#when you try to trace the rumor back to the source and you're the source

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (15k words)

Author's note: Hold on tight. It's going to be a bumpy ride. Anyway, hope you enjoy it & pls leave a feedback ♡

Are We Getting a Bang Theory Reunion? Fans Think So—And There's More Than One Reason Why April 28, 2025 – By MusicByte Staff The internet is once again buzzing with rumors of a possible Bang Theory reunion—this time with more fuel than ever before. Despite no official statements from the band or their management, eagle-eyed fans have been piecing together clues over the past few weeks that point to something big possibly brewing. From cryptic posts on social media to mysterious studio visits, it seems like the iconic '90s rock band might be gearing up for a return. But it's not just the music that's catching fans' attention. Over the weekend, a fan posted a grainy photo of frontman Chris Bang having what appears to be a quiet dinner with his ex-wife—who also happens to be the longtime muse of some of Bang Theory’s most beloved songs. The photo, reportedly taken at a low-key restaurant downtown, quickly spread online, sparking speculation about more than just music. "I was walking past and did a double take—they looked really cozy," the fan wrote in a now-viral tweet. "Didn’t want to interrupt but I couldn’t believe it." Naturally, the sighting has stirred rumors that the former couple might be rekindling their relationship—a narrative that fans of both the band and the pair have never quite let go of. While some believe it could be personal, others think their reunion might be tied to the band's rumored comeback. “What if they’re writing again? Together?” one Redditor theorized. “She was the heart of so many of those lyrics. A reunion wouldn’t feel right without her influence.” Sources close to the situation have remained tight-lipped. When asked for comment, Bang’s management only replied, “Chris is focused on his creative projects. There are no updates at this time.” Still, fans are convinced something is happening—and if it involves both a band reunion and a romantic rekindling, it's bound to shake the industry. Until then, it’s all whispers and what-ifs. But if Bang Theory really is coming back, they might just bring the heart of their sound—and story—back with them.

-

The storm rolls in quickly, heavy and sudden. Rain lashes against the windows, wind howling through the trees, thunder rumbling low like the growl of something ancient. The house shudders with every crash of lightning.

But your heart, you believe your heart is beating louder than the cracks of thunder as you feel Chris’s hand roaming everywhere— over your shoulders, down your back, squeezing at your waist and hips like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you with his palms. His touch is hungry, almost frantic, but it never feels careless. It feels like he’s been holding himself back for too long and now he’s letting go, letting himself feel everything.

His mouth never leaves yours for long, kissing you sloppily, messily, like he’s starved for it. Every time he pulls back to catch a breath, you can feel the heat of it against your lips before he dives back in, swallowing your soft sounds with another desperate kiss.

When his hand slips under your nightdress, you gasp softly against his mouth, feeling the way his fingers toy with the silky fabric of your underwear — teasing, playing, tracing the waistband as if he's still deciding if he wants to be patient. But you know patience isn’t in either of your vocabulary right now. Not tonight. Not after everything.

With a low, frustrated sound, Chris finally hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and tugs it down your legs in one rough pull. You barely have time to shiver at the feeling before his hands are back on your skin, palms sliding up your thighs, squeezing, pulling you closer, needing you closer. You clutch at his shoulders for balance, breathing hard, your heart pounding so loud you swear he must be able to hear it.

The way he’s looking at you now — like you’re the only thing in the world he’s ever wanted — it makes your knees feel dangerously weak. And you know, without a doubt, that you’re about to cross that line you can't uncross.

A sultry gasp falls out of your mouth when you feel his fingers touch you there, where the heat is pooling between your legs— so intimate, so tenderly— and your body instinctively reacts, your hips shifting closer to his hand as if seeking more.

In a hazy attempt to slow down whatever’s about to happen, you press your arm across his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. But Chris only catches your gaze with his, eyes dark and burning, silently asking for permission with every slow, teasing stroke of his fingers on your clit. You don’t stop him. You couldn’t even if you tried. His fingers move with a purpose, learning you again with each slow, torturous movement, on your bundle of nerves, between your delicate folds, around your entrance.

Every time you breathe out a soft, helpless sound, he’s right there to catch it — crashing his mouth over yours to swallow it whole. His kisses are just as hungry as his touch, rough and tender all at once, like he’s desperate to remind you of every piece of him you once loved.

Chris leans in, pressing his mouth to your ear, his voice a low, ragged whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

"I still remember this body," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "How to touch you... the taste of your lips..."

He proves it by gently catching your lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it until you whimper, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. Then, just as you’re barely holding yourself together, he adds in a rough whisper, "And I still remember that spot you can't resist."

He curls his fingers inside you — just right, just there — and your body betrays you with a sharp gasp of pleasure that you can’t hold back. “Oh...��

Chris hears it, feels it, and he grins against your skin, triumphant and teasing, like he’s never forgotten how to undo you and maybe he never has.

The breathy sounds you make are tangled between desperate kisses as Chris keeps pumping his fingers in ans out of you— slow at first, then deeper, more rhythmic, building you up with every stroke. He whispers against your lips, words you can't fully catch, but they sound so sweet, so intoxicating, like lullabies meant only for you. "So good for me," he breathes, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, the shell of your ear, anywhere he can reach. "So beautiful like this..."

Your body tightens around his hand, your thighs trembling with every thrust of his fingers. It’s too much — the way he knows you, the way he holds you close like he’s afraid to let you go — and with a few more deliberate strokes, you fall apart around him, moaning into the hollow of his throat as your climax hits you in a shuddering wave. You go limp against him, chest heaving, your head resting on his shoulder. But Chris isn’t done with you. Not yet.

He shifts just slightly, his fingers now circling your still sensitive clit with maddening gentleness, drawing another helpless whimper from you. Your hips jerk against his touch, your body too sensitive, too raw, but Chris just chuckles lowly, his voice a soft rumble against your ear.

"That’s it," he murmurs, "So good to me... so fucking good."

You barely have time to catch your breath before he tilts your chin up and captures your mouth in a kiss — deep and possessive — like he’s trying to brand the moment into your skin, to make you remember him like this all over again and God, you think you will.

Slowly, your hand glides down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch, the way his breath hitches as you trail lower and lower until you reach the undeniable proof of how much he wants you. He's already hard, throbbing against the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants. You smile against his lips as you palm him through the material, tracing the shape of his cock, feeling him stiffen even more under your touch. Chris groans lowly into your mouth, a desperate sound that only urges you on.

Without breaking the kiss, you tug at his sweatpants, dragging them down just enough to free his erection. He lets out a shaky breath the second the cool air hits his heated skin. And then, without hesitation, you wrap your hand around him — firm, knowing exactly what he likes.

Chris's forehead presses against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as you begin to stroke him slowly, teasingly, taking your time. His hips jerk slightly into your hand, his body chasing every bit of friction you give him. "God," he breathes out, his voice wrecked with pleasure, "you still know how to please me... always knew exactly what to do to me."

You look up at him through your lashes, your smile playful, almost daring him to keep talking as you stroke him a little harder, a little faster, delighting in the way he shudders under your touch.

You shift your body, slowly leaning down, and Chris shudders the moment your hair brushes along the sensitive skin of his abdomen. His breath stutters out of him, his hands clenching at his sides as he watches you — utterly entranced.

With one hand, you gather your hair, holding it back to make sure he has a clear view. You want him to see everything — how your lips part, how your tongue flicks out to tease the crest of his length, swirling around it with slow, teasing strokes that have Chris breathing your name like a prayer. You lock eyes with him, wanting him to feel it just as much as see it, and then, inch by agonizing inch, you take his length into your mouth, slowly, carefully until he’s fully disappeared past your lips.

Chris lets out a ragged moan, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes dark and desperate as he watches you work. You hum softly around him, letting him feel the vibration, a clear sign of how much you're enjoying this — how much you want to please him. You suck him gently at first, your mouth warm and soft, and Chris doesn’t hold back the sounds he makes, his head tipping back against the couch with a low, guttural groan.

"God, baby," he breathes out, his voice wrecked with pleasure, "you're trying to ruin me, huh?"

You pull back, just enough to tease him, dragging your tongue down his shaft before you slide him deeper again, taking more, sucking harder this time. The reaction is immediate — Chris's hips jerk up involuntarily, a sharp gasp breaking from his lips as he grips the edge of the couch like he’s holding on for dear life. You smirk around him, taking your time, savoring every delicious sound he makes, knowing that right now, he’s completely and utterly at your mercy.

Both of you notice that you're getting tired so you slowly pull away from him, letting your lips glide off with an almost teasing slowness, feeling the way Chris shudders from the loss of contact. You barely have a second to react before his hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you to him with a fierce, desperate kind of hunger.

His mouth crashes against yours, kissing you with a passion that knocks the breath right out of you. His fingers tighten, holding you close, refusing to let you pull away until he’s had his fill, until your lips are swollen from his kisses and your heart is pounding against your ribs.

When he finally lets go, it’s only by a fraction — his forehead resting against yours as he mutters against your lips, "I need to have you… or I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

The way he says it, the gravel in his voice, the rawness of his confession, sends a shiver down your spine. You answer him with another kiss, softer this time but just as full of promise, before slowly pulling away again, your palms smoothing over his chest to steady yourself.

You climb onto his lap, straddling him, facing him, feeling the heavy weight of his gaze as he watches you settle over him. Your hands stay pressed against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart under your touch — a silent mirror to the storm raging in your own body.

Chris tips his head back to look at you, his hands instinctively finding your hips, anchoring you to him, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go for even a second.

-

Chris's hand finds the side of your face, thumb brushing gently across your cheek as he catches your eyes, holding your gaze like something precious. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, voice rough with the weight of everything he feels — everything he's felt for so long without being able to say it. He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He will never get tired of the way you kiss him — like you know him better than he even knows himself.

As your mouths move together, he feels it — the slow, deliberate grind of your hips against him, the delicious friction that shoots fire through his veins. He groans low against your mouth, feeling how hot and slick you are even through the thin barrier between you. His patience, already hanging by a thread, frays even more with every move you make. He meets your eyes again, and there’s no need for words. You understand — you always do.

Chris barely breathes as you lift yourself just enough, one hand wrapping around his cock to guide him to your entrance. His hands find the hem of your nightdress and push it up to your waist, needing — needing — to see it. The sight of you slowly, steadily taking his throbbing length into your body nearly breaks him. His head falls back against the couch, a raw, needy whimper escaping his lips as the tight, wet heat of you wraps around him, inch by inch.

His fingers dig into your waist, desperate to ground himself as you fully sink onto him, fitting around him like a missing piece he’s been aching for. He looks down between you, watching where your bodies are joined, and a rough, reverent sound tears from his chest. "God, you take me so well," he murmurs, almost in disbelief, his voice thick with awe and hunger.

And then he can’t take it anymore. Chris grips your waist tight, pulling you roughly toward him and crashing your mouth against his in a frantic, hungry kiss — all teeth and tongue and need.

Every kiss feels like it’s stitching together pieces of him he hadn’t even realized were broken. His hands roam greedily over you, sliding down the curve of your back, gripping your hips, then trailing lower to your thighs. He squeezes the soft flesh there, loving how you shiver under his touch, how you instinctively move closer to him like you can’t stand even a breath of distance, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

With a low, breathless groan against your mouth, Chris tugs at your nightdress, pulling it up and over your head until you’re bare before him, sitting pretty and warm and so real on his lap. He draws back just enough to take you in, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Gosh, you’re beautiful.

His hands move on their own, roaming everywhere, touching, memorizing, squeezing the familiar softness of your body. His palms trail up your sides, over your ribs, thumbs brushing reverently across the curve of your waist. "I forgot how soft you are," he murmurs, voice wrecked with awe and something deeper, almost worshipful.

He leans in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate column of your neck, breathing you in like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. His mouth trails lower, down to your chest, where he lingers, nuzzling and kissing the sensitive skin there. Then he captures one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking gently, his hand fondling the other, fingers teasing and pinching just enough to make you let out a low, needy moan — a sound so sweet and sinful that it echoes around the room, searing itself into his memory. He groans against your skin, feeling you arch into him, offering more. He knows he’ll never get enough — not tonight, maybe not ever.

Chris swears he’s losing his mind — in the best way.

You start to move against him, rolling your hips in a slow, steady rhythm that drives him absolutely wild. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you steady, grounding himself in the way your body grinds against his.

Your eyes are locked with his, fiery and intense, a raw connection that speaks louder than any words. He can feel it — how much you want this, how much you want him — matching the desperation that's clawing through him.

He wraps his arms tightly around you, pulling you flush against him, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, just breathing you in. Then he begins to move too, bucking up from beneath you, meeting you thrust for thrust. The friction between you intensifies, every snap of his hips sending deeper, hotter pleasure crashing through him.

Your moans — raw, hoarse, beautiful — spill into the room, filling the air, drowning out even the thunder rumbling outside. He drinks in every sound, every gasp, every breathless whimper like it's oxygen, like he can't survive without it. He groans against your skin, clutching at your hips, his pace growing more urgent, more desperate, matching the frenzied beat of his heart.

"God, there's nothing like it," he rasps against your mouth, voice thick and broken, "you're perfect for me."

Chris can feel it happening — not just the heat building, the pleasure tightening, but something deeper threading through every kiss, every thrust, every shudder of breath between you.

It’s like you’re reconnecting, rediscovering everything you once were, everything you could still be. The way you cling to him, the way your body moves with his, the way your heart seems to beat in perfect time with his — it’s all too much, too real, too overwhelming. He holds you even tighter, his hand splayed across your lower back as you both chase that final high, the tension coiling impossibly tight inside him.

And then you fall — together — your cries mingling with his ragged groan as you come undone, wrapped up in each other like you were never meant to let go.

Chris’s heart stutters, full and aching, and as he looks up at you, he knows — He loves you. He always has. And now he knows he always, always will.

Before he can even think about it, he blurts out, “I love you.”

The words hanging in the air between you and him before he's pulling you down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss so deep, so desperate, so full of everything he can and can’t say. He pours all of it into you — every ounce of love, every silent promise, every broken piece that only you have ever been able to touch. He kisses like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent without you. And right now, in this moment, he doesn’t ever want to let you go again.

-

Chris wakes up to a dull, throbbing pain behind his eyes and a sticky feeling on his skin. He blinks a few times at the ceiling above him, the faint light of the morning pouring in from the windows.

The sofa creaks under him as he sits up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands, trying to chase the hangover haze away. His body aches — a different kind of ache than the one from his broken leg.

Last night flashes in bits and pieces behind his eyelids — your lips, your laugh, your hands on him, your breathy moans — and he runs a hand through his messy hair, groaning under his breath.

The smell of coffee and something sweet pulls him up to his feet, wobbling slightly as he leans on his crutches. Through bleary eyes, he sees you in the kitchen, back turned to him, moving around like nothing happened.

"Hey," Chris rasps, making his way over.

Except — when you turn around — it’s not you. It’s Tigerlily. She beams when she sees him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Morning, Dad. Survived the night?" she teases, setting down a plate of toast on the counter.

Chris blinks, stunned. "You’re— you're back?" he croaks out.

Tigerlily laughs. "Yeah, I just got in. Figured I'd surprise everyone. Mom told me you two were having a little party last night."

She lifts an eyebrow at him in a very familiar, knowing way.

"And by little, she meant you drank too much, as usual."

Chris opens his mouth to argue but only manages a sheepish grimace. Without missing a beat, Tigerlily hands him two pills and a tall glass of orange juice. "Here. Take these. You look like you're about to pass out standing up."

Chris doesn’t argue. He swallows the pills and downs the juice in one go, wincing at the sudden coldness in his empty stomach. He sets the glass down with a thud and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Where’s your mother?" he asks, trying to sound casual, though the question is heavy in his mouth.

Tigerlily glances at her phone. "She went grocery shopping with Julian. Should be back soon with our lunch."

Chris nods, sinking down onto one of the dining chairs with a heavy sigh. His body feels wrecked. His heart, too, if he’s being honest.

Tigerlily plops down across from him, pulling out her phone and scrolling. Trying to distract himself, Chris forces a small smile. "So... honeymoon. How was it?"

He listens to her talk, catching bits and pieces about beaches, sunsets, and snorkeling trips — but his mind keeps wandering. Back to last night. Back to you. Back to how easily he could lose himself again in you if he’s not careful. And despite the pounding in his head, Chris knows —

There’s no part of him that wants to be careful anymore.

It's midday when Chris hears the car pull into the driveway before he even sees you. The front door swings open, and you step inside, arms full of grocery bags, Julian right behind you carrying the rest.

Chris leans back in his chair, feeling that awful mixture of relief and tension twist inside him. He hates that he can't jump up and help you. Hates that he's stuck here, leg useless, heart even more so.

You flash him a smile — easy, casual — like nothing happened between you, like you hadn’t kissed him like he was the air you needed to breathe.

"Hey, you two," you chirp at him as you kick off your shoes and walk toward the kitchen.

"Hey," he mutters back, voice dry, throat tight.

Julian throws a grin his way as he sets the grocery bags down. "Hope you're ready for a feast. We brought enough to feed a small army."

Tigerlily immediately pounces, helping you unpack while chatting excitedly about the food she tried during her honeymoon.

Chris knows — knows — he can’t say a damn word about last night. Not here. Not now. Not with Tigerlily and Julian both beaming and filling the house with their bright, newlywed energy. So he plays along, he pretends like everything is fine, pretends like he isn't aching to pull you aside, to ask you what the hell that night meant to you — if it meant anything at all. Because right now, you move around the kitchen like it's just another Saturday, like last night didn’t happen, like you didn’t come undone in his arms and leave him thinking he could believe in second chances.

-

Lunch is a lively affair.

Tigerlily and Julian sit across from him, their plates piled high, both of them talking over each other as they recount their favorite parts of their honeymoon.

"We went snorkeling" Julian says, his face animated. "I've never seen water so clear in my life."

"And the night markets!" Tigerlily adds, her eyes shining. "We ate everything. I'm serious. I think I gained five pounds in a week."

Chris laughs at all the right moments. He nods, he smiles, he even cracks a joke here and there. But most of the time, he’s watching you even though you don't look at him. Not once. Not the way he’s looking at you — like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground right now.

Then suddenly, Tigerlily turns her attention to him, her fork pointed playfully in his direction. "So," she says, tilting her head with a teasing smile, "what exactly have you two been doing in the house while we were gone?"

Chris stiffens for a second, his mind racing. Next to him, you don’t miss a beat — you lift your head and, with a bright, breezy voice, say, "Not much, really. Just keeping the place from falling apart."

Chris glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your smile is tight. Too polished. He can see the tension in your shoulders, the way you're gripping your fork a little too tightly. He clears his throat, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, not much happening," he echoes casually. Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, "Well... until last night."

Your head jerks slightly toward him. It's subtle — anyone else might've missed it, but Chris sees it, feels it. He quickly barrels on, forcing a chuckle.

"There was that thunderstorm," he says. "Neither of us could sleep with all the noise. Figured it was the perfect time to finally open that bottle of liquor my label sent over."

Chris rubs the back of his neck, shooting you a quick glance and catching the strained expression you’re trying to hide. "Bad idea," he jokes, trying to lighten the air. "Turns out, I can't handle hangovers like I used to. Getting old sucks."

Tigerlily lets out a dramatic sigh and rolls her eyes. "I told you to go easy on the drinking, Dad! You're supposed to be healing, not making it worse!"

Chris holds up his hands in surrender. "Lesson learned, little cub. I swear."

Everyone laughs — even you, though it's a little quieter than usual — and thankfully, Tigerlily shifts the conversation without pressing any further. Julian launches into a comment about the crazy weather forecast for the next week, and soon they're all chatting about the rain and how it ruined their travel plans.

You're laughing, chiming in with questions, teasing Tigerlily the way you always do but all Chris can think about is the way you felt last night — the way you kissed him like he was still yours and he wonders if you’re trying to forget, or if you’re just too scared to let yourself remember.

-

You stand on the porch, arms folded loosely over your chest, as you watch Tigerlily and Julian getting into their car. They wave at you, their faces still bright and buzzing with post-honeymoon bliss.

"Bye, mom!" Tigerlily calls, leaning out the window.

You force a smile and wave, your hand fluttering half-heartedly through the air. "Bye, you two. Drive safe."

Their car pulls out of the driveway, disappearing down the street. The second they're out of sight, the pit in your stomach grows heavier. You knew this moment was coming. You’ve been quietly dreading it since the second you woke up this morning, curled up against Chris on the sofa like it was the most natural thing in the world. Since the second you felt his fingers lightly brushing over your back in his sleep, as if he couldn’t help but cling to you.

You take a long, deep breath, bracing yourself, before stepping back into the house. The door clicks shut behind you and the silence swallows everything.

You head straight for the kitchen, pretending like there’s nothing weighing down your steps, pretending like you're just... cleaning up after lunch, that's all. You start stacking plates, wiping down the counter, anything to stay busy. But of course, you hear his footsteps before you even finish.

Chris.

You don't turn around when you hear him step into the kitchen. You just keep wiping the counter, even though it's already spotless.

"It seems like..." Chris starts, his voice low, hesitant, "we need to talk."

Your whole body stiffens for a second. You quickly force yourself to move, cracking a laugh — light, casual, practiced. You turn to him with a grin that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Why so serious, Chris?" you tease, waving the rag in your hand like it's no big deal. "There's nothing to talk about."

Chris frowns, but you barrel forward before he can say anything.

"We were drinking too much," you say. "That's all. It was the alcohol. If we were sober... well, it wouldn't have happened, obviously."

You see it immediately — the way his face falls just slightly. The disappointment that's hard for him to hide. For a fleeting second, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

You hate seeing that look on him. You hate even more that you're the one who put it there. But you’re not ready for this, not ready to unpack the weight of last night.

So you quickly tuck the rag into the sink and wipe your hands on your jeans. You shoot him an apologetic, too-bright smile. "I really need to get some writing done today," you say, your voice almost breathless with the need to escape. "Deadline’s coming up fast."

Before he can stop you, before you can see more of that hurt written all over his face, you slip past him. You feel his eyes on your back as you climb the stairs two at a time.

Here you are. Running. Again. Running from him. Running from yourself. You slip into your bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. Leaning against it for a moment, you close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe, but it’s no use.

The thoughts crash over you, relentless and unkind. Chris. Last night. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered and the three words that slipped out of his mouth like they were meant to be heard between you.

You shake your head, pushing away from the door. You sit down at your desk, open your laptop, and stare at the blinking cursor on a blank document. You tell yourself to focus, be professional, but the more you try to work, the harder it gets.

The memories of last night swirl and pull at you until you’re sinking, distracted and restless so you reach for your phone. Without thinking too hard about it, you call Hyunjin. It only takes a few rings before he answers, his voice light and warm, like sunshine cutting through storm clouds.

"Hey, you," he says, a smile you can hear.

You swallow the guilt gnawing at your chest and force yourself to smile. "Hey. Just… wondering how you’ve been."

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully on the other end. "Tired. Happy. Still kind of buzzing from the exhibitions. The trip’s been good for me. Good for my art, you know?"

You nod even though he can’t see you, tucking your legs under yourself on the chair, curling up small. You listen as he tells you about the new city he visited, the gallery that agreed to display some of his pieces.

His voice is animated, full of life, and you cling to it like a lifeline, but eventually, he trails off. A beat of silence, and then. "You okay?" he asks softly. "You sound… off."

You hesitate for a second before giving in to the simplest truth. "I think I just... miss you," you admit, voice barely a whisper.

There's a pause, and then a warm chuckle from his end. "You miss me, huh?" he teases. "Didn’t know you’d fall apart without me."

You laugh, grateful for how easy he makes it, for how light he can make you feel even when you're drowning. "I’m serious," you say, smiling into the phone. "I miss you."

There's another pause, gentler this time. "I miss you too," Hyunjin says, and there's something softer beneath his words. "I'll come home soon. I promise."

"I can't wait," you murmur, and you mean it. You mean it in a way that aches. You talk for a few more minutes — casual things, easy things — before he has to go. You end the call with a quiet goodbye and a lingering smile.

But the second your phone screen goes dark, it's like all the emotions you’d been holding back come rushing in again, an unstoppable flood. Chris. Last night. The way he said your name like it meant something. The way he kissed you like he never stopped loving you.

You bury your face in your hands, the weight of it all too much. No matter how far you run, no matter how many walls you build — you can’t outrun the truth. Not anymore.

-

The house feels too big, too quiet, and you can hear the echo of your own thoughts bouncing off the walls. You move around the kitchen mechanically, your mind elsewhere as you plate the food, setting everything neatly on the dining table.

When everything's ready, you stand there, staring at the finished dinner. You hesitate, chewing your bottom lip, debating. Calling Chris means facing him again — facing everything again.

And after this morning, after the way you ran, you're not sure if you're ready. You look at the clock, aware that the food is only getting colder by the second.

You sigh, scolding yourself for overthinking everything as you wipe your palms on a dish towel. You inhale air, raising your voice just enough to call out, "Chris! Dinner’s ready!"

There's a beat of silence and then you hear the sound of his bedroom door opening. You wait, bracing yourself for the tension, the awkwardness, the weight you haven’t figured out how to carry yet. But what you get instead makes you blink — and then burst into unexpected laughter.

Chris strides toward you with such exaggerated ease, as if he’s on a beach vacation rather than padding across the living room floor. He’s wearing a loud, colorful Hawaiian shirt — covered in neon flowers and palm trees — paired with a pair of short khaki pants that look like they belong in a tourist catalog.

The shirt, you realize with a sharp pang of fondness, is the souvenir Tigerlily brought him from her honeymoon trip. And Chris? Chris is owning it like he’s about to order a piña colada and lounge under the sun. You press a hand to your mouth, trying — and failing — to contain the laugh that bubbles up.

He looks so proud of himself, flashing you a lazy grin as he tugs at the hem of the shirt. "What?" he asks innocently, raising an eyebrow. "You said dinner, not a fashion critique."

You shake your head, still laughing. "You look like you're about to host a luau in the backyard."

Chris smirks, sauntering closer with a mock swagger that only makes you laugh harder. "Maybe I am. Maybe this is my new look. Summer Chris," he declares with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

For a moment — just a moment — the heaviness between you two lifts and you're grateful for it, grateful for the way Chris always, somehow, finds a way to make you laugh when you need it most.

He pulls out a chair for you before dropping himself into his own seat with a theatrical sigh, still looking far too pleased with himself and despite everything — despite the messy feelings knotting your stomach — you find yourself smiling as you sit down across from him, pretending that, just for now, things are simple again.

In the middle of dinner, Chris clears his throat and sets his fork down with a soft clatter. "So," he starts, twirling his glass of water between his fingers, "the label's pushing for a repackage album. For The Bang Theory."

You perk up immediately, your lips parting in surprise. "Wait, really?"

He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Couple new tracks, some acoustic versions. Nothing crazy. But they want to follow it up with a tour."

Your reaction is instant — bright and honest, your heart swelling a little at the news. "Chris, that's amazing," you say, meaning every word. "I just know the fans are going to lose their minds."

His smile stretches wider at that, genuine and a little boyish, like he’s soaking in your excitement like sunlight. For a moment, it feels easy again — you and him, like it always used to be, before things got complicated.

Chris chuckles and leans back in his chair, tipping his head toward you. "Yeah, well, I need to recover first," he says, nodding down at his casted leg with a mock grimace.

You snort, reaching for your drink. "You will. You’ll be out of here in no time."

He narrows his eyes at you, grinning. "You sound a little too eager to kick me out."

You pretend to think about it, then flash him a teasing smile. "Obviously. I have my peaceful, quiet house to get back to. Can't have some rockstar cramping my style."

Chris laughs, the sound warm and rumbling across the table. But then — just as the laughter is fading — he goes still for a beat. His gaze softens, the playful edge giving way to something heavier as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.

"Maybe I should just stay," he says, voice low and almost serious.

The words hang between you, charged. You feel your breath catch, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. Chris holds your gaze — really holds it — and for a split second, it feels like the air between you two crackles with something unspoken. But then — he breaks into a laugh, shaking his head.

"Relax," he says, grinning. "I'm not that bad of a houseguest, am I?"

You force out a laugh too, nudging your foot against his lightly under the table. "You're terrible," you tease. "But I guess you make up for it with your world-class entertainment."

Chris winks, lifting his fork again as he dives back into his plate. "Glad to know my summer look didn’t go unnoticed."

You laugh again, but there's a slight tremble underneath it — a tremble you don’t think either of you can ignore for much longer.

After dinner, you and Chris stand side by side at the sink, working together in a quiet, easy rhythm — you wash, he dries. Every so often, his hand brushes against yours — small, accidental touches that send little shocks skittering up your arm.

At first, you try to ignore it, blame it on the cramped space, but then it happens again — and this time, it lingers. You pause, your hand still submerged in the soapy water, and look up at him.

Chris is already looking at you and you feel the air shifts. The steady noise of the sink, the music faintly playing from Chris’s portable speaker— it all fades until there’s nothing but the two of you standing there, inches apart. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his brown eyes dark and intent, searching yours like he’s trying to find something he lost. Your heart hammers painfully in your chest. You can feel it, the magnetic pull between you, inevitable and terrifying.

Chris sets the dish towel aside without breaking eye contact. His hand finds yours again, this time deliberately, his thumb brushing over your knuckles and to your own surprise, you don't pull away. Your breath catches when he leans in, slow, giving you every chance to move, to stop this — but you don't. You close your eyes, feeling the heat of him just a breath away.

And then—

The doorbell rings. Sharp and sudden and so out of place that you flinch back instinctively. Chris lowly curses under his breath, low and frustrated. You open your eyes just in time to see him closing his, jaw clenching as he pulls away from you reluctantly. Neither of you moves for a second. Neither of you says a word.

The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time. Chris exhales a heavy breath through his nose, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"I’ll get it," you say quickly, voice a little too high, a little too breathless.

You leave the kitchen in a hurry, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling with the ghost of a kiss that never landed and somehow, even before you open the door, a small part of you already knows who’s standing on the other side.

-

You open the door — and there he is. Hyunjin, standing on your porch with a bright smile and a bouquet of flowers in one hand.

"Hey, beautiful," he says, voice warm and a little breathless, like he couldn’t get to you fast enough.

Before you can even say a word, he steps forward and kisses you. It’s quick, familiar, and full of an easy kind of affection — the kind that knocks the air out of your lungs for an entirely different reason.

You stiffen for a moment, your eyes instinctively darting over Hyunjin’s shoulder toward the kitchen and sure enough — Chris is standing there, still by the sink, watching.

When Hyunjin pulls back, you force a laugh, hoping it hides the jolt of guilt punching you straight in the chest. He doesn't notice. Instead, he grins and holds out a bouquet of flowers, vibrant and beautiful.

"For you," he says simply.

You take them, your fingers brushing his. "Thank you," you manage to say, your voice coming out too soft, too strained.

"Can I come in?" Hyunjin asks, already stepping inside without waiting for a full answer.

You glance back toward the kitchen where Chris remains frozen for a beat longer than necessary. His face is blank, but the tight line of his jaw gives him away.

Hyunjin notices Chris then and beams. "Hey, Chris!" he says brightly, like everything’s normal.

Chris doesn’t return the smile. "Hey," he mutters back, the greeting clipped and sour.

The silence that falls between the three of you is thick enough to choke on. Chris sighs — long and heavy — then wipes his hands on the towel he’s still holding. "I’m gonna head to my room and rest," he announces stiffly, without sparing you or Hyunjin another glance.

And just like that, he turns and walks away, his casted foot thudding against the floor with every heavy, unhurried step.

You watch him disappear down the hall, your stomach twisting, the bouquet clutched awkwardly in your hands.

Next to you, Hyunjin is blissfully unaware of the wreckage he’s just walked into, chatting casually as he follows you deeper into the house — leaving the mess of emotions you can't even begin to untangle trailing in your wake.

You lead Hyunjin into the kitchen, the soft clinking of the vase and the flowers you set down on the counter filling the awkward silence.

He glances around, then back at you with a slight furrow to his brow. "Is your ex-husband okay?" he asks, keeping his voice light but curious.

You shake your head quickly, forcing a casual laugh. "He just—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris disappeared, "—took his pain meds. Makes him a little grumpy."

Hyunjin immediately buys it, the worry smoothing from his face like it was never there. "Ah, that makes sense," he says with a small laugh, before his focus shifts entirely back to you.

Without hesitation, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently against him. You don’t resist — you can’t — even as a tight knot forms low in your stomach.

"Why are you so shy, huh?" Hyunjin teases, his hands smoothing along your sides, his voice dropping to something softer, something sweeter. "You didn’t sound this shy when you called me to say you missed me."

You press a smile to your lips, willing your hands to settle lightly on his chest even as everything inside you feels tangled and wrong. "I did miss you," you say, forcing the words to sound certain as you hold his gaze.

He tilts his head, studying you with that easy charm that always made you feel seen — and yet, tonight, all it does is make you feel exposed. "If you really missed me," he murmurs, a playful glint in his eyes. "Then where's my kiss?"

You let out a soft chuckle, trying to bury the unease clawing at your ribs and because it’s easier — because it’s what you’re supposed to want — you lean up and kiss him. Your lips find his in a slow, tender kiss, trying to convince him... and yourself... that he’s the one you missed. That the ache blooming deep in your chest isn’t for someone else entirely.

But no matter how you kiss him, no matter how tightly you close your eyes, you can’t shake the way your heart still feels pulled down the hallway — to where Chris had disappeared, and where the truth still waits, heavy and unspoken.

-

From the kitchen window, Chris watches you moving through the backyard, headphones on, lost in your own little world as you water the plants. The late afternoon sun catches on the loose strands of your hair, and for a second, everything feels painfully clear to him.

These past few weeks — the stolen moments, the quiet laughter, the mundane days spent doing nothing and everything — they crash into him all at once. He realizes with a deep, sinking ache that this... this is what he’s been missing all along. Not the stage lights. Not the endless cities.

You.

And now, after last night — after seeing you melt into Hyunjin’s kiss — he feels it slipping through his fingers all over again. If he doesn't say something, if he doesn't do something, he’s going to lose you. Again.

Gripping his crutch tighter, Chris pushes himself away from the window, determination sparking in his chest even as a thousand nerves hum under his skin.

Dragging his casted leg behind him, he hobbles toward the back door and steps outside, wincing at the bright afternoon sun. You don't notice him at first — your back is still turned, your head nodding slightly to the beat of whatever you're listening to.

Chris opens his mouth, heart hammering, but no words come out. And then —

You spin around. It happens too fast. The hose, still in your hand, jerks wildly — sending a full blast of cold water directly onto him.

Chris freezes as the shock of it hits him, soaking his shirt, dripping down his cast. You gasp, scrambling to fumble the hose off, yanking your headphones down around your neck as you rush toward him.

"Oh my god, Chris! Why were you standing there?!" you scold, exasperated and panicked, while your hands flutter uselessly at his soaked shirt.

Chris just stands there, water dripping off his clothes, his heart still stuck somewhere between heartbreak and something he can't name. "I—" he starts, but ends up just sighing, heavy and defeated, as you continue to fuss over him.

He looks at you — your brows furrowed, your mouth pressed in a worried little line — and despite everything, a small, helpless smile tugs at his lips. Of course. Of course it would happen like this. And somehow, getting drenched by accident feels a little less painful than standing there, saying nothing, and watching you slip away.

Chris stands awkwardly on the back porch, dripping and heavy, as you disappear inside the house. The sun dries his shirt unevenly, sticking the fabric to his skin in patches. He shifts on his crutch, glancing toward the door just as you reappear, a towel in hand.

Without a word, you step up to him, concern etched all over your face. You start patting down his arms, his chest, gentle and careful, and Chris doesn't dare move — afraid he might ruin the feeling of your hands on him. When you reach his face, you slow down, dabbing at his cheeks and forehead. He closes his eyes briefly under your touch, something raw and aching swelling inside him. When he opens them again, you're right there — close enough that he can see the little flecks of color in your eyes. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering.

"You’re such an idiot," you scold lightly, shaking your head. "Lurking behind me like that."

Chris huffs a small laugh, trying to steady himself. "I wasn’t lurking," he mutters. "I just—" He swallows. "I have something to say to you."

Your hands still for a second, and you look up at him, curious and a little cautious. He takes a breath, ready to finally say it, to put it all out there —

But before he can get a single word out, you gasp. "Oh! Wait, I forgot!" you cut in, eyes wide. "Tigerlily is taking you for dinner tonight."

Chris blinks, thrown off. "Yeah, but—"

"I think you should go ahead and get changed for it," you continue quickly, smiling a little sheepishly. "You know how punctual your daughter is."

Chris frowns, thrown even further off balance. "Why about you?"

You shrug, your tone casual — too casual. "I'm going out with Hyunjin."

And just like that, Chris feels it. The slow, painful pull of you slipping further and further from him. He nods stiffly, forcing a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Right. Of course."

You miss the way his smile falters as you step back, gathering the damp towel in your arms. Chris watches you turn away, and the words he had been about to say — all the things he’s been holding in — collapse in his chest like a house of cards. He missed his chance. Again.

As expected, Tigerlily arrives right on time, cheerful and bright as she helps Chris slips into his jacket. "You ready to go, Dad?" she asks with a teasing grin.

"Give me a sec," Chris turns toward the kitchen, reaching for his phone and wallet lying on the kitchen island— but then he hears it.

A sudden gasp from Tigerlily, high-pitched and delighted. "Oh my God! Look at you, Mom!" she squeals.

Chris turns, confused for a moment, before he sees you descending the staircase. And for a second— just a second — the whole world seems to tilt. You look stunning. Your hair, your makeup, the way your outfit hugs your figure — it's enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Chris stands there, frozen, as Tigerlily runs over to you, practically bouncing in excitement. "You look amazing!" she gushes, grabbing your hands. "Seriously, you look like you’re about to walk the red carpet!"

You duck your head shyly, flashing that small, soft smile that Chris knows all too well. The one that used to be just for him. Tigerlily spins toward him, still holding your hands. "Dad, doesn't Mom look beautiful?"

Chris blinks, forcing himself to find his voice past the tightness in his throat. He manages a nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah," he says, his voice quieter than he intended. "You look beautiful."

You meet his gaze briefly, offering him a soft "Thank you" with a small smile. It doesn't reach your eyes. Or maybe he's just imagining that — wanting there to be a part of you still hesitating.

Tigerlily claps her hands once, cheerful as ever. "Okay, are we ready to go now, Dad?" she asks, grabbing the car keys.

Chris nods, feeling the familiar ache settle into his chest like a stone. Dragging his casted leg carefully, he makes his way toward the door.

Tigerlily leans over, pulling you into a warm hug. "Have the best night, okay?" she says brightly. "You deserve it."

Chris doesn't let himself look back. He can't. He steps outside into the fading evening light, the door closing behind him with a soft click. And with every step toward the car, he feels it — You, slipping further away.

-

The moment you step into the grand hall, the air shifts around you — elegant chatter humming beneath the soft classic music playing in the room. You instinctively tighten your grip on Hyunjin's hand. Your nerves are rattling. You feel small, even in your best dress. You wonder if people will notice the age gap between you two — if they'll whisper about it, judge silently. You glance sideways at Hyunjin, feeling even more out of place next to him. He looks breathtaking — tall, composed, radiating an effortless charm in his sleek black suit. He fits here, in this glittering world and you, you’re not sure you do.

As if sensing the storm inside your head, Hyunjin gives your hand a gentle squeeze. You look up at him, startled, and he meets your gaze with a soft, reassuring smile.

"You look like a goddess tonight," he says, his voice low, meant for you alone.

It catches you off guard, the sincerity in his tone. It wraps around you like a warm, protective blanket. You nod, cheeks heating up, allowing yourself a shy smile. The confidence you thought you lost flickers back to life inside you.

A few people call out to Hyunjin as you both walk further into the room, exchanging polite greetings and nods. You cling to Hyunjin’s side, still slightly overwhelmed. Then, he leans down, brushing his lips close to your ear.

"There’s someone I want you to meet," he murmurs.

Before you can ask who, he’s already tugging your hand gently, weaving you through the crowd with ease. You follow him, heart hammering in your chest. He stops in front of a woman — tall, elegant, her salt and pepper hair tied back into a chic chignon. She turns as Hyunjin taps her elbow lightly.

The moment she recognizes him, her entire face lights up, and they embrace warmly, like old friends. You watch the exchange, feeling a little out of place again, until Hyunjin turns to you with a proud smile. "Miss Goldfinch, I'd like you to meet one of your biggest fan."

Hyunjin turns to you, introducing you back to her with something proud and tender in his voice. The woman’s name registers — and your heart jumps in your chest. You know her. You love her. She’s the author of one of your favorite books — the one you read over and over again when you needed comfort, when you needed to believe in something again.

You gasp softly, whipping your head toward Hyunjin, your mouth falling open in pure shock. He catches your expression and smirks, victorious, like he’s been planning this all along. You barely manage a polite greeting before you and the woman fall into an easy conversation. You’re animated, alive in a way you didn’t expect — discussing writing, art, everything in between.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hyunjin stepping away to give you space. But even from across the room, you can feel his gaze on you.

When you steal a glance, you find him there — engaging in a conversation with someone, a drink in hand, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. The kind of smile reserved for someone he treasures. His eyes never leave you.

The room melts away — all the people, all the noise. For a brief, beautiful moment, it’s just you and him in this vast, sparkling world. And you feel it again — that fluttering warmth deep in your stomach, delicate and dangerous. You wonder if he knows he has that effect on you. You wonder if you’re ready for what’s coming next.

Eventually, Hyunjin gently tugs your hand, leading you away from the crowd and toward a more formal setup. Rows of elegant round tables fill the space, and Hyunjin scans the small silver plaques until he finds the one with his name on it.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out a chair for you, offering his hand like the perfect gentleman. You place your hand in his, the simple touch sparking something small and electric between you. "Thank you," you murmur shyly as you settle into the chair.

Hyunjin slides into the seat right next to you, impossibly close. More guests begin to fill the seats around the table — two on either side of you and Hyunjin, and another across the round table.

The woman seated next to Hyunjin — beautiful, sharp-eyed — glances at him and immediately brightens in recognition. "Hyunjin!" she exclaims warmly.

You watch as Hyunjin greets her with his signature easy smile. He places a casual hand on your shoulder and introduces you with pride. "Have you met her? She's a brilliant writer."

You feel your cheeks warm at the compliment, but before you can bask in it too long, he continues: "And lucky me, she's my girlfriend."

The woman’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, but there's no judgment in her expression — just genuine interest. "You’re full of surprises, Hyunjin," she laughs, offering you a kind smile.

The background noise gradually fades as the MC steps onto the small stage at the front, tapping the microphone. The gala officially begins.

Without warning, you feel Hyunjin’s hand resting casually on your thigh under the table, his thumb drawing slow, languid circles on your bare skin. You shift slightly, fighting the way your body instantly reacts to him.

Leaning closer into his side, you whisper against his ear, "Don't you think I'm too old to be introduced as your girlfriend?"

Hyunjin smirks without missing a beat, turning his head slightly to catch your teasing gaze. "Would you prefer 'ladyfriend' then?" he teases back, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You almost snort, covering your mouth with your hand. "That’s even worse," you whisper.

Hyunjin's smile softens into something infinitely more tender. He lifts his hand from your thigh and reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush your skin deliberately slow, sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe," he murmurs, so quietly, so intimately, "it's time we changed it."

Your breath catches before you can stop it.

"I mean..." he adds, that infuriating playful glint returning to his dark eyes, "it’d be easier to introduce you as my wife."

Your heart leaps — a wild, reckless thing — even as you struggle to keep your expression neutral. He says it so casually, so teasingly, but the words lodge deep into your chest, impossible to ignore. You have no response — nothing that would make sense without giving yourself away.

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice the way he’s just unraveled you. Instead, he leans closer again, his lips dangerously near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I can't wait," he whispers, voice dipping husky and low, "to take this dress off you tonight."

At the same time, his fingers flirt with the hem of your dress, slipping just barely higher on your thigh. The combination of his voice, his touch, his scent — it overwhelms you. You’re not just flustered now. You’re aching. You squirm subtly in your seat, pulse racing, praying that no one notices the heat blooming across your cheeks.

Hyunjin pulls away just slightly, just enough to catch your dazed, wide-eyed expression — and he smiles that sinful, knowing smile, completely satisfied with himself. And you know, without a doubt, this night is only just getting started.

-

Chris sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting patterns across his face. Tigerlily keeps sneaking glances at him, her brows furrowing in concern. She can read him too easily — she always could. Finally, she breaks the silence.

"Is something bothering you, Dad?" she asks gently.

Chris turns his head toward her and offers a small smile, one he hopes looks convincing. "Just a bit tired," he says, brushing it off.

But Tigerlily doesn’t buy it for a second. She drums her fingers lightly on the steering wheel, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. "You know," she starts, "I used to root for you and Mom to get back together."

Chris’s heart gives a small, involuntary thud in his chest. "I mean," Tigerlily continues with a soft laugh, "Mom didn't get married again after the divorce. And I thought... maybe it meant something. That maybe, somehow, it would happen eventually."

Chris stays quiet, listening, his throat tightening.

"But now..." Tigerlily says, glancing quickly at him before focusing back on the road, "seeing her happy with Hyunjin, I realize... that's what matters most. That she's happy."

There’s a brief, heavy pause before Tigerlily quietly adds. "That’s what I want for you too, Dad. Whether it's music, the upcoming album or tour... I hope that you're happy."

Chris smiles at her words, the ache in his chest both heavy and warm at the same time. Without thinking, he reaches over and pinches her cheek affectionately, making her squeal in protest.

"My little cub is all grown up now, yeah?" He teases, his voice rough with fondness.

Tigerlily bats his hand away with a giggle. "That's because I'm married now!"

Chris groans dramatically, reaching over to tug gently at her ear instead. "Hey, you're my baby girl first," he says stubbornly, "before anything else."

Tigerlily laughs, her eyes shining, and turns the car into their familiar neighborhood.

Chris leans back against the seat, his smile lingering— but his mind and heart are somewhere else entirely. He thinks about her words, about you. About happiness.

You’re happy. That much is undeniable. And maybe... Maybe it's time for him to start searching for his own happiness too — even if it means finally letting go of you.

As the car rolls toward home, Chris stares out into the night, quietly wondering what happiness might look like for him now — and if he’s brave enough to find it.

As Tigerlily pulls into the driveway, Chris unbuckles his seatbelt with a soft sigh before leaning in to give his daughter a hug. "Thanks for dinner, little cub," he says, giving gentle pats on her back. "Drive safe, okay?"

Tigerlily grins and waves him off. "I’m not the one with a busted leg, Dad. You be careful."

Chris chuckles under his breath and pushes the door open, stepping out carefully with the help of his crutch. He throws her a mock salute before shutting the door behind him.

The car backs out and disappears down the street, and Chris makes his way to the front door, the night air cool against his skin.

When he steps inside, the house greets him with silence. It’s empty. Still. For a moment, he just stands there, listening to the absence of footsteps, of laughter, of your soft humming somewhere in the background. You're not here. Not tonight. Not with him.

Chris drags himself further into the living room, the crutch tapping quietly against the floor. His gaze sweeps across the familiar space — your sweater draped on the couch, a mug left drying on the kitchen counter, a pair of your slippers by the door.

This is your home. You have a life here, a good one. Before he came crashing in with his broken leg and his heavier baggage, you were doing just fine. And now, you’re happy. You have Hyunjin.

Chris sinks onto the edge of the couch, his heart heavy in his chest. Maybe it’s selfish to wish for more. Maybe it’s time he finally lets go — not just of you, but of the past he keeps chasing. He stares at his phone for a long moment, before finally unlocking it and scrolling through his contacts. He presses the call button. It rings once. Twice. And then a voice picks up.

"Chris! Hey, what’s up?"

Chris leans back, closing his eyes for a second. Then he says it before he can change his mind. "Let's go with the album," he says. "And the tour too. Let’s do it."

There's a stunned beat on the other end — then an explosion of excitement. "Are you serious? Chris, this is amazing! I’ll get the team moving first thing tomorrow!"

Chris chuckles, the sound low and tired. "Yeah. Thanks."

They say their goodbyes and hang up, and Chris lowers the phone to his lap. He should feel exhilarated. He should feel proud. And in a way, he does. But the hollow ache inside him remains. Because while he's choosing himself this time — choosing music, choosing a future — he knows he’s doing it without you by his side. And somehow, it still feels like a loss.

Chris leans his head back against the couch and lets the silence wrap around him again, heavier now, as he closes his eyes and wonders if moving forward will ever stop hurting quite this much.

Later that night, Chris lies in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. The minutes stretch painfully slow, the clock ticking like a slow, cruel drumbeat. He’s already taken his pain meds, but even the dull haze of them can't quiet his mind.

Thoughts keep churning — memories, regrets, wishes too late to fix. He turns onto his side. Then onto his back. Then his side again.

"God," he mutters into the darkness, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He’s restless, exhausted, wired. A terrible combination. Finally, he throws the blanket off and carefully swings his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold floor under his bare feet. Maybe a hot bath will help.

The bathroom is dimly lit as Chris runs the water, letting the steam curl into the air. When the tub is full, he manages to climb in with some effort, sighing as the heat sinks into his sore muscles.

For a while, he just floats there, letting the warmth untangle his body, if not his mind. It's peaceful. Almost enough to make him forget everything gnawing at his heart. But when his fingers start to prune and the water cools, Chris knows he has to get out. And that's when the real problem begins.

He tries to maneuver himself, moving slowly, cautiously. He gets both feet out of the water first, gingerly planting his good foot on the tile. He braces his hands against the bottom of the tub and pushes himself up with a grunt, heart pounding from the sheer effort.

When he finally gets upright, he lets out a shaky breath of relief. But the moment he tries to put weight on his crutch, he feels it — that brief, sickening lurch of gravity betraying him. The floor comes up fast. Chris barely has time to react before he crashes down, face first, onto the cold, unforgiving tile. The impact rattles through his bones, stealing the air from his lungs. And then, he doesn’t move.

The silence swells in the bathroom, broken only by the faint dripping of water from the tub. Chris blinks up at the blurry ceiling lights, dazed, the world tilting slightly around him. A sharp pain blooms across his shoulder and cheekbone where he hit, but what stings even worse is the bitter taste of helplessness rising in his throat.

For the first time in a long time, Chris feels truly, utterly alone.

-

You and Hyunjin stand just outside the grand entrance, the cool night air brushing your bare shoulders as you wait for the valet to bring his car around. Hyunjin rests a hand on the small of your back and doesn't let go— instead, he pulls you even closer to his side, his hand now resting on your waist.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asks, his voice low and smooth, as he gently squeezes on the flesh of your waist.

You lift your eyes to meet his and smile, feeling the warmth blooming in your chest. "Mm-hmm," you answer softly, genuinely. "I had fun."

Hyunjin's smile grows — that devastatingly boyish smile that still has the power to make your heart skip a beat — and he leans in, planting a kiss against your temple. "I'm glad," he murmurs against your skin.

Just in time, his car pulls up at the curb. Hyunjin tips the valet generously before taking the keys and rounding the car. You slip into the passenger seat, smoothing down your dress as you buckle in.

Hyunjin settles into the driver’s side, buckling his own belt, but he doesn't start the car right away. Instead, he turns his body slightly toward you, his gaze locking on yours, a mischievous glint dancing in his dark eyes.

"Ready to go home?" he asks.

You nod, your smile lingering, feeling your heart still riding the high of tonight.

But Hyunjin doesn't turn the ignition. He just keeps looking at you, his eyes glinting in the dim streetlight. "Or..." he says, voice dipping into something more playful, more dangerous, "do you want to spend the night at your boyfriend’s place?"

You let out a soft, nervous chuckle, heat crawling up your neck as Hyunjin leans closer, his breath brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Your boyfriend who hasn’t seen you in a week," he continues, his hand brushing over your knee, trailing up slowly, "who misses you so much and still owes you breakfast."

Your heart thuds in your chest. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out— you don't even know what’s holding you back. Until Hyunjin presses a kiss to the side of your neck — light, teasing, enough to make your body lean instinctively toward him and whatever restraint you had crumbles.

"I'd love that," you whisper, breathless. "Yes."

Hyunjin immediately catches your chin between his fingers, holding you still as he kisses you — slowly, sweetly at first, then deepening the kiss until it steals the air from your lungs. You clutch at the front of his jacket, leaning into him, losing yourself for a moment.

When he finally pulls away, he brushes his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now. He smirks, eyes twinkling with triumph as he finally turns the key in the ignition and steers the car into the night, taking you with him.

The night outside the car window blurs into a trail of soft lights and city shadows. Hyunjin has one hand on the wheel, the other resting over your knee — a quiet, grounding presence as his playlist hums low through the speakers.

There's a peacefulness to this ride, one you haven't felt in a long time. Your body is still warm from his kiss, your heart slowly catching up with the decision you've just made. You turn to look at him. He’s humming along to the song, fingers tapping lightly against the leather wheel, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if this night might turn into something you'll remember forever.

But then your phone rings. You glance down and see Tigerlily flashing across the screen.

"Sorry, I need to get this," you murmur to Hyunjin, who nods and lowers the music.

"Hey, sweetheart. What's—" Your voice dies in your throat at the sound of hers.

"Mom," she breathes, panicked. "It’s Dad. He—he fell in the bathroom. I had a bad feeling so I called him and he didn't pick up so I— I came to check and he wasn't— he wasn't conscious when I found him in the bathroom."

The breath punches out of your lungs. "What? Is he—how bad is it?"

"I don’t know yet. They’re doing scans," Tigerlily sniffles before continuing, "Mom, can you come? I'm worried for Dad."

Your blood runs cold. “I’m coming. I’m on my way.”

You hang up before she can respond, and turn sharply to Hyunjin, your face drained of color. “Please turn around. We need to go to the hospital. It’s Chris—he’s—he got hurt. He’s in the hospital.”

Hyunjin’s brows knit immediately, his hand already flicking the turn signal as he makes a swift U-turn. “What happened?”

“He fell,” you say, trying to control your breathing. “Tigerlily said he was unconscious. I don’t know anything else.”

Your heart pounds violently in your chest as you grip the edge of the seat, staring out at the road. The earlier warmth, the flirtation, the soft promise of the night ahead — it’s all been yanked out from under you in an instant.

Hyunjin reaches over and places his hand over yours, giving it a firm squeeze as he speeds up slightly. “We’ll be there soon, okay?”

But your mind is already elsewhere — at the hospital, by Chris’s side, fearing the worst. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Hyunjin gently wipes the tear that slips down your cheek with the pad of his thumb, silent the rest of the way.

-

The first thing Chris registers is the sterile smell — sharp, clean, and clinical. The lights above are blinding, but it’s the dull, throbbing pain on the side of his head that makes everything feel real. He groans softly, shifting on the hospital bed. His whole body feels heavy, sore in places he didn’t know could ache. When he turns his head, he sees Tigerlily slouched in the chair beside him. Her hair is a mess, eyes rimmed red, arms crossed over her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“Hey,” he croaks, voice rough.

Tigerlily’s head snaps up, relief washing over her face as she shoots out of the chair. “You’re awake,” she breathes, coming to his side. “Thank god.”

He tries to sit up, but winces immediately when a sharp twinge stabs the side of his head. His hand flies up, fingers brushing a thick bandage near his temple. “What the…?”

“Don’t touch it.” Tigerlily gently pushes his hand away. “You got five stitches.”

He blinks. “Five—? What happened?”

“You tell me,” she shoots back. “I called you and you didn’t pick up, so I came over. Found you unconscious in the bathroom. You must’ve slipped. You hit your head hard, Dad.”

Chris furrows his brows, piecing it all together. The bath. The way he lost his balance. The floor rushing up to meet him.

“The doctor says it’s not serious,” Tigerlily adds, softer now. “But you might have a mild concussion. You scared the hell out of me.”

He lets out a long breath, guilt crawling up the back of his throat. Just then, he hears hurried footsteps. The curtain around his bed rustles sharply — then flies open.

And it’s you. Your hair is still done up, your makeup only slightly smudged, and that elegant dress — the one that made his heart stop earlier — is completely out of place in the fluorescent ER light. But what strikes him more is your face. It’s flushed, eyes wide, mouth pressed into a thin line. You're terrified.

Chris forces a weak grin. “Tigerlily, is that your mom or is that how a grim reaper dressed these days?”

Without a beat, your purse swings up and lands a sharp, loud thud against his casted leg.

“Ow—! Jesus!” Chris yelps in pain.

“You asshole!” you nearly yell, voice thick with emotion. “I rushed here like a maniac, thinking you were—” You stop yourself, swallowing hard. “And this is what I get?”

Before he can speak again, you storm off in a blur of silk and fury, muttering curses under your breath.

Chris blinks after you while Tigerlily glares at him, then slaps his arm. Hard. “What the hell was that?”

“I—” He groans, rubbing his face. “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“She was worried, Dad. She didn’t even think twice before telling Hyunjin to turn around and drive her here.”

Chris’s eyes flick toward the curtain you just disappeared through, a sharp pang in his chest. He hadn’t expected that. Not the panic in your voice. Not the look on your face. Not the care. And definitely not the guilt that’s now wrapping around his ribs like a vice.

The cool night air bites at Chris’s skin as Tigerlily wheels him out of the hospital. The hallway’s stark white fades behind him, replaced by the hush of the parking lot and the distant hum of traffic. Every rattle of the wheelchair feels like a jab to his sore bones, but he keeps quiet, watching the rhythmic movement of Tigerlily’s steps as she pushes him toward the car. She clicks the key fob, and the headlights blink as the car unlocks. Chris braces himself as she opens the back door and folds the wheelchair footrests out of the way. But his eyes catch something — just off to the right, two cars away.

You. You’re standing with Hyunjin, still dressed in that impossibly elegant gown, but your arms are folded tight across your chest. Hyunjin stands close, talking to you softly, too quietly for Chris to make out. Then, Hyunjin leans in and pulls you into an embrace, murmuring something into your ear.

Hyunjin’s hand lifts to cup the side of your face — fingers brushing your cheek with the kind of tenderness Chris remembers so vividly. And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he kisses you. Just a light press of lips. But enough to make Chris look away.

Tigerlily comes around to help him out of the chair. “Okay,” she says gently, “take it slow.”

Chris nods, his jaw clenched as he grips the door and tries to rise. Pain blooms up his ribs and through his shoulders, and he lets out a sharp hiss.

“Careful—” Tigerlily urges, holding onto his arm. “Let me help.”

He grits his teeth and lets her guide him. He lowers himself into the seat with a wince, every muscle in his body protesting. His casted leg scrapes along the edge of the door before he lifts it inside and exhales hard, settling back against the leather.

“All good?” she asks.

He manages a thumbs-up. That’s all he can give.

Tigerlily nods, satisfied, and shuts the door gently. As she walks to the driver’s side, Chris catches one more glance of you — now walking toward the passenger side of the car, your face unreadable. You open the door and slide in silently. No greeting. No acknowledgment. Just silence. You don’t look back at Hyunjin, but Chris sees him raise a hand in a small wave. Tigerlily waves back politely before pulling out of the parking spot and steering the car out of the lot.

The silence inside the car is thick. Unspoken words hang in the space between you. Chris can feel it like pressure on his chest — or maybe that’s just the pain meds fading. He looks at the back of your head, at your delicate profile in the reflection of the window, at the way you seem lost in thought. You were supposed to be with him. You were with him. But not like that. Not anymore.

And Chris... he feels it now, in the space between your seat and his. You’re drifting. Further and further away, and he doesn't know how to reach you anymore.

-

The car rolls up to the driveway with a soft crunch of gravel under the tires. Before it even fully stops, the door on the passenger side opens and you’re out — storming up the walkway, heels clicking against the pavement, shoulders tense, not once looking back.

Chris watches you disappear into the house. The door shuts behind you with a firmness that echoes louder than the slam it could’ve been. He slumps in the seat, defeated.

Tigerlily shifts the car into park and glances over at him. “You’re in huge trouble, Dad,” she says matter-of-factly, one eyebrow raised as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“I know,” Chris mutters, exhaling a sigh through his nose. “I’m very aware.”

She rounds the car to help him out. It’s clumsy and slow, and every movement tugs at his stitched temple and sore limbs. But with Tigerlily’s support, he manages to get inside. She doesn’t say anything when she opens the door and sees the house lights dimmed, a sign that you’ve retreated to your room — or maybe just didn’t want to wait around for him. Chris swallows hard and looks away.

“I left your meds on the kitchen counter,” Tigerlily says gently as she helps him settle into the nearest armchair. “Take them before you do anything else.”

“Thanks, cub,” Chris murmurs, trying for humor but barely managing a smile.

She crouches slightly to unstrap the velcro on his boot cast, making sure it’s not pinching his skin. When she finishes, she stands and brushes her hands off on her jeans. “I'd better go,” she says. “Mom’s mad. I know better than to linger when she’s mad.”

Chris chuckles quietly. “Smart kid.”

Tigerlily bends to hug him. “For the love of God, stop doing anything reckless, okay?”

“No promises,” he jokes softly.

But before she pulls away, her voice turns serious. “And apologize to Mom, Dad. Sincerely. She came immediately when I told her you got hurt. That means she still cares. Don’t brush that off with jokes.”

Chris blinks at her, stunned by her clarity — and her calm. “Wait a minute,” he says, smirking as he hugs her again. “Did my daughter just school me on how to be a decent adult?”

“I’m someone’s wife now,” she quips with a smug smile.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

They laugh, just a little, and it’s the first real laugh Chris has had all day. “Drive safe, cub,” he says as she heads for the door.

“You too,” she calls back. “And be brave. You faced a sold-out stadium with a broken mic once. You sure can deliver a sincere apologize to Mom.”

Chris dramatically rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I'd rather face a stadium full of upset fans than facing your angry mom.”

Tigerlily quietly chuckles and takes her car keys with him toward the door, “Night, Dad!”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Chris in the quiet hum of the house and now, the hardest part waits for him just up the stairs— behind a closed door, likely locked, where you are. And where he’ll have to knock with more than just his knuckles.

But first, Chris needs to take his meds first. He swallows down the last of the bitter pills and tips back the glass of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sets it down in the sink. Then he hears footsteps.

He turns on his good foot—and there you are, coming down the stairs. Gone is the elegant dress from earlier. You’re in soft cotton now, barefoot, your hair down and your make-up is smudged. But your eyes—they burn.

Chris barely has time to register the look on your face before you storm toward him. "Wait—" he starts, but you slam your hands against his chest, hard, shoving him back. His back thuds against the fridge with a dull sound, the cool metal grounding him as he winces, stunned.

“You fucking asshole,” you snap. Your hands fist in his shirt now, slapping, pushing, anything to make him feel it. “You stupid, reckless, thoughtless asshole.”

Your voice breaks on the last word and Chris opens his mouth to speak, but you hit him again—this time it’s not strength, it’s desperation, devastation. The tears are in your eyes already, but you fight them.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I wasn’t thinking—I thought joking would help but—”

“No!” you yell, cutting him off. “You never think, Chris. You keep doing this—acting like you’re invincible, like it doesn’t matter what happens to you—but it does. It does!”

You’re trembling now, your voice cracking and raw. “For a second I thought you—” But you can’t even say it. The words stick in your throat like glass and then you break.

You crumble against his chest, sobs shattering the air around you as you bury your face in his shirt. Chris catches you instinctively, wrapping his arms around your shaking body. He holds you tight, one hand on the back of your head, the other splayed across your back like he could shield you from every bad thought. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, over and over, his lips pressed to your hair. “I’m so, so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t—”

But your tears just keep coming, hot and heavy against his chest. And the more you cry, the more it sinks in. The fear in your voice, the panic in your eyes. You thought you might lose him. You still care that much.

Chris closes his eyes, guilt swelling like a tide, drowning whatever strength he has left. And in that moment, he realizes: no matter how much he's tried to convince himself he could move on, he’s still tethered to you—and you, to him. And tonight, that tether nearly snapped.

He lifts your head slowly, carefully, his thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. Your eyes meet his, red-rimmed and glassy, and the sight of you like this—so hurt, so open—breaks something tender in his chest.

He sees it there, in your gaze. The pain. The love. The fear of almost losing him. His hands tremble slightly as he cups your face, holding you like you’re something fragile and precious—because you are. His fingers curve against your jaw, his thumbs resting gently on your cheeks. He leans in. Not rushed. Not impulsive. And then he kisses you. Softly. Tenderly.

A kiss not filled with desire or heat—but with truth. With apology. With years of unspoken feelings stitched between the space of your mouths. His lips move against yours like a confession, slow and steady, like he’s trying to say I’m sorry, and I miss you, and I still love you all at once.

And you kiss him back. You lean in with a softness that aches, your hands finding his shoulders. There’s a quiet eagerness in the way your lips move against his, a remembered rhythm, a fire long buried but never truly gone. And it stirs back to life in both of you—familiar, electric, alive.

The kiss deepens for only a moment, and when you part, your foreheads rest against each other’s. Your breaths are shaky, mingling in the quiet between you. Chris keeps his eyes closed, afraid that if he opens them, this will all disappear. But you’re still there, warm in his arms and for the first time in a long while, he feels whole.

Until all of a sudden, you pull away like the kiss burned you. One step back. Then another. He sees it—your eyes are downcast, lashes trembling, and your shoulders heaving with a quiet breath. And then you shake your head, slow and mournful, like you’re trying to shake him off you. When you lift your gaze to meet his, it’s not cold. It’s not angry. It’s worse. It’s sad. Wrecked. Resigned.

“This is a mistake,” you whisper.

Chris’s breath catches in his throat. “No,” he says, too fast. Too desperate. He takes a step toward you. “No, it’s not. That kiss—” He gestures vaguely between you. “That kiss meant something. It made everything clear. We’re still in love with each other—how could you not feel that?”

You flinch. But still, you say it again. “It’s a mistake.”

Something in him snaps. “Which one?” His voice rises, sharp with frustration. “The kiss? Me? Us?” He spreads his arms wide, like he’s begging you to choose which part of him you’re throwing away. “Tell me, because I need to know what exactly you think was wrong when everything about this—about us—feels right.”

Tears gather in your eyes again. Fresh. Shining. But they fall quickly this time, no resistance. You don’t wipe them away yet. You let them fall as you speak, voice breaking on every other word. “Waiting for you,” you croak. “That’s the mistake.”

Chris freezes. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. Not a breath. Not a word.

You go on. And each word lands like a stone hurled at his chest. “We divorced because we weren’t ready. We said we’d wait—remember? We said we’d find our way back when we were ready.” You sniff, harshly. “I believed you. I waited for you. For years, Chris.”

He blinks at you, stunned. His arms drop slowly to his sides, helpless.

“I kept waiting. Through every silence. Every headline. Every award show. Every wedding photo.” The last part comes out in a gasp, like it was torn out of your lungs. You swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hands, rough and angry at yourself for still crying over this. “But you went on. You married someone else. And I... I foolishly still waited.”

He tries to speak, but his lips won’t move. His throat is dry.

“And now—now—that I have someone who wants me, someone who sees me and chooses me every single day without needing to figure himself out first, you come back.” You look at him like he’s a wound. “You want me again because someone else does. That’s not love, Chris. That’s not fair.”

You’re sobbing now, shoulders shaking, chest caving in—but you keep going, even as your voice frays apart. “I’m not going to let you break my heart all over again. I'm done waiting.”

And just like that, the room drowns in silence. The kind that feels loud. Crushing.

Chris doesn’t move. He can’t. Guilt has crashed over him like bricks—each word you said another weight on his chest, pressing down until it’s hard to breathe.

You calm, bit by bit, enough to speak through the jagged remnants of your tears. “Please, just leave.” you say. It’s soft. It’s tired. “Just do whatever it is you always do, Chris. Run. Go back on tour. Move on with someone else.”

You lift your chin, eyes still red and raw but burning with the last ember of strength you have.

And he knows—this time, if he walks away, he might not be able to come back but Chris doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you leave.

Your steps are slow at first—shaky, like your legs might give out—but you keep going. One hand trails along the wall for balance, the other wiping the tears from your face with the kind of frustration that only comes from crying over someone who keeps letting you down. You don’t look back and that’s what cuts the deepest.

The soft thud of your steps on the stairs is the only sound in the room now. Every step you take feels like a door closing. A version of his life slipping further out of reach. His hands hang useless at his sides. His jaw clenches. He wants to say something. Call out your name. Apologize. Plead. Run to you. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Because the truth is already in the room with him. Echoing louder than your sobs. He lost you. Not just now, not just tonight. A long time ago. Slowly, over years of silence and selfishness and choices he thought he could undo. But this… this was the last chance. The final thread. And he let it unravel in his hands. You disappear at the top of the stairs, and he hears the soft click of a door closing. That’s it.

Chris stands in the middle of the living room with the taste of your kiss still on his lips and the weight of your words wrapped around his throat like a noose. Every breath feels like a punishment.

And all he can do now is stand there and live with it. Live with losing the only person he ever truly wanted to come back to.

-

The morning sun glints off the windshield, warm on his face, but he barely feels it. Chris grips the edge of the open car door, fingers curling tighter than necessary around the metal. His cast feels heavier than usual today, like the weight of everything he's about to leave behind has settled in his bones.

Tigerlily hovers near his side, one hand on his back to steady him, the other reaching to help guide his leg in. She’s saying something—probably asking if he’s okay—but her voice sounds muffled, like he’s underwater. He nods anyway.

Then he turns his head, seeing you standing on the porch. Still. Silent. Watching him with that unreadable expression you've mastered so well over the years and for a second, Chris forgets how to breathe.

There’s so much he wants to say. Thank you. I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. But none of it would make a difference now so he gives you a smile—a small, quiet thing. The kind of smile people wear when they’ve already lost, but still want to leave something behind. Something gentle. Something true.

Chris ducks into the car. The door closes with a click that feels too loud. Final. Julian shifts the car into gear. Tigerlily climbs in beside him. The engine hums. The tires roll forward.

Chris doesn’t look back. He tells himself he can’t—his neck hurts, the angle’s bad, whatever excuse comes first—but the truth is, he doesn’t trust himself not to break again. Not after that night. Not after the way you said please just leave like it was the hardest thing you’d ever had to say.

As the house disappears in the rearview mirror, Chris stares ahead, jaw clenched. The road stretches out before him, long and winding. There’s music waiting at the end of it. Stages. Cities. Crowds. Applause. But it all feels distant because the person he wants to share it with is standing behind him, watching him go.

As the car speeds up, Chris closes his eyes, and swallows the ache building in his throat. He’s leaving this place behind. Leaving you behind. But it doesn’t feel like freedom. It feels like loss.

-

✨ The final chapter of Evermore is available on my Patreon ✨

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[stardust-poet]

Overworked.

°•~《☆》~•°

Pairing: Leo valdez x gn!reader

A/n: Sorry for not posting a fic in awhile, I got a huge wave of demotivation (I'm also running a jason grace rp blog ( @jason-the-kabob ) )

Warnings: nothing!

Enjoy!

°•~《☆》~•°

When you walked into bunker 9, all you saw was a mad house.

Empty soda cans littering the floor, screws, scrap metal, and tools. Anything you would find in a hephestus kids' hands was littered around Leo Valdez's workspace in Bunker 9.

"Leo?" You called out after not seeing him in his usual seat. The reason you came into bunker 9 was to find leo after he missed lunch for the 4th time this week.

"Over...over here!" You heard his familiar voice call out. He sounded tired, worn down, frantic even.

You frown as you walk over to the source of Leo's call, where you find him rummaging through scrap pieces of metal and other machinery while mumbling under his breath.

"Uh, Leo? ... I brought you food." You said, your concern increasing with every mumble that escaped his lips.

"Yeah, yeah... thank you, I'll eat it later." Leo mumbled like he was in a trance. You were 95% sure he was going to forget about it until he accidently knocks it over.

You set down the plate of food on a nearby work table and grabbed Leo's arm to steer his gaze towards you.

Leo turned to meet your eyes. You saw the bags under his own half-lidded eyes and the pure exhaustion in them.

You immediately knew he needed rest. No matter how much he'll say 'he's fine' and 'doesn't need it'. Leo Valdez will be taking a nap, even if you have to knock him out.

"Leo." You said, your tone serious and yet concerned. Leo hummed in response, his attention focused only on you. Or at least, his eyes were solely focused on you. His hands were fidgeting with a piece of scrap machinery and metal.

"You need rest. You haven't slept in awhile—and dont try lying and saying you fell asleep while you were working, that does not count, Leo Valdez." You told him, looking him dead in the eye to try and get you point across.

Leo huffed and started on a ramble. "But—but i have so much stuff to get done! The demigod-safe phones, i-i just need to tweak a few things and then i promise I'll—"

You grabbed his chin, your face inches from leos, putting him in enough temporary shock to get him to stop talking. You could feel his breath spreading over your face.

"Sleep." Was all you said.

Leo whined but gave in.

He sleepily stumbled over to his couch in the corner of bunker nine which was covered in both pillows and blankets, plopping down on his back with a loud 'mmph!'

Leo looked to you with pleading eyes, and you knew what was coming next. You wished you would've left as soon as he hit the couch.

Leo made these grabby-grabby hands towards you with a whine.

"Cuddleeeee." He whimpered.

"Leo, this is why there are rumors spreading around camp about us having an affair or something."

"I don't care. C'mere or I'm not sleeping."

"Your siblings will find us here. They'll–"

"C'mereeee."

Well, you weren't just gonna let him die of exhaustion.

With a dramatic groan, you walked over to Leo, who was laying comfortably with half-lidded eyes and waiting for you to join him.

You sighed deeply before plopping down onto Leo's chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

Leo's embrace was rather... warm. It was comforting, like how a home should feel.

Leo wrapped his arms carefully around you, tracing circles around your back. You shivered at the soft, yet hot touch.

You're a little glad you didn't leave so soon.

This was nicer than you expected.

You carefully nuzzled up into Leo's neck, triggering a shiver out of him.

Gods, he was so warm. Why was he so comfy? It seems a little abnormal to feel this much like a home.

"Maybe," Leo spoke all of a sudden, though his voice was quiet and sleepy.

"Maybe this should happen more often." He whispered.

You took In his words, slowly memorizing the way he pronounced every word subconsciously.

"...maybe. though, you shouldn't be one step into the grave next time." You retorted back, a little... relived he was just as eager for other moments like this.

You had never been more peaceful.

Leo chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll take better care of myself. For you, love." He whispered into your ear, his breath hot against you.

"You...you better." You mumbled, a little thrown of course by the petname. You snuggled into him further like it was the only thing keeping the both of you alive.

Leo only chuckled, but you knew the truth.

On the inside, he was estatic to have this with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

°•~《☆》~•°

Finally, I finished a little blurb :)

[kaaytea]

Hi kay!! can u write for kuroo where he tries that pinning your girlfriend against the wall prank on the reader please please

Kuroo Can't Kabedon

Warnings: reader is a manager, but I used gn! pronouns <3

A/n: Hello~ I'm assuming you meant the Kabedon thing? Unless there's a different prank I'm unaware of. I hope you like it and thanks for requesting 💕

----------------------------------------------------------

For some unknown reason, Kabedonning had become a huge trend at Nekoma over the past few weeks

The rumors say that it started during a game of truth or dare the baseball team played, but honestly, the entire thing has become so wide spread that it's hard to trace it back to an original source

It was hard for Kuroo to ignore the Kabedon trend; everywhere he went someone was pulling it, didn't matter the relation of the two participants, the students were doing more for fun at this point

(for jokes, Kuroo had done it to Yaku, which was hilarious for everyone else, but not for Kuroo because he got an elbow to the stomach for startling the libero)

Kuroo was very interested in doing it to you, but was kind of hesitant after getting obliterated by Yaku

He didn't feel like getting elbowed again . . .

But ya know, Yaku is (usually) more physical and aggressive than you are, so why not have some fun!

Practice rolls around, you walk in ready to start your work and that's when Kuroo decides to strike

Now, you're literally just try to get your work done and you see Kuroo walking over

And you think it's probably some Captainy thing he wants to discuss before practice officially starts, so you wave at him as he approaches

Only he doesn't slow down

He is wAlkIng closer and closer and instinctively you think he's upset or something, so you kind of awkwardly scoot away from him to not bother him

But he keeps coming C L O S E R ?!

You are now up against the wall and thats when it clicks

This little bitch is going to Kabedon yOu?!

Nah . . . Not if you have anything to do with it

The second his hand goes to trap you to the wall, you slip from under it, grab his arm and switch places with him, pressing his body to the wall and slAmming your hand next to his head

The gym falls to complete silence and Kuroo can only blink back at you, completely baffled by what happened

To tease him even more, you lean close to his face and say: "Gotcha, Captain~"

He's so flustered he can't even speak

The silence is broken by an attempted suppressed snort from Kenma which quickly falls into him laughing at his friend and a fallout of teasing from the rest of the team

[Bonus stuff, ig]

Practice is finally over and you're putting away some equipment in a storage room when large hands grips your waist and spins you around

Kuroo then traps you between both his hands, sending you a smirk before leaning in close to your ear

"Gotcha."