymph · 19 days ago

Text

‘HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY’

itachi uchiha with pregnant s/o extended

authors note : i love itachi and the shorter hc version with the other uchiha will be up this weekend!

first month

humming the same song that had been stuck in your head for the last few days, you carefully stacked the dango balls onto the small stick, neatly placing them onto a plate.

itach would arrive anytime today, and you hoped that he would finally be able to relax. however, due to your lack of shinobi abilities, you hadn’t even noticed, that he had been standing in the doorway for the past twenty minutes, watching in adoration. you were so concentrated, making sure all of the dangos were evenly shaped and distributed.

anyhow, there was something strange about you. it had been nearly a month since he had been away from you. was it the new dress, the fresh hairstyle, different polish used on your nails this time? no, although all the things he adored on you, and took in, these weren’t what made you seem different.

“oh kami, you scared me, when did you make it in?” you asked, sitting down the plate that you almost dropped. raising your arms to embrace him.

“long enough to hear your beautiful voice,” he smirked, as you hugged him close, and that’s when he realized it. your chakra, how did he not see it before? your chakra was not very strong, you weren’t a shinobi or anything, so it did not need to be. yet, here you stood, with the chakra stronger than usual, resembling that of a uchiha.

activating his eyes, he stared at you, watching as the chakra surrounding your body. he could see your chakra, still small, deep within your core, but there was another, as if someone…as if someone was inside of you.

slowly, his hand moved to your stomach, and his heart dropped, feeling the chakra pouring into his hand.

“itachi, what are you doing?” you asked confusedly.

“you’re pregnant, i can’t determine how long, but i can see the chakra,” he said, as you gasped.

“seriously? don't joke like that,” you said.

“i am being serious,” he said, as you squealed in excitement.

you had been a bit restless and to think it was possibly from being pregnant with itachi’s child. you were filled with joy at the news. how could you not be? meanwhile, itachi stood awkwardly, he didn't know how to take in the news. how could he be so careless?

you didn't even know that he was sick, he had been hiding all of the evidence, to keep you from worrying. blaming being fatigued on his missions. taking one look at itachi’s face, and all of that previous joy faded away.

“you don't want a baby? it doesn't fit your lifestyle, living rogue and stuff,” you pulled away from him, fidgeting with your fingers.

“what?”

“i can see on your face, in your eyes, this isn't what you want. say the words and i’ll get rid of it,” you said, turning your back to him, mainly to hide the tears building up in your eyes.

“this was unplanned and i feel it is because of my carelessness. regardless, this has been made out of love between you and i. if you would like to keep them, then that's what we will do. what would you like, angel?” he said, reaching to pull you close, and turn you around, wiping your eyes.

“i want to keep it,” you whispered.

“then we will, there is no need to cry your eyes out, we will be parents, okay?”

“okay?” you nodded, accepting his kiss.

third month

“ugh, what is that terrible smell,” you groaned, climbing out of your burrito of blankets. your breasts were aching and itching, you were tired, and you felt like you needed to throw up. however, you were on high alert because itachi was nowhere to be found. he hadn't said anything about leaving for another mission.

holding onto the railing, you slowly walked downstairs. relaxing as you could see itachi sitting on your back porch, but your eyebrows furrowed at his hard coughing. approaching the door, he looked back at you, smiling softly.

“good morning, angel”

“are you alright, i could hear you coughing-

“i'm okay, are you having morning sickness?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“not today, i just woke up because i smelled something that was just vile to my nose, in the room”

“vile? it may be the baby, i read that your pregnancy could affect your sense of smell”

“maybe, whatever it is, they hate it, and so now it is bothering me,” you sighed, scratching your belly. your bump was barely visible but in a form fitting outfit, you could see clear as day, the baby growing inside.

turning away from you, itachi began coughing again, bringing a rag to his mouth, and your heart dropped, seeing a bit of blood, before he wiped it away.

“was that blood? we need to call a doctor?”

“i am fine-

he started, but, reaching over, you snatched the cloth from him, gasping at all of the blood.

“i'm going get a medical-

“y/n, stop, i’m f-

“do not tell me you are fine, not when you're coughing up all of this blood, this isn't normal or healthy,” you stressed.

“i need to talk to you, i've kept something from you”

“what?”

“please, sit down,” he reached for your hand, helping you sit next to him before he began to explain everything to you. his terminal illness, the symptoms, the partial blindness. it left you stunned with tears in your eyes.

“do you know how much longer you have?” you sniffled.

“don't stress about me, i’ll be here every step of the way, and i'll be here for the birth of our child,” he reassured, reaching for your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips.

“we could get you some help-

“my fate is sealed, but there is still much to do and see before i leave you, trust me”

“do you promise?”

“i promise, i won’t be leaving you anytime soon, or you,” he said, reaching to rub your stomach.

sixth month

“how do you feel?” you whispered, replacing the cool cloth from itachi’s forehead with a fresh one.

“i will be fine, thank you,” he said, tiredly staring at you, as your fingers interlocked.

when he arrived last night, he was in a terrible state, with a high fever, coughing up blood, and in pain. while he insisted that you got some rest, he would sleep on the floor in the living room, to not bother you. you dragged him to your fluffy duvet, tending to him until he was able to fall asleep.

“you don’t have to thank me, i want to take care of you, even in this state, you are still as strong as ever to me,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

as you pulled away, he reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against your bump.

“your bump has grown”

“they are very active, especially at night, i can hardly sleep from all the kicking”

“i missed another milestone,” he said, sounding defeated.

“so did i, it started when i was sleeping, but talking to them, seems to calm them down, would you like to feel it?” you smiled as he slowly nodded.

taking his hand, you placed it into your entire belly, sighing as he caressed softly.

“i can feel their chakra,” he sitting up, suddenly. you were worried about him being up, but with the concentrated look on his face, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

“does that mean their strong?”

“yes, at first, it was meshed with your own, but it is separate now, it is almost radiating off of you”

“then they’re more you than me,” you laughed.

“hi baby, it’s your mother and your father is with me this time, speak to them, tachi,” you continued.

“hello, my offspring,” he said awkwardly, making you laugh. there wasn't any movement when suddenly, you felt a sharp kick.

“oh god, that got them excited,” you groaned, as itachi continued rubbing your belly.

“your mother works very hard to make sure you're healthy, you have to be kind to her,” he spoke, his voice softer than before.

activating his eyes, he examined your stomach.

“itachi, you shouldn't use your eyes,” you lightly scolded him.

“i need to see clearly”

“what are you trying to see?”

“the baby, it-the chakra is very strong for this stage of life, i wanted to see how big they were, beyond being a fetus, and-

“and what?” you asked, panicking, as his hands dropped, a stunned expression on his face.

“it is a girl,” he managed to get out.

“a girl? are you sure? don't prank me,” you said, excitedly, tears building up in your eyes.

“i can see her clearly, she is already perfect,” he said, when you felt another kick from your stomach.

“i think she likes your voice,” you cried, placing your hands on top of his.

“i love you, more than my own life, you and your mother, are the light in my darkness,” he spoke, placing a kiss on your belly.

“we love you too,” you felt yourself getting emotional all over again.

“of course you do, angel,” he said, carefully tugging you to lay next to him, as he continued whispering sweet nothings to you and the evidence of the both of you, who continued to grow in your belly.

ninth month

“i leave for an hour and you’re already on your feet,” itachi spoke, the small bag of herbs in his hand.

“this laundry was calling my name,” you smiled, continuing to hang the clothing on the clothesline.

“that’s enough labor for now,” he told you, approaching you, his hands moving to your swollen belly. you were absolutely stunning, wearing the pink dress. he never thought he would ever find the color so perfect.

“i’m almost d-ugh,” you reached up, before your hands quickly went to your stomach, feeling a sharp pain.

instantly, itachi activated his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t be using them, they were making his sight worse, but when it came to you, he couldn’t care about the consequences. groaning in pain as you felt another sharp contraction.

“itachi,” you cried, as he held you up, carefully examining your bump.

“she’s coming,” he mumbled, more to himself. picking you up, he carried you into the house, carefully laying you onto the floor, propping up your head.

“are you getting a doctor?” you said, trying to concentrate your breathing.

“there is no time, you seem to have induced your own labor with your laundry, she is ready to come out, now,” he said, leaving to get towels.

placing them next to him, as he came back, he carefully lifted your dress.

“you’re doing this?”

“yes, i can see her”

“you aren’t supposed to be using your eyes”

“don’t worry about me angel, focus on your breathing,” he said ignoring your worrying words.

caressing your stomach, he examined your body, as you shut your eyes, taking slow deep breaths.

“on the count of three, you will begin pushing, we can switch your position if needed,” he instructed, slowly counting down.

six hours, three hundred sixty minutes, the sun was completely gone. your body was on fire, running entirely on adrenaline. your face wet from sweat and tears.

“i can't do this,” you cried to itachi, for the millionth time. his heart hurt as you cried out to him, begging him to take away the pain.

“she’s almost here, angel, one last push,” he said, taking a firm, but gentle, hold onto the baby, catching her as she eased from your womanhood. she cried loudly, easily drowning out any noise you made.

as your placenta followed, he quickly removed it, beginning to clean her body. wrapping her into the red blanket, he carefully placed her into your arms, while helping you sit up. her crying becoming lower by the second, as she finally stopped, opening her eyes, she stared at the both of you.

“she’s beautiful”

“perfect,” you both spoke at the same time.

she had the signature black hair and eyes, a small smile slowly appearing on her face. lowering the top of your dress, you began to breastfeed her, itachi watching in awe. you were an absolute angel, the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across. his daughter, she had completely taken his breath away, he couldn’t help but hover, wanting to take in every inch of her face.

“thank you, y/n,” he said, leaning close to kiss your cheeks.

“she has your hair and eyes,” you smiled tiredly.

“common traits of the uchiha clan members, however, she looks more like my mother and sasuke,” he smiled softly, as you glanced at him. he never brought up his mother to you.

“your mother?”

“mikoto, she was beautiful inside and out, with the most gentle eyes, i favored my father, while sasuke took after her,” he said, as the newborn began to move around, her tiny hand latching onto itachi’s finger.

“i think she likes that name”

“perhaps,” he said, admiring her.

“maybe we could name her something that will keep your mother in our memory-

“miko, if you'd like to name her something else that is fine with me, but i’d like to call her miko”

“miko it is, she’ll know that she is named after who she resembles, her beautiful grandmother”

tenth month

“shh, shh, are you hungry? what’s the matter?” you stressed, trying to breastfeed miko, but she didn’t seem to be hungry, still crying loudly.

you were trying to be considerate of itachi, he needed rest too, after having a fever the last two nights, but you couldn’t figure out what the problem was.

“let me try?” he spoke, behind you.

“you should be resting,” you said, but he shook his head, carefully taking her into his arms. rocking her gently, her cries slowly stopped, as she stared into his eyes.

“i couldn’t rest, when she is crying like this,” he said, as you buried your face in your hands.

“what am i doing wrong?”

“she has her entire life to build a bond with you, don’t worry, angel,” he told you, sitting down as you went to prepare a bottle with the breast milk you had been pumping.

“she is a daddy’s girl, i can’t blame her, but i wish she would at least let me cuddle her too,” you pouted, sitting next to him, as he began to feed her the milk.

you sat in a comfortable silence, until you noticed itachi’s expression. focused but frustrated, he was thinking hard about something.

“what’s on your mind?”

“sasuke…he is searching for me and is close,” is all he said.

“so we leave, i’m sure we can find a place in another village somewhere else-

“he is consumed by vengeance, he will not stop, until we meet”

“itachi, he will want to fight,” you shook your head.

“he has grown to be a worthy opponent”

“so you’ll fight him until you kill him?”

“i could never bring myself to kill him”

“so you’re letting him kill you, how could you do?” your leg begin to shake as you fought back the urge to scream at him, ready to beg him to change his mind.

“there are many things i have kept from you, that will be revealed in time, but this will come to pass. i hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving you and miko alone in this world. the things i have done, sasuke will be given the revenge he seeks,” he said, sitting the bottle down, beginning to burp miko.

“please don’t do this, tell him the truth, the secrets-

“all will be revealed, but my destiny was determined that night. listen to me, you are to go to konoha and raise miko where i know she will stand a chance at having a bright childhood. let her know how much i love her, how much i love you, her beautiful mother. that if i could’ve had things differently, we could’ve been a happy family together. she is and will always be my greatest mission, nothing has been accomplished so perfectly. my precious miko, i know i may be asking for too much, but please,” he said, as you began to crumble, trying to hold back your tears. he wasn’t the type to beg, but here he sat, his eyes pleading with your own.

“okay”

“and you, my beloved. heal and move on from me, miko is the evidence of our love, but i do not expect you to remain alone-

“how could you ever tell me to do something like that?” you cried.

“i hoped that you would say that, it hurts to think of it, but i promise i won’t be upset if you have another. just make sure he loves you ten times more than i love you and miko and that he isn’t weak, to be able to protect you both,” he said, reaching to hold your cheek.

“i love you so much”

“i love you too,” he smiled tiredly, accepting you into his embrace as he held you in his arms.

“when do you leave?”

“tomorrow night,” he said, making you look over at him suddenly, beginning to cry harder, just thinking of how soon he would be gone, hurt you greatly.

“so soon?”

“i know angel, but let me hold you tonight, i would like to take in every moment we have together,” he said when miko tugged his hair.

“you too, my beautiful miko, i want to remember these precious eyes, until my very last breath”

seven years later

“miko? where are you?” you called out, worriedly, searching for your daughter, when you spotted her. sitting alone, her back against the old tree.

“miko-oh baby, what happened?” you went to your knees, cupping her face. tears pouring down her face, as she peered at you with the crimson and black eyes.

“i only wanted to play, but th-they were so mean, they said bad things about you, and father, how he was weak and he didn’t love me, why did i have to be a uchiha?” she grumbled, burying her face in her hands.

“hey, don’t say that. ever. listen to me, your father was brave, he did what one else could do, and carried the burden alone. he put this very village above himself, he sacrificed everything for everyone else — and your father loved you so much. he cherished you from the time you began to grow in my tummy, until the time you were born. he’d hold you, letting you sleep on his chest, holding his hair. you were and will always be his everything. have i ever told you why we named you miko?”

“no,” she pouted.

“well, technically he named you. you are named after your grandmother, mikoto uchiha. when you were a baby, you looked so much like your uncle, sasuke, and their mother. you had the gentlest eyes that reminded itachi of his mother, so when he decided on miko, i fell in love with it”

“why did sasu-uncle sasuke have to go and kill him?” she asked, her small fists balled up.

“your father was sick already, i fear his fate was already sealed, he accepted his reality and nothing didn’t happen that he didn’t allow. you were our present though, a parting gift, and the evidence of our love, a combination of him and i, creating the most beautiful person. do you understand why you shouldn’t say those things? you're stronger than your peers and they don't understand you. would you like to know another fact about your father?”

“you are already living up to your father’s standards, here you are seven and already a genin, itachi wasn’t a genin until he was eight. he was a prodigy of his clan, and here you are, just as sharp and skillful he was,” you smiled at her.

“mommy, i don’t want to become a rogue ninja-

“we will make sure that won’t happen,” a voice said, making you both turn, you were surprised to see sasuke.

“uncle…sasuke”

“how are you, miko?” she stared shyly at her uncle, shrugging her shoulders.

“i was in the area and i overheard the sound of a little girl crying,” he said. a lie. you knew from the moment you moved to konoha, he had been watching. he had only met miko a few times. he was unsure of how to even go about a relationship with his niece, but he vowed to himself to protect her.

“she has been dealing with a bit of bullying, they are trying to find any way to tear her down because she’s the youngest in her class”

“have you spoken with lord seventh?” he asked you.

“he’s too busy to even reach,” you sighed, as his eyes remained focused on miko.

“it is common for those weaker than you to dislike you, out of jealousy. the best thing to do is to continue surpassing them. would you like a bit of training, with me?” he asked, slightly smiling as she nodded excitedly.

“can i mommy?”

“go ahead,” you agreed, laughing as she stood up, shyly approaching him.

“uncle sasuke-i mean, is it okay, if i call you uncle?” she asked, relaxing when he nodded.

“well, uncle sasuke, was my father stronger than you?”

“he was, even in his final moments”

“then i want to be as strong as him”

“we can make that possible, as safely as possible,” he said, glancing at you. you knew she would eventually go down this path, you hadn’t even wanted her to become a shinobi, but she had been begging from the moment that told her that itachi was once a shinobi. she was as gifted as him, but you worried about the same fate most uchiha had when they pushed themselves too far.

“we have to limit ourselves because sometimes being too powerful isn’t always good, we are only human,” he continued, offering her his hand.

“uncle sasuke, my mommy told me i was named after my grandmother, mikoto,” she told him, as they began to walk away.

“now that i’m looking at you, you do have mother’s gentle eyes and itachi’s smile, beautiful,” he said, leaning down, poking her forehead with two fingers.

your eyes swelled with tears, watching as she became distant, leaving with sasuke, already talking his ear off.

“do you see our girl?” you spoke lowly, your hand going to the necklace around your neck, that once belonged to itachi.

“y/n, are you alright?” you jumped, looking up at kakashi who was approaching you. he had been working so closely with miko, and she was doing well with him.

“i’m okay, just getting emotional, i’m very proud of miko”

“where is she, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“she went to train with sasuke, she needs this, and i’m thankful for you as well, all those times you made time to train her,” you told him.

“it was no problem, would you like to join me for a conversation over ramen?”

“i-has miko done something?” you asked worriedly.

“no, she’s wonderful, i was hoping we could have lunch as perhaps a date,” he said. despite having his face covered, you could see him obviously blushing.

kakashi hatake, a few years older than you, and while the children all gossiped amongst themselves, questioning how he looked. was his lips like a blimp, did he have buck teeth, was he completely hideous — you had seen his face, and he certainly was handsome. thinking back, you felt a wave of embarrassment, all the times he hinted at something more with you, and you easily brushed him off, redirecting the conversation to miko. no one would ever be able to match the love itachi had for you and miko, but after today, you were sure this was his sign that he was okay with you and miko finally moving on.

“i would love to,” you smiled, accepting his hand, as he pulled you up, walking you to the nearest ramen shop.

#naruto x reader #naruto #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha #uchiha x reader

249 notes · View notes

elizaleclerc · 2 months ago

Note

hi! hope you're having a good day, could i request charles dating a reader who doesnt have friends? or just feels lonely in general.. it can be shy if you're not comfortable writing that! just some comfort🥹🥹 thank you!

false god 💋

"and i can't talk to you when you're like this. staring out the window like i'm not your favorite town"

summary: gf!reader and charles get into an argument after ferrari underperforms again.

song: false god by taylor swift

author's note: wrote this bc i had that song stuck in my head oops. no warnings really- just a bit of manipulation if u squint a little. (ALSO HI IM BACK <3)

word count: 2.2k

They all warned you about times like these. The girlfriends of the other drivers looked at you with wary eyes. Most of them vowed to never date a Ferrari driver, but your connection with Charles was unlike any other that you had before. Never date a driver in red because they love that team more than they’ll ever love you, you’d been told before. You always responded with nervous smiles and shaky laughs, hoping that in reality the other girls you had come to know were just playing some sick joke. Like this was all some sort of initiation into the clique that was girlfriends of F1 drivers.

None of their words felt true when you were next to Charles, his hands on your waist or your head cradled into his neck. Nothing had actually felt more right. You brushed off the warnings from the other girls and chose to focus on the love between you and Charles. You never brought any of this up to him, completely unwilling to cause any unnecessary drama between the close knit group you found yourself in. All of these people have known each other for years, and you were the latest addition.

In July, with three race weekends back to back, Ferrari’s dominant streak would be tested. Red Bull and McLaren were powering ahead with upgrades and race pace, and it appeared that the powerful scarlet team was falling behind.

You noticed the tension in Charles’s face after a bad qualifying pace or another bad race result. The boundaries were being stretched. You observed how Charles would brush away your hand at dinner or neglect to kiss you goodnight before bed. The last two weeks had been hell for you, and in the back of your mind you wondered if there was some truth in what the girls had said months ago. Maybe these Ferrari men are just too much to handle after all.

Before the third and final race of the triple header, Carmen, girlfriend of Mercedes driver George Russel, pulled you aside to have a chat. “I know things have been hard for you and Charles.”

You furrowed your brows, “What?” You laughed nervously. You hadn’t mentioned anything about the tensions between you and Charles recently. The only way Carmen and the other girls would have found out is if Charles was feeling the same way and he told them himself.

“Not that I’ve heard anything, just- you know. Ferrari has been falling behind, everyone can see it. And I know Charles cares for you, but that man has loved Ferrari since he could walk. When they don’t do well- when he doesn’t do well- he’s bound to take that out on the people around him.” Carmen easily articulated her explanation, which made your mind swirl even more as the small smile finally fell from your face.

You sighed, becoming flustered with the whole situation, and the warm sun beaming down caused a sheen across your forehead. “I just don’t know what to do.” You were unsure if Carmen was someone you could fully trust, as you hadn’t exactly made any super close friendships with them. The past couple of months, your whole focus has been Charles.

“Just know that it isn’t your fault. Before I dated George I dated a Ferrari driver. Their passion for the team and the intensity in their competitiveness makes them unlike any of the others.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “What you have to do is really try to read his emotions and find that balance of giving him space and being there to comfort him. Stand by him when he needs it, and back off if it seems too tense.”

“That sounds kinda hard,” You broke into a small smile, overwhelmed with the new information you had gained.

Carmen grabbed your hand, “It’ll be okay. If I do know one thing, it’s that Charles is falling for you. Through thick and thin, I think you guys can make it.”

A small wave of relief washed over you, “Thanks, Carmen.” As long as someone had faith in your abilities to handle Charles, you didn’t feel so alone.

As most of the fans expected, the Austrian Grand Prix did not go well for Ferrari. Your heart sank when Charles finished outside of the points for the third weekend in a row. It would greatly hinder his ability to fight for the championship. He needed nothing short of a miracle to come back now.

You knew Charles had been dealing with the press for the last couple of hours, and you didn’t meet back up in the paddock with him until it was time for the two of you to leave to go back to Monaco for the next week.

You sat in the passenger seat of his car as he drove in silence for a few minutes, navigating his way out of the paddock. Once the two of you had made it onto the main road, you decided to read where his head was at.

“I’m sorry my love,” you comforted him and grabbed his free hand, giving it a light squeeze. He sneaked his hand out from your grasp, resting it on the steering wheel. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach sink.

“It’s just ridiculous, we can’t seem to get anything together.” He huffed in frustration, and you wondered if he even realized he had pushed your hand away.

“Despite the strategy issues, I thought you had a really good drive today.” Maybe a compliment would help?

He scoffed, “I could’ve been better. I made too many mistakes, regardless of how scrambled our strategy was.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. You thought it was best for him to ruminate and think things out the rest of the way home. You had the rest of the drive to the airport, and then the whole plane ride to see if he was feeling any better. When you had to speak, you avoided any mention or talk about the race, or more specifically Charles’s performance.

On the plane, you flew back with Lando and Oscar. Oscar had a fabulous race, and almost won it all. Lando on the other hand fought with Max the whole race and ended up with a DNF. So the plane ride was full of mixed conversation and feelings. Oscar was proud of his win and complimented the McLaren strategy, while Lando aired out his grievances for Max’s intense competitiveness. Charles chimed in regularly to tell them they should consider themselves lucky to not have to deal with the Ferrari pitwall.

Still, you stayed silent, letting the three of them talk things through. You sat next to Charles in your seat but kept to yourself, trying to read your book but really you were listening to the conversation around you. Not once did Charles take your hand or give you a small peck on your cheek. As it appeared to Lando and Oscar, you and Charles didn’t even look like a couple at all.

You began to feel that aching pang of loneliness that you were so familiar with before you had met Charles. The feeling of having no one to speak to in a crowded room. You hated to appear shy and reserved, but didn’t want to push yourself to be outgoing. You had been dating Charles long enough that he knew one of your love languages was physical touch. You loved nothing more than small moments of affection, but in the past few weeks it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you.

Charles opened the door to his apartment in Monaco, the moonlight being the only thing that shone on the furniture and pictures hanging on the walls. He languidly flicked on a couple of lamps, adorning the living room with a warm glow.

“You’ve been quiet.” He stated plainly, moving to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of water.

You took a moment to respond, “Well there’s not really much for me to say.”

Charles turned from the fridge to face you, and looked at your face, seeming to analyze the tone of your words. After he took a sip of his water he asked, “Are you alright?”

You laugh nervously, “I’ve been better.”

He furrowed his brows, “What’s the matter?”

“Cmon, Charles. You can’t be serious.” You knew you were treading dangerous waters, but this conversation was long overdue, and after the exhausting plane ride you felt yourself boiling over.

He looked back at you expectantly, not knowing what you were getting at.

“You haven’t noticed the way things have changed between us in the last three weeks? You haven’t noticed that when Ferrari starts struggling you push me aside?” Your voice was steady, but it shook slightly in a mix of nerves and frustration. In all the times you’ve let Charles air out his frustrations, you’ve held all of yours in.

His lips parted and you knew he was shocked but mostly confused. All of your questions were rhetorical, of course he hadn’t noticed. “You never hold my hand, you’ve stopped introducing me to your friends. I feel like the past few weeks I’ve only been someone for you to fuck to let your anger out.” You were really letting it out now, the words flowing out of you like they could no longer be contained.

“That’s not true.” He persisted, walking out from behind the counter into the living room where you stood.

Tears pricked up in your eyes, “It doesn’t matter if it isn’t true, it’s what I feel.” You brought your hand to rest on your chest.

“Listen, you know I’m happy with what we have, I don’t want to change anything about it. But you know my career is important too. My loyalty to this team is important.” He tried to explain himself, but you ruffled your fingers through your hair in exasperation.

“I fucking knew it, they were right.” You mumbled to yourself, now pacing.

“Who was right?” Charles pressed.

“The other girls!” You raised your voice, “As soon as we got together and you were bringing me around the paddock, they warned me. They told me to never date a Ferrari driver. That you’ll always love that damn team more than you’ll love me. They said it so. many. times. And then Carmen told me yesterday that she knew we’ve been having problems and that the more Ferrari struggled the worse you would get.”

Tears fell down your cheeks as you continued, “I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve said all the right things, held your hand when you’re mad, tried to compliment you to make you feel better about yourself. None of that worked, you would still barely look at me.” Your breathing was heavy and your voice had become raspy with tears.

Charles moved closer to you, grabbing your trembling hands, “Come on, breathe my love.” You took a deep breath as he moved one of his hands to wipe away your tears. “I’ve never said anything to the other girls about us, I don’t know why they said those things to you.”

“But- the way you’ve been acting-” you sniffled, looking into his eyes that were filled with such care. You hadn’t seen that look in what felt like forever.

“I know, it’s been tough for me lately. I’ll take full responsibility for not treating you properly. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He gave your hand a slight squeeze, waiting a few moments before speaking again. “I do love this team, and I will push to be the best driver I can possibly be, but…” he swallowed, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for you. You are becoming more and more important to me by the minute, and I’d quit racing today if you asked me to.”

You let out a dry laugh, “You don’t mean that.”

“Every word.”

You were quiet, just looking in his eyes. You could tell he really did mean it. This thing between you and Charles was becoming more serious as the days passed. You knew that you were falling for him too, which is what made these past few weeks all the more confusing.

“If I could give you any more assurance, it’s that racing- this career- will never ever be a priority over you.” He leaned in to place a light kiss on your temple.

“I just hate to see you struggling like you have been. I like it when you’re all happy.” You curled your lips into a small smile, and he grinned back.

He shook his head slowly, “Trust me, I know.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest. His lips kissed the top of your head, and everything felt right in the world again.

You pulled away, locking eyes with him. “It gets lonely sometimes, in the paddock. I feel like I’ve failed to make any genuine friends.”

He planted another kiss on your forehead, “Well, you could always keep to yourself. Be above any drama and gossip. You’d surely be the coolest one there. Then, when it’s all said and done, we have each other.”

You giggled into his kiss on your lips. Maybe you could eventually trust the other girls eventually, but their cold welcome to you was definitely unappreciated. But you had Charles, and more importantly, you trusted Charles. And you knew that bond wasn’t going away anytime soon.

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc

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themotherofblood · 7 months ago

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put it on me | d.t x reader x r.t | vampire au | bloody baby au

an: heyyy ya’ll missed me? had a tove lo song stuck in my head it’s talking body.

synopsis: baby knows she has been made to forget, she knows they are pretending to, everything is alright but is it?

warning: overconsumption of alcohol, compelling, argument.

You were dead sure something was off, like visually not a hair out of place but you just knew, like a nagging intuition burning holes into your stomach. Though it could have been the last shot oqf tequila you took.

They let you off the fucking island, it made no sense. What four months of playing a captured princess and out of nowhere “Go birdie go fly and be free.” something was off it was sour milk in your mouth. One could even say it was because you were touch deprived, but the more shocking detail to take note of was the lack of puncture marks in your body. This wasn’t some insecurity bullshit again, this was them hovering over you from the balconies watching you dance with you friends and not lifting a finger to feel you up.

Absurd isn't it?

Something happened, you can only feel it in your dreams, something deeply wrong— something that you were not supposed to see but you hadn't been compelled, at least you think you weren’t. You simply woke up in their bed three weeks and they’ve pretended like you would break from a single touch, and they watch you—constantly. When you eat, when you read on the lawn and sometimes you could swear they watch you sleep.

This uneasiness was tearing at you, were they done with you? Their own martial relations seemed to be a little too close, they always were but you never felt left out but now you did, you felt nervous even to walk up to Rhaenyra for a hug in the morning. And now this.

A taste of caged freedom. Freedom.

Who knew you'd grow so fond of the cage that housed you, a golden stone castle far from any life you’ve ever seen? Yet here you were now, at a cheap club your friends and you had graced every weekend after working on your thesis to chug fireballs and vodka.

Freedom? That's what the wanted you to feel, to help you transition back to your mortal life. Well then, a taste of it should have been fair for all. So you didn't hesitate after pulling another bill from your bra and ordering another round for your girlfriends. You loved them, you missed them, but right now your sense of celebration wasn't for them. As the bitter liquid burned at your throat, you shot daggers at the balconies again and disappeared into the crowd.

Deep in the sea of sweaty bodies jumping with no care in the world, thick into where the intentions of every one were similar, “We’re free game” You didn't care who touched you, just as way before when you didn't. You never know the person, hell you couldn't even make out their face from the lights but you felt the hands, the grinding.

It did feel freeing, compelled or not, you could do it— slip further into the crowd and just slip out of this dingy club. Disappear with the money and ID tucked into the lining of your bra, they won't find you. Strom City was far too vast to find a little scorned soul nearing the bottom of the bottle. You closed your eyes and just felt the music and the alcohol making you feel weightless, you lifted your hands into your hair to cook the back of your neck as you continued to sway, a stranger’s beer can pressed to the back of it. You smiled at your friends dancing, reaching for the coolers in one of their hands and took a big swig. You could feel the bile at the back of your throat, but you knew you'd been fine if you just kept dancing.

You could still feel hands on you and yet no faces, it wasn't until you turned that you could finally register faces— or well a face.

Daemon stood still amongst the dancing crowd, arms crossed and neck just slightly titled. Silently questioning as to the fuck were you up to.

You didn't stop, looking right at him you kept dancing when the beat dropped stealing the last of your friend’s drink. Hips swaying and still holding your wild hair so you don't overheat, you knew you were playing with fire. What's the worst that could happen? They’d drain you of all blood until there was no life left in you? You’d come to terms with that possibility months ago.

You could feel him nearing, shrugging off the mortal bodies coming in contact with him. You could hear your friends giggling as she reached for your hand and yanked you through the crowd.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” Daemon said, looking very visually irked as he sat comfortably on the hotel couch.

Rhaenyra had barely anything to say but she was angry, you could see it. A conflicted hurt. The rules were clear, they were crystal and you'd broken them.

You scoffed sipping on the glass of water you were forced to drink as you leaned against the bathroom door, still heeled and dizzy. You couldn't digest their discontent when they were ones playing games with you.

“We have very simple rule-”

“Oh fuck your rules!” you cut him off

“It's just bodies isn't it,” you said holding in a hiccup “We are just bodies.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth but you raised your finger to stop her, stumbling of the bathroom door and walking to the middle of the room.

“How many? How many girls? How many men? I mean fuck!” you shook your head stumbling a bit.

They entertained your outburst, usually you were so placated that this was beyond the unusual.

“Don't you see, you've lived the two of you have each other, have been married for like a forever long time, and me. I'm twenty— human years mortal, simple-bodied.” you tap your head to see if they saw your point.

“I have barely loved, and now that I do—” you hiccup blinking your drunk tears away “its with two blood-sucking—” you stopped yourself laughing.

“I’m just a body to you that you use for fun.” you laugh, mascara tears coating your face.

Rhaenyra finally speaks “that is not true.”

You scoff once more, this time breaking the glass of water you'd been drinking against the bedstand “Turn me then.”

Daemon turned his face, looking out the window and Rhaenyra now stood shaking her head at you.

You could feel the glass imbedded into your palm, you raised the broken shard at her— lil quivering. “Turn me.”

“Turn me.” it sounds like a pathetic prayer.

This time Daemon turned to you, eyes narrowed staring at your bleeding palm, he looked at his wife. He knew this would have come to this conclusion, it always does.

You knew you’d die soon, whether it was to come back as one of them or dead for good. You’d made your peace with it a week before, pouring your heart out in the pages of your journal. Though what were you expecting, that the sex with you was that good that they’d have you around for a life time.

You served one purpose for them, to be their walking blood bag, a toy for them to use and dress as they pleased.

“Turn me.” you said once more.

This time Daemon pushed off the couch, he was in front of you within a blink of an eye, nostrils flared as he grabbed the back of your hair and yanked it back.

“You want to sell your soul that bad? You’d break even before it began sweet girl. The pain of the turn, but sure since you want it that bad.” he bit into the back of his hand and pressed it to your mouth.

The taste of bitter copper filled your mouth, it was true human blood tasted far sweeter, and you’d tasted it on their lips countless times. Your own blood.

“Daemon stop.” Rhaenyra said this time, approaching her husband.

He did not budge, still staring your soul down as he pulled the glass shard from your hand. He didn't hesitate to press it against your carotid artery, the faintest if pressure and he’d dig in. You bleed out and either come out as one of them or a feral— a demon of sorts. They wouldn't take that risk but Daemon was so done for it.

He knew the truth of what he’d compelled away from you, the attack, the threat that somebody was after them— he feared not for him or Rhaenyra but if they found you. He had thought of turning you a thousand times over, and so had Rhaenyra, though the possibility that you may not make the other side. Not many survive the pain, not many come out looking like their mortal bodies but mangled creatures from hell.

However Daemon had snapped, he grew irked from having to hide the truth, from having to pull away. True he had Rhaenyra to come to with his ails but she would sway him otherwise. Rhaenyra battled the guilt of nearly killing you for days, she still does and cannot touch you without remembering her teeth digging into your flesh. You may not remember it, but she had torn you within an inch of your life.

“Daemon we have to let her go.” Rhaenyra urged.

This time your eyes snapped to her and then back to Daemon.

“No turn me.” you urged, this time pushing yourself against the shard of glass “turn me.”

Daemon threw the shard away, shaking his head as he held your shoulders.

“No no, you're not leaving me.” the panic set into your body, death would have been easier. “Just turn me, I can do it.” you hiccuped.

Rhaenyra this time finally touched you, pulling you closer and embracing you, your senses were completely engulfed by her. The way she smelled, her touch, her hair.

You kept mumbling “no” incoherently as she sat you down on the bed.

Her eyes dilated as she shushed you, you looked at Daemon, his stern expression held pain to it if you looked close enough. He leaned against a wall. He knew Rhaenyra had to be the one to do this.

You felt no pain as Rhaenyra pulled the small pieces of glass from your hand, they were already healing because of Daemon’s blood.

“I’m so sorry my love,” she kissed your palms as she sat them back down onto your lap. “It isn't safe anymore.”

“Please don't,” you pouted, more tears flowing down your cheeks. “Don’t leave.”

“You were away on a vacation in the Summer. Isles, you needed a break. You won't remember us, anything about the past six months, it will be as though time stopped and brought you back to reality.” Rhaenyra whispered, kissing your forehead.

“Please.” you cried.

“The pain you feel now will be gone, we will be gone.” her eyes dilated one more as she shuffled your body back into the bed. “Go to sleep.”

Okie and that's a wrap!! I had so much fun writing this chapter, kinda poured my own breakup pain into it. Either way, I can't wait to start writing more!!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra #daemon Targaryen x reader x rhaenyra Targaryen #daemyra vampir au #vampire!rhaenyra #daemyra vampire au #vampire!daemon #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd fandom #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra x daemon #rhaenyra targeryan

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justsomerandomfanfic · 10 months ago

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Whale Song - Orm Marius X Female Reader

Title: Whale Song

Orm Marius X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Clark (Mentioned), Bruce (Mentioned), Arthur, Damian (Mentioned), Orm's father (Mentioned), and the Justice League (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 5,189

Warnings: Somewhat enemies to lovers, mild cursing, movie canon violence briefly mentioned, post-Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, during post-credits, italics used, book reference, banter, flirting, teasing, mentioned prejudice, slight angst, and fluff

You were upset. No, more than upset, pissed off. Annoyed. Furious. Normally you would get calls from Clark or Bruce, but never Arthur Curry - Aquaman. As his hologram figure shot out of your watch, you immediately frowned. Only having recently joined the Justice League, Arthur was known for causing a bit of trouble. You were both very different from each other. You were one for talking to people, and he liked using his fists.

But when Arthur called you, it normally meant that he wanted something, needed you to do something for him while he was stuck down in the ocean doing his Kingly duties. All high and mighty. Well, you were fed up. The last time he asked you for something, you were pulled into a small battle, and you owed him twenty bucks - you weren't one to bet, but against Arthur, it was hard to not take part. You loved to see his face when he lost. And he lost most of the time.

But you knew that you were a pretty sensible person to go to when anyone needed anything. You were bright and always mindful. You were brilliant, having gone to Harvard before moving to the big city - Metropolis.

It wasn't long after you found yourself in the company of the world's strongest heroes. With your intellect and specific set of skills, both Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne thought you could be an invaluable member of the Justice League. Though, instead of fighting on the front lines, you would offer advice and wisdom when needed - along with helping the team with the tech that you created.

So, it didn't come as a surprise when Arthur called you on your 'Super Watch' as you called it, when you made it for you and the team. He came to you when he needed advice, which was a lot. If it had been anyone else, you would've been more than willing to help. But it was Arthur. However, you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I need to cash in that favor." He said. There was no greeting - no pleasantries. Just straight to business. Like he usually did when he needed something.

You rolled your eyes. If only you hadn't asked him to take you to see a Humpback Whale - him with his Kingly Atlantis powers. It had always been a dream of yours, and why wouldn't you take a chance to experience something new and amazing like that? During the time, in awe of the giant Humpback before you, asking for that favor was totally worth it.

However, at the moment, you didn't want to know what he wanted. There were so many things that he could possibly want. But, it was the weekend. Saturday. Not the day for you to play babysitter for some superpowered superhero. You already had to watch over Damian Wayne. You loved the kid, but you didn’t really think babysitting was your thing. "What do you want?" You asked, not bothering to mask the impatience in your voice. "I have a book I need to get to..."

"I need you to watch over somebody for me." He answered, seemingly aware of your impatience as he continued with a small grin on his face, "I believe that you heard that my brother has joined the surface world. He'll be needing some help adjusting and I think you-"

"Oh, no, no, no," You interrupted, shaking your head as you glared daggers at the hologram before you, "I am not babysitting your murderous brother." You ran a hand through your hair, "Do you know how much damage control I had to do when he tried to kill us surface-dwellers? It took me weeks to fix all that he did - with little help by the way!" You pointed an accusatory finger at him, "I already have a tough time babysitting the supers, I am not babysitting him too."

He sighed heavily. "Look, I know that this is a bit of a big favor-"

You scoffed, "A bit?"

"And I understand that being around new people is not exactly fun for you-"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes again, "Not just that, Art, I am not like you and the other supers. If your brother tries anything, I won't be able to stop him."

"He won't try anything," Arthur grinned, "He's changed, dude. He's not the same as he was over a year ago."

You nodded, taking another glance at the sky outside your window. "That's good if what you say is true." You agreed hesitantly. "If I am going to do this, and if," You emphasized, letting out a deep breath, "How am I going to find him in the first place? I don't know what he looks like or even where he is. On top of that, I don't even know what his name is."

Arthur gave a small nod. "His name is Orm. I believe he is residing in Metropolis at the moment. For the past couple of weeks, he's been going from city to city, with what little Atlantean money he has left on him. I'll send you a description of his appearance. That'll help, but I think you'll know it's him when you see him."

"Really?" You asked, resting your hand on your hip, "I'll know?" But, Arthur said nothing, only giving you that 'know-it-all' look before hanging up the hologram call.

Huffing, you dropped your hands, only to raise them to your face and rub your cheeks; overall pretty annoyed. Freezing, you cursed at yourself, forgetting to ask how long you'll be watching over this Orm.

~~~

Sitting on a small bench, you adjusted your open book, glancing down at the pages. But, instead of reading about a boy and his little sister who fell down a laundry chute and into a strange underground world, you let your eyes wander across the sheet of printer paper that you placed in between the pages. Hiding the fact that you were looking for someone by pretending to read. Your eyes scanned around the page slowly, trying to memorize what Arthur gave you. How could you possibly find this man? Especially with what Arthur had given you to help you find him? Metropolis was huge!

Looking up, your eyes quickly settled on someone in front of you at an outside restaurant, there was a man; tall - seemingly - and blonde; eating a burger. Immediately as your eyes landed on him, you knew. Arthur was right. This was definitely him.

You suddenly stood, shutting your hardcover book with a snap before walking across the street. Your eyes again locked onto his frame, watching as he continued to chow down on the large burger in his hands. It confused and unnerved you, but the closer you were getting to the man, the more your heart began to race. And it may or may not have been because you thought this Orm was rather attractive. Arthur's family had some good ass genes.

Before you could even figure out what you were supposed to say, you took a seat across from him; the metal of the chair's legs scraping against the concrete ground sharply. The younger Atlantean prince paused his chewing, his crystal blue eyes staring at you with confusion and obvious caution. You understood that if anyone sat before you while you were trying to enjoy your lunch, you probably would've reacted the same way.

"Hello," You began, immediately inwardly cringing at how awkward your own voice sounded, "Um, I'm Y/N." You watched as he continued chewing, though slowly, his eyes continuing to look over you; still wary. "I'm friends with your brother. He asked me to help you, uh, get used to the surface."

At that, Orm huffed, setting down his burger; annoyed. "I do not need any help." He spoke, his voice firm, but smooth; a shiver ran down your spine. “How did you find me?” Without another word, you pulled the paper from Arthur out of the book, showing it to him. Orm’s eyes widened before narrowing, “Is that supposed to portray me?” He asked, gesturing to the crude drawing of himself - drawn by none other than Arthur himself - you could tell that Orm was not fond of the portrayal at all.

You gave him a deadpanned look, mentally finding this whole interaction very funny - funnily enough. But, you still had work to do. "Listen, I don't really want to do this either. I'd rather be at home reading. But, I owe him a favor and I'm a woman of my word. I understand that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but you are technically a fish out of water in this situation. There are going to be things here on the surface that you won't be able to navigate." You let out a breath, rubbing your temple with two fingers, "So please, let me at least help you with a few things that are mandatory for those that live on land."

After a few moments of silence, Orm squared his jaw as he rubbed his hands clean of the burger's grease with a napkin. The silence between the both of you was unnerving and tense, but you fought through it, not wanting to back down. Even though you were rather annoyed by this whole fiasco, you were a good person, and you weren't about to let a guy with an attitude ruin things for himself just because of his pride or whatever.

"Fine." He grumbled finally, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "What must I do then?

"Well," You began, gesturing to the side of his burger where you saw a pair of bug legs sticking out, "We have a lot to cover."

~~~

For the next couple of weeks, you began teaching Orm about the surface world, though he was rather hesitant to follow your instructions. In the beginning, he complained and made small comments here or there, but Orm seemed to have noticed your no-nonsense nature. He didn't complain anymore after another firm talking-to, and you found out afterwards that he was a rather fast learner. He had no consistent place to live, moving from hotel to hotel, you knew he could only do that for so long; plus you knew from experience that some hotels were less than ideal to stay in, especially ones that were located near the center of the city.

Therefore, you decided that Orm staying in one of your homes, near the shore in California, was a more ideal option for him. And if you were being honest with yourself, you were beginning to enjoy the youngest Atlantean prince's company; far more than Arthur's, that was for sure.

During the time that Orm has been staying in your humble abode, you made sure to keep him up with the latest tech, which was far different than in Atlantis, you were sure. From the toaster, blender, microwave, and even computer, you made sure that Orm had at least some, if not all, basic knowledge on the appliances around the house. As said before, Orm was an incredibly quick learner, having mastered most of everything within a matter of days.

However, what you did not expect was for you to begin to like him.

~~~

It had been a long night. You were sending email after email to some of your closest contacts and employees, making sure that they were keeping your empire afloat all the while you were on your "vacation" away from Metropolis. Some of your employees tried to get you to enjoy your so-called vacation, but it was hard to just not check up on how things were doing.

It was well past midnight, reading and re-reading past emails, and checking your phone every now and then, waiting for the familiar notification sound to go off signaling a new text message to come through. You frowned as you set your phone down on the desk beside your computer, letting out a sigh. You leaned your elbows on the table, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, tired and absolutely exhausted.

Standing up, you shut your laptop and headed to the kitchen, quickly making yourself a small cup of tea; praying that it would hopefully help you go to sleep. You silently wandered around your seaside home, faintly hearing the ocean waves crash upon the shore. Taking a small sip of your tea, you hummed as it warmed your throat before pushing the back door open and stepping outside.

The warm breeze made you smile, as did the smell of the salty ocean a couple hundred feet away from you. It was hard to see it, but you could see the moon reflecting off the waves. Resting your forearms against the wooden railing of the porch, you occasionally sipped your tea while enjoying the quiet.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The smooth, yet low voice asked, startling you slightly.

Raising a hand to your chest, you let out a deep breath as you swiftly turned to see Orm standing a foot or so behind you; arms clasped behind him. His eyes never met yours, the deep blues staring right back at the raging waves.

"Of course." You replied softly, as he did, turning to look back at the ocean in question, "It always is."

Orm wandered over, taking the spot next to you before speaking, "Do you enjoy the ocean?" He asked, his question surprising you slightly, but you didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes." You replied, "Ever since I was a kid." Taking a sip of your tea, you swallowed before continuing, "I always lived in the city. I hardly got to see the ocean, we- my family rarely went to the beach. But that never stopped me from loving it." You shuffled one of your feet, the soul of your slipper slipping against the white wood. Looking up, you finally made eye contact with him, "What about you? I mean, you lived in the ocean most of your life, what's it like?" You asked, your curiosity clear in your tone.

He looked at you, his sharp eyes almost glowing from the moon's rays in the darkness of the night. "It is wonderful." He replied simply, looking back out towards the sea once more. "But, I cannot really describe it; it is not something one can explain simply." You gave a nod, as he shifted uncomfortably in his stance. "You had spoken that helping me acclimate to the surface was a favor owed to Arthur, correct?"

You nodded once more, "Yes, it was," You began, glancing over at him only to see that Orm was already looking at you, "Though, to be perfectly honest, his favor was much bigger than mine was." You chuckled lightly, scratching the back of your neck as you stared into his blue eyes.

He tilted his head curiously, "Is that so?" He questioned,

"Well, yes-" You bit your lip, shifting in your position as you glanced back at the horizon, "I just asked to see a whale."

At that, Orm raised an eyebrow, "A whale?"

You hummed in confirmation, "Yep, I just wanted to see a whale. I really like whales. And sharks. But I like whales the most. They sleep upright which is super cool. They are just so fascinating." You gushed, a bright smile slowly spreading onto your face before you cleared your throat, "I mean, you must’ve noticed. I have like ten paintings of whales in there." You finished, gesturing back at the house with a nod of your head, feeling a bit embarrassed by your small rant. Meeting Orm’s gaze once again, you swore that you saw a small smile on his face, but before you could fully confirm it with yourself, he hummed before looking back at the ocean.

"Was it all that you hoped?" He then asked.

"Yeah, definitely. When I was available, he took me to Maine and used his ocean magic to summon a Humpback Whale." The memory of seeing that whale made your chest swell with pride. You smiled as you watched the waves ripple gently across the sand. "When it breached the water, I felt as if I took my first breath. It was the nicest thing Arthur has done for me."

Orm felt a pang in his chest, a wave of jealousy washing over him, making him shift in his stance, his grip on his hand behind his back tightening. For the past month or so, Orm had grown accustomed to being around you, and he had found himself liking you quite a bit despite how much he disliked humans. It wasn't something he'd admit to anyone else aside from himself, but you managed to make him feel a little better, more relaxed, even. And, he actually enjoyed spending time with you. "Does Arthur do nice things for you usually?" Orm inquired, attempting to push down his jealousy.

You shook your head, "Nope, never." You laughed lightly, before placing both hands on the railing, leaning forward slightly, "He usually likes to tease me, you know, joke around. I find him annoying most of the time." You admitted, "But, I should thank him next time I see him in person." You yawned, grabbing your empty cup from the wooden railing with one hand as Orm turned to look at you properly.

"Thank him?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing together ever so slightly as you paused at the back door, your back facing him.

"Yeah." You responded softly, shrugging one shoulder, "If he didn't ask me to help you, I never would've met you." There was silence between the two of you for a few moments until you turned your head to look back over at him, meeting those same deep blue eyes that seemed to stare right into your very soul. You took the moment to let your eyes travel over his handsome features: the light stubble along his jawline, his blonde hair combed perfectly, the softness of his skin, and his lips. You could have stayed longer looking at him, staring at the man who unknowingly caused so much pain in your heart, but you could not allow yourself to continue. Instead, you quickly averted your eyes, clearing your throat awkwardly, "I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight, Orm." You said before ducking back inside.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Orm muttered, his voice low as he stared at the back door, where your figure had disappeared into, his blue eyes lingering on the door for a moment before he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. It wasn't long until he looked back at the crashing ocean, his eyebrows furrowed.

When Orm found himself living with you at your beach house, he did his best to keep his distance, avoiding you as much as he could when you weren't trying to teach him the ways of the surface-dwellers. His stubbornness was also partly due to the fact that he was brought up in such a way to hate surface-dwellers; to despise them as a whole, and everything they stood for. But, even still, he couldn't bring himself to truly dislike you. Despite the nagging of his father's words echoing in his mind whenever he was close to you. He felt... something towards you. Something different; something new.

~~~

The next morning, you were up bright and early, heading downstairs to grab yourself a cup of coffee. Humming a soft, upbeat tune, you shimmied around the kitchen as you poured yourself some coffee; adding cream and sugar.

Glancing around the kitchen, and tilting your body to the side to peer into the dining room, your humming came to a stop. Usually, at the time that you came down for coffee, Orm had already figured out how to make his breakfast. Which usually consisted of eggs, bacon, and tea.

Frowning, you furrowed your eyebrows, glancing at the clock on the wall before finishing up stirring your tea. Grabbing the warm mug into your dominant hand, you pulled the edges of your cardigan closer around you; the mornings were always so chilly, being so close to the ocean and all.

Stepping out onto the back porch, you paused. There was Orm, leaning against the wooden beam of your railing - just as he did the night before. He was dressed for the day, in the Surface-Dweller attire you helped him buy. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that he wasn't from the surface world, he fit in so perfectly. His forearms were resting against the railing, slightly bent at the hip, his stormy blue eyes staring off into the crashing waves of the ocean only a couple of mere hundred feet in front of him. You leaned against the doorframe, worrying on your bottom lip. He must have missed his home - Atlantis - you knew that he did. You couldn’t imagine leaving your home, being forced to never return, in fear of imprisonment or even death. Even though you and Orm had a pretty rough beginning, your heart broke for him.

Your mind raced with possible ideas of how to try and cheer him up, your eyes flickering down at the wooden porch floorboard, spotting bits of sand sprinkled around here and there from your many adventures from the shore. You allowed your gaze to flicker back to the Atlantean man, studying the contours of the side of his face closely, taking in every detail. His brows furrowed tightly together, his lips slightly pursed in deep thought. He was so... Beautiful. Especially as the morning sun filtered into his hair, shining upon the blonde strands, causing them to appear almost white.

You blinked for a moment, shaking your head slightly as you focused back on trying to come up with an idea to cheer the man up. And then, it hit you. A surge of excitement rushed through you, making your skin buzz slightly at just the idea. Making yourself known, you walked over, taking your place beside him as he had done last night for you.

"Hey," You spoke up softly, setting your mug down on the railing, your fingers curling around the ceramic; warming them. "Good morning."

Orm turned his head, his gaze landing on yours before he returned his attention to the ocean, "Good morning."

You sighed, turning your gaze to stare at the ocean yourself, shuffling one of your socked feet against the wooden floorboards. "Have you eaten?" You breathed out, raising your cup to take a sip.

"Yes," Orm muttered, glancing at you briefly, "And you?"

You shook your head slightly, taking another sip, "No," You spoke against the rim of your mug, "I have not yet." You suddenly felt nervous, as the words that you had wished to say slithered on the tip of your tongue. "I was wondering if you'd like to go on an adventure with me?" You asked, turning your head to look back up at him, his eyes meeting yours.

"An adventure?" He repeated, raising a single eyebrow.

You nodded, unable to stop a smile from spreading on your face, "Yeah, well, I was thinking, you've been cooped up in this house for far too long." You placed your mug aside, turning your body to face him, your eyes bright. "So..." You trailed off, tilting your head to the side a bit - trying to read him, he seemed curious. "What'd ya say?"

"Where is it that you would like to take me?" He asked then, sounding curious and yet, hesitant.

"It's a surprise." You answered quickly - your excitement obvious - before grabbing your mug and speeding back inside. Pausing at the door, you braced your hand against the doorframe, looking back over at him. "You'll love it. I swear."

~~~

"May I open my eyes now?" Orm asked as you helped him out of your car, his hand covering his eyes, as you had asked him to do. From stepping out of the car, Orm could feel the difference in the air; it was warmer out, and he could still smell the salt of the ocean. And yet, he had no idea where you were taking him.

"No yet," Orm felt you take his other unoccupied arm, your two hands intertwining as you led him away from your parked car towards what he assumed was the entrance of something.

Orm hummed, the hand over his eyes twitching slightly from the urge to just look, "You are not leading me to my death, are you?" He asked, his tone laced with amusement.

"Hmm, no." You played along as you pulled open one of the double doors, leading him inside, "I wouldn't have you stay with me, for almost four months, just to take you to some secondary location to kill you." Your words made Orm chuckle as you began to drag him further into whatever mysterious place you had taken him to.

As Orm followed blindly beside you, he tried to tighten his hearing, seeing if he could pick up anything around him. For the most part, he didn't hear any signs that anyone else might be around. As far as he could tell, it was only the two of you. He couldn't help but wonder, why the sudden trip? With a gentle tug, he felt you come to a stop, one of your hands dropping from his arm.

"Okay," You breathed out, "You can look now." Dropping his hand, Orm blinked his eyes rapidly, before they widened. So... This was where you were taking him. An aquarium. The water from the aquarium tunnel reflected on the walls in a kaleidoscope effect, tinting in stunning blues and greens. Fish, some sharks, and even a few stingrays of all species swam about everywhere. The underwater tunnel gave off a soothing atmosphere, as if the water itself was saying; 'Welcome.' His eyes followed the graceful movements of the sea creatures above, his ocean-blue eyes flickering from fish to fish, his lips parted slightly. You broke your gaze from the tunnel, turning to look up at Orm, your smile slowly dropping as you took notice of the expression on his face. It was hard to decipher it, your mind beginning to overwhelm you with 'what ifs' and terrible doubts. "Do you not like it?" You asked softly, your voice filled with uncertainty. Orm swallowed hard, but you continued, "I mean, of course, you might hate it." You began to ramble, running a hand through your hair, looking anywhere else but at him, "I mean, this is technically like a prison for fish. But, I assure you, I practically built this aquarium - all the fish have all the food they could possibly want, all the space-" Orm looked down at you, watching as you continued to stumble over your words, “I know you must have been feeling homesick, and I know you can't really go into the ocean, so I thought that you might like it here-”

“Y/N.” He finally spoke, interrupting your rant, “Thank you.” The words seemed to have easily slid off his tongue, his eyes softening as you stared up at him with those eyes of yours.

“So, I haven't upset you?” You asked, pulling your bottom lip under your teeth once more.

Orm shook his head, reaching up with his hand, his thumb gently brushed against your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth, freeing it; you felt your cheeks heat at the touch, your eyes fluttering momentarily as the warmth of his finger pressed against your bottom lip. “You have not upset me.” Orm tried to reassure you, giving you that smile of his that made your heart flutter. “In fact, this must be the best surprise I have ever received.”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up, your smile growing, and at Orm's nod, you sighed, “Wow…” Turning back to look at the fish swimming in the large aquarium glass around you, you spoke once more. “Beautiful, isn't it?” You mimicked his own words from two days prior.

"Yes," Orm muttered, "Very beautiful…”

Looking up at him, you were surprised to find Orm already looking down at you. You felt your breath hitch, again, unable to look away as his eyes bore down into yours with such intensity. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, a faint crease appearing on his forehead. The air around you grew thick, and it wasn't until Orm reached out, cupping your cheek with one hand, that you finally realized just how much closer your faces were than usual. And yet, you did nothing to pull back. Instead, you simply held your breath, your gaze locked onto his, as his thumb ran along your cheek, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair slightly, drawing you closer to him.

His brows furrowed deeper, his eyes darkening slightly as he gazed down at you. His lips parted slightly, a breath leaving him, before he leaned forward; his lips barely brushing against yours. Slowly, hesitantly, he closed the distance between the two of you. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand slid down from your cheek to cradle your neck, keeping you close. Your arms wrapped around his middle, your fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his sweater - you never wanted this moment to end.

The kiss lasted mere moments before you both pulled apart, unable to stop yourselves from smiling at each other. Orm felt an immense sense of happiness overtake him as his blue eyes met yours, his cheeks tinted a soft pink. "Arthur was right," He said - mentally hating the words that seemed to slip so easily from his lips - his hand moved to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing across the shell of your ear.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, raising one hand to press his palm into your cheek, "Arthur was right about what?" You narrowed your eyes playfully, "He's hardly right about anything."

Orm let out a deep sigh, silently agreeing with you, "The surface world is not as terrible as I always believed and was told." He smiled down at you, his hand falling from your cheek to take your hand in his, "You have proven that. As well as Arthur.” You tilted your head to the side lightly, letting out another laugh before shaking your head; Orm's smile quickly turned into a small, anxious frown, "Don't tell Arthur I said that."

"I won't." You promised, your eyes crinkling as you laughed out your words, "He wouldn't shut up about it if I did." Orm chuckled as he nodded his head as you interlaced your fingers with his, "So..." You trailed off, "Do you want to see the rest of the aquarium? I rented it out for the next two hours. So, we got the whole place to ourselves." You waved your free hand in the air, gesturing to the long empty tunnel that led the way to the rest of the aquarium.

"Lead the way." Orm smiled, squeezing your hand in his own gently as he allowed himself to be guided by you; he would follow you wherever you went.

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