#will i ever finish setting addy up... maybe

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.  

Like, there was no other option.  

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.  

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches. 

Nothing alike. 

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:  

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"  

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"  

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17? 

The universe was taking notes.  

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.  

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.  

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable. 

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.  

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.  

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.  

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes. 

"Did they ask for your social security number?"  

"Y/N."  

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."  

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.  

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.  

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).  

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.  

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.  

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"  

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in. 

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.  

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.  

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.  

Not a single bag is packed.  

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."  

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you. 

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."  

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."  

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."  

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction. 

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."  

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"  

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."  

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."  

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear. 

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."  

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.  

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.  

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin. 

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.  

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.  

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly. 

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.  

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.   

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."  

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."  

Ah. Of course. Jenn.  

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.  

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."  

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.  

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.  

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.  

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."  

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."  

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."  

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.  

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong. 

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."  

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."  

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."  

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.  

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.  

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.  

"Y/N?"  

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.  

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."  

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."  

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.  

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.  

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.  

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it. 

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it. 

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone. 

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen. 

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves. 

It’s something else, something harder to name. 

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you. 

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming. 

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense. 

It’s logical. Nothing more. 

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating. 

Obviously. Nothing more. 

He presses call.  

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.  

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"  

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...  

He doesn't want to hang up. 

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."  

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.  

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"  

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.  

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."  

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"  

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.  

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”  

“Do what?” 

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.” 

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability. 

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."  

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying. 

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"  

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."  

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"  

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.  

But now, with you, it feels different. 

Safer, easier. Natural.  

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."  

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"  

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” 

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there. 

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."  

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there. 

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” 

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.  

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."  

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way. 

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."  

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."  

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.  

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.  

But he can't help himself.  

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"  

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."  

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."  

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"  

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep. 

"Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.  

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."  

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."  

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."  

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job." 

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.” 

“Done. What size?” 

"The oversized one."  

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"  

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"  

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line. 

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.” 

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way.  

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts. 

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."  

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."  

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."  

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."  

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters. 

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly. 

"Debatable."  

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.” 

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you. 

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."  

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words. 

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.” 

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"  

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.” 

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady. 

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.” 

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you." 

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.  

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.  

Not yet.  

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.  

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."  

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.  

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."  

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.  

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.  

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply: 

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"  

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."  

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb." 

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.  

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.  

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.  

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.  

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension. 

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?” 

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake. 

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts. 

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."  

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself. 

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"  

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.  

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."  

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.  

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."  

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."  

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.” 

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."  

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."  

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh. 

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.  

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.  

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"  

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."  

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."  

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."  

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."  

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.  

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."  

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.  

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.  

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him. 

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.  

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."  

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."  

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you. 

"Always, Jake." 

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave. 

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you. 

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal. 

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.” 

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away. 

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement. 

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds. 

“I’m allergic to flowers.” 

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering. 

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.” 

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can). 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling. 

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.” 

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache. 

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing. 

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed. 

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.  

And he wonders if it’s you. 

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too. 

Because you always did. 

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone. 

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him. 

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.' 

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying. 

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously. 

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears. 

“I like you, Y/N.” 

No, not like. Really, really like. 

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.  

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call. 

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.  

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper. 

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him. 

But then, came the fear. 

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave. 

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal? 

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign. 

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly. 

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point. 

You were risking everything. 

And the worst part? 

You were already halfway there. 

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.  

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse. 

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear: 

You were already his. 

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep. 

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely. 

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too. 

"Y/N?"  

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."  

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—" 

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."  

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—" 

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.   

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."  

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.  

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"  

A beat of silence. 

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."  

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"  

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."  

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"  

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."  

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."  

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"  

"Jungwon."  

"Exactly."  

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"  

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.” 

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.  

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.” 

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.” 

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.” 

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.  

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.  

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."  

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."  

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?" 

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.  

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."  

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."  

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."  

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.  

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.  

But then you remember Jungwon's words.  

You deserve this.  

And so does Jake.  

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.  

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.  

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.  

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"  

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."  

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.  

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.  

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."  

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."  

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.” 

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself. 

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."  

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.  

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself. 

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—" 

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.  

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."  

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.  

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."  

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.  

"Are you sure, Jake?"  

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."  

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.  

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?” 

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.  

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.  

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.  

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling. 

“Yeah?” 

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.” 

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter. 

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.  

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?” 

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless. 

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you. 

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip. 

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”  

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks. 

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. 

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?” 

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?” 

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.” 

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.” 

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again. 

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him. 

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard. 

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”  

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.” 

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?” 

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"  

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."  

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."  

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"  

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."  

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.  

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."  

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face. 

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.  

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."  

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.  

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."  

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.  

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.  

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with. 

"Jake..."  

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.  

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"  

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."  

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."  

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.  

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."  

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."  

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."  

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"  

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."  

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."  

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."  

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.  

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."  

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."  

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."  

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."  

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you?   Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you?   Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so… 

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over. 

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.  

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.  

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”  

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”  

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”  

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.  

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”  

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”  

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.  

And aced it.  

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.  

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.  

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”  

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”  

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”  

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“  

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”  

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”  

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.  

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”  

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.  

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.  

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.  

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."  

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.  

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."  

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."  

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."  

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.  

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over. 

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.  

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."  

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.  

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.  

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."  

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.  

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."  

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."  

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."  

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.  

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.  

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:  

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you! 

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.  

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."  

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."  

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."  

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"  

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."  

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."  

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."  

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."  

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"  

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.  

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."  

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.  

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought: 

Jake.  

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.  

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?  

Not exactly something you can Google.  

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)  

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)  

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.  

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)  

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.  

Any second now.  

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.  

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.  

And then the door swings open.  

"SURPRISE!"  

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.  

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.  

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.  

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?! 

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.  

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.  

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.  

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things— 

He looks away.  

He looks away.  

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.  

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?  

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?  

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. 

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.  

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.  

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension. 

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.  

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.  

"Y/N!"  

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."  

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."  

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."  

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.  

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.  

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."  

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."  

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).  

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"  

"Jungwon." 

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"  

"Jungwon!"  

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"   

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.  

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.  

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.  

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."  

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.  

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."  

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."  

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?  

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."  

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.  

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.  

"Jake!"  

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.  

"Y/N."  

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought. 

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."  

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.  

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.  

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.  

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."  

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.  

A shrug.  

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh. 

As if they never belonged to you.  

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.  

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."  

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.  

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.  

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"  

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.  

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.  

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a  heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.  

The Jake who made promises.  

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.  

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.  

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.  

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."  

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."  

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."  

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"  

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.  

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"  

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."  

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.  

"Hey...isn't that—"  

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't. 

Because just like that, your world crumbles.  

There she is—Jenn.  

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.  

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.  

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.  

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.  

The way he smiles at her.  

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.  

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.  

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:  

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.  

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.  

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.  

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.  

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.  

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.  

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.  

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.  

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"  

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.  

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"  

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."  

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."  

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"  

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.  

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.  

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.  

"Y/N."  

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.  

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.  

And you hate it.  

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.  

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.  

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.  

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.  

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."  

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.  

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.  

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over. 

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.  

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.  

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.  

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."  

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.  

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again. 

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."  

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.  

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."  

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."  

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."  

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.  

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.  

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.  

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"  

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..." 

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.  

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"  

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.  

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"  

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"  

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"  

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"  

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.” 

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.  

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.  

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.  

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."  

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"  

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."  

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."  

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"  

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."  

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.  

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.  

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."  

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.  

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."  

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"  

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.  

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."  

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.  

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."  

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"  

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."  

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."  

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment. 

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night. 

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.  

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.  

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.  

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."  

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"  

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.  

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.  

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."  

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."  

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."  

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.  

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."  

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"  

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."  

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."  

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."  

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.  

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."  

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.  

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.  

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."  

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.” 

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."  

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”  

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.  

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.  

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."  

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"  

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."  

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.  

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.” 

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.” 

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."  

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."  

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.  

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N   Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all   Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door  Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away  Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise.   Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much.   Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.  

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.  

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.  

And yet, you can't stop.  

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.  

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.  

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?  

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?  

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

Your breath catches.  

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.  

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.  

Fear. Hope. Doubt. 

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.  

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.  

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.  

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.  

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.  

You hit send.  

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake  Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over 

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.  

“Y/N?” 

His voice. Jake’s voice.  

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.  

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.  

"Hi," Jake says softly.  

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other— 

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.  

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"  

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.  

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.  

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.  

"Jake, you're literally allergic."  

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.  

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."  

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."  

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.  

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.  

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."  

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.  

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.  

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.  

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."  

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."  

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that. 

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."  

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.  

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."  

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.  

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N." 

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.  

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.  

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.  

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."  

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."  

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.  

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you. 

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."  

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."  

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"  

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."  

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.   

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."  

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."   

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.  

So you do.  

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.  

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.  

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.  

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.  

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."  

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."  

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back. 

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.  

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.  

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.  

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."  

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.  

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.  

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.  

And a start is all you need.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”  

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”  

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes." 

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.” 

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?” 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”  

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."  

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."  

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.  

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.  

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."  

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."  

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."  

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."  

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.  

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.  

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words. 

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?" 

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.  

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word. 

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction. 

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”  

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you. 

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.  

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.  

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”  

And you’ve never meant anything more.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody.   Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)  

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift 

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean 

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ 

"Heaven" – Bazzi 

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R. 

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber 

"Before You" – Benson Boone 

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee 

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

[inlovewithgreta]

Jealousy — Addison Montgomery x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Synopsis: You get jealous over McSteamy’s antics and decide to take it out on Addison in more ways than one.

Warnings: Semi-public sex, praise, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, etc…

Word Count: 2.7k

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Working at a hospital, you could never walk into work knowing what your day was going to be like. Each day was different, but your favorite days were slow days. The days where nothing major happened and all you had to do was check on patients and fill out paperwork.

Specializing in the pediatric division of Seattle Grace was always interesting to say the least. You worked with a plethora of kids who each had their own personality, and you couldn't help but love each and every one of them.

At first, your emotions became a problem with your cases, as you got too attached, but the longer you were at the job, the easier it got to control. Although, every once in a while, you found yourself slipping, and Addison had to help remind you to keep your head on your shoulders.

Although she was your boss, Addison had taken a liking to you the moment she saw you. The moment your eyes met hers for the first time, she knew you were going to be hers.

As you were finishing your rounds, a familiar high-pitched laugh brought your attention over to the Nurses' Station just down the hallway. Addison was seen speaking with a smirking Mark. Knowing their past, Addison assured you that what they had was over, but it wasn't her you didn't trust, it was him.

Mark was a player and a jokester.

And he repeatedly got on your nerves.

Ever since you started your relationship with Addison, Mark had seemed to make it his job to purposely set you off. He knew how jealous you got when he even looked in Addison's direction, let alone stood mere inches from her making her laugh.

Even you knew he was purposely trying to make you jealous, but you couldn't help it. Just the mere thought of him even laying a finger on her made your blood boil. You had a love for Addison, and although you had yet to tell her, both Mark and Addison knew and made a bet with how long it would take you to admit it.

You couldn't help but stop in your tracks and gaze at the duo talking excitedly to each other. Mark saw you over Addison's shoulder faking to distract yourself even though your eyes were glued to her back.

Your cheeks had already flushed, and when Mark purposely laid a hand on her shoulder to pull her into a hug, a tight smirk spread across his lips when his eyes landed on you. He noticed the way you instantly tensed with the slight flair of your nostrils when you huffed. It was obvious you immediately grew jealous at their contact while Addison had no idea of your presence.

He had you right where he wanted you.

Usually, Addison would catch onto his ploys, but as your presence was unknown to her, she had failed to realize what the man was actually doing.

When Mark finally pulled away from the hug, you took that as your opportunity to stride up to the Nurses' Station just beside Addison and hand one of the women behind the desk your files.

The second Addison heard your voice as you thanked the nurse, her eyes immediately darted from you over to Mark who stood with his arms crossed and a cocky smirk spread across his face.

"Addie, do you mind helping me with something?" You immediately spoke out just as Mark opened his mouth the speak.

"Of course, darling, with what?"

"You see, I've got this annoying rash. . ." You glare over at Mark, "and it is being a pain in my ass, would you help me get rid of it?" You attempt to lie, but to the two of them, it was clear what you wanted.

"What a coincidence! I have one too, just under my shirt here, maybe I should take it off and have Addie here take a look at it." Mark toys, only adding fuel to the fire he saw in your eyes.

"Mark, that's enough—" Addison goes to stop the conversation but you are quick to cut her off.

"No, Mark, go ahead and take your shirt off. I've always wondered what old man physique you had hiding under there."

"Don't tempt me with a good time, sweetheart." His smirk only grew when he noticed your eye roll. He knew you hated when he called you that, which made him say it as often as he could.

"The only sweetheart here is Addie, isn't that right, darling?" You slide a hand possessively around her waist.

Mark attempted to cut Addison's next words off with another one of his annoying lines, but you had grown tired of his antics and walked both you and Addison away from the grey-haired man who eyed the two of you walking off with a curious brow.

"Aww c'mon, Y/N, let's just hug it out!" Mark called out, eliciting a heavy eye roll from you.

"If he so lays a finger on me, I'll break it."

"I don't doubt that one bit, love. Where are we going?" Addison asked curiously, when she noticed you had led her to the more emptier part of the patient area.

"I want to show you something."

Your eyes scan every room until you walk past one that is completely empty, and nearly push Addison inside and close the door behind the two of you.

Addison's back is instantly pressed against the cold mahogany door as your hands make home upon her hips, and your lips hungrily press against hers.

Addison was quick to reciprocate the kiss, a small hum eliciting from her throat as her hands made way to your cheeks, pulling you as close to her as possible.

"What did Mark say that was so funny?" You nonchalantly asked, sending small kisses along her slim jawline.

"Is that what this is about? Mark?" Addison softly laughed. She didn't think you were being serious, which caused you to gently nip at her neck, earning a small whimper from her.

"He still wants you." You say in between kisses as you make your way back up to her soft lips.

"I don't think so—"

"You don't think he does, but I know he does." Your eyes bore straight into hers, before purposely darting to her lips as if you were about to kiss her again. To her dismay, you hovered just mere centimeters from her face, a smirk toying at your lips when she attempts to close the distance, and you having to rest a gentle finger along her lips to stop her.

"But," You continue, starting to walk the two of you towards the empty bed, "that's too bad because you are mine. And I'm going to prove it to you. . . Right. Now." Your finger leaves her lips to slide down to her chest and gently pushing her down onto the bed.

Addison already knew what to do, as she didn't say a word and immediately unbuttoned her top, revealing her royal purple laced bra that tightly held her breasts. You crawled on top of her just after she kicked her shoes off, mouth instantly making contact with her tanned skin. You nibbled and sucked along her collarbone, leaving fresh love marks that only you got the pleasure of seeing. . .

At least that's what Addison thought, until she seen what you were doing next.

You had made a small mark on her neckline that was sure to be seen by anyone who paid enough attention, and you knew exactly who that person was going to be.

"Wait, everyone is going to see that one." She mumbled.

"That's the plan, Addie."

Addison let out a sigh, knowing she would have to explain that one later. You slowly kissed down her body, eyes fixated on her bright green ones that dilated as you inched your way down her stomach.

Heat rushed through Addison's cheeks as her gaze failed to leave your own as you tucked your fingers below her waistband to pull her pink scrubs down her slender legs, revealing her matching purple panties.

"Wet for me already, I see."

Her hips jolted towards your touch, "Does that surprise you?" She breathed out.

"Not at all." You smirked, knowing exactly how she reacts to you, and you alone.

You hook your teeth under her panties to glide them down her legs and off her body.

You waste no time in spreading her thick thighs, your hands laying on the inner flesh of her thighs to keep them in place. Once her panties were off, your bring your lips to kiss a small trail up her tanned legs.

Her hand flew to yours in attempts to get you to do something, "Come on..." You could tell she was getting impatient, but you needed her to feel some frustrations like you did.

You tsked, "That's not how to get what you want, and you know that." You responded with a bite to her thigh.

Your action pulled a whimper from the redhead, knowing that you were right.

"Please..." She corrected.

You looked at her with a small smirk, you couldn't restrain yourself anymore. You wanted her just as bad as she wanted you, so you caved.

Addison writhed slightly at the coolness of your flattened tongue along her folds. Small hums elicited from the redhead at the newfound pleasure between her legs.

Her head fell back along the plush pillow, hips begging for more as they bucked forward ever so slightly. Bringing two fingers to her center only increased the numerous noises coming from Addison's red lips.

"How does this feel, love?" Your curved fingers glide at a steady pace.

"So good. . ."

Addison's hips bucked as your tongue flicked against her sensitive clit. Her chest rose and fell with each pleasurable passing second. She was at your complete mercy. Body and mind both hyper-fixating on you and only you.

"You look so beautiful like this. How did I ever get so lucky?" Feather-like kisses were placed across her skin, trailing up her body back to her rounded breasts. Your mouth attached to her nipple trapped behind the thin layer of lace covering her chest.

You knew she would finish if you had her directly in her mouth, but wanted her to last longer, building up the pressure little by little.

"More. Please." Addison couldn't help her pleas as you teased her breasts. Her freshly manicured hand roamed your locks, fingers tightly gripping the hair at your scalp.

As much as you wanted to make her wait, the fiery look in her glazed over emerald eyes were too hard to ignore. Your ears were blessed with a low moan as you added a third finger, bringing your movements to a halt as you let her adjust.

The grinding of her hips allowed you to restart your pace, your mouth kissing along her lace covered breast before moving back up to her neck, adding more love marks to the opposite side you never touched earlier.

"So close—" Addison whimpered, the feeling of your palm pressing against her clit had her legs beginning to shake. "Fuck, I'm so close." She tugged at your hair, pulling your face up to hers so her lips could connect with yours in a needy kiss.

"Let go, my sweet Addie." You encouraged against her lips.

Luck was still on your side, as your beautiful Addie came with a scream of your name, a certain someone had walked by the patient room by chance. Mark had stopped briefly as he heard the unmistakable sounds of sex, he knew them well, but was caught off guard as a familiar voice screamed your name. Once the shock wore off, he scoffed with amusement before continuing on with what he was doing before his curiosity took ahold of him.

Addison quivered as she came. Thighs attempted to close around your hand, but your body pressing flushed against hers made it impossible for them to close.

Sweet moans echoed off the bare hospital walls, your movements never faltering from her orgasm. Addison's brows knitted while she watched a smirk slowly creep along your face that was now moving back between her legs.

Her legs trembled, a small whimper eliciting from her when you replaced your fingers with your tongue. You carelessly wiped your fingers clean of her orgasm along your pants, watching her every twitch and wiggle as you never eased up on the pleasure.

"Since you wanted this so bad, let's see if we can get another one out of you, hmm?"

Your tongue lapped up her release, sliding across her folds and up to her clit, lips wrapping around the bud and adding gentle suction.

"I can't!" Addison cried out, her free hand holding a death grip along the bedsheets. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes, pleasure and overstimulation clouding her senses.

"You can, my love. You're always so good for me. Just one more. You can do it." You encouraged her.

Her head nodded frantically, the uncomfortableness of the overstimulation slowly returning back to pleasure. Hips threatened to buck against your face, expletives forcing themselves from her mouth.

She loved when you got jealous. It showed in the way you pleasured her. Your usual one and done attitude always disappearing as you attempted to show her just how good she had it with you. You were the only one who ever made her feel this way, and you knew that, but still made it a point to prove it to her each and every time.

Her thighs wrapped tightly around your head as she came for the second time. Her orgasm hit her harder this time around, cries of pleasure sounding like music to your ears.

You hummed as you lapped her up after she came, hands pulling her thighs from your head, allowing air to enter your lungs after she had temporarily cut you off.

"Oh fuck..." She brought her arm up to her face to wipe away the sweat that formed on her features from your ministrations.

You just smirked as you peppered kisses all across her body until you came face to face to her once more.

"Maybe I need to make you jealous more often."

Your smirk lessened as your features darkened slightly, "If you do, I can promise that next time won't be so enjoyable for you." You accentuated your point by pressing your knee to her overstimulated core, causing a slightly pained whimper to come from her.

"But we both know you're my good girl, and you wouldn't do such a thing, right?" You give her a pointed look.

She nodded, "Right."

A sweet smile replaced your previous look, "Excellent! Now, I'm sure someone has probably notice the top two attendings' absence in this hospital. So, it's best we get back to work."

Addison sighed, knowing you'd both have to go back to your professionalism when you returned to work. You lifted from the bed, offering your copper-haired girlfriend a hand.

You smirked to yourself when she stood, the slight quivering of her legs still very prominent from her intense orgasms. It only took a minute for you to help her redress, and run your fingers through her bedhead to calm the frizz in attempts to remove the look of sex from her.

Addison attempted to calm her breathing, feet sliding back into her work shoes. You gave her a quick peck against her forehead, taking her stray hairs between your fingers and tucking it behind her pierced ears as you looked lovingly into her eyes.

"Ready?" You questioned.

"Mhm, you go first and I'll follow after a few seconds in case of any wandering eyes."

You agreed, unlocking the door and poking your head out to look both ways, and letting out a sigh of relief at the empty hallway, completely unaware that a certain grey-haired man was waiting back at the Nurse's Station with a quizzical brow.

You took quick strides from the room, Addison following suit just a few feet behind you, attempting to tame her shaking legs. When your eyes met with Mark's, Addison was quick to turn the other way, clearing her throat and fixing her hair as she walked past the two of you.

You knew the antics that would come from Mark but you wordlessly responded to them all with a smirk, Addison found it nearly impossible to clear her dirty thoughts that wandered through her mind as she attempted to return her focus back to work for the rest of her shift.

[canirove]

Friends, lovers… and an orange | Chapter 22

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“Mase… Mason, can you… you… urgh.”

“What the fuck, Adele? You just pushed me out of the bed!” he complained, trying to untangle the sheets from his legs.

“It's what you deserve after almost making me fall like a hundred times in the past two hours with all your fidgeting” she shrugged. 

“What?”

“You haven't stopped moving since we got in bed. What is going on with you?”

“Nothing” he said, laying down again next to her.

“Oh, c'mon, Mase. Is it because of the shoot? Are you nervous about working together?”

“I love working with you, Addie. No one makes me feel more relaxed in front of a camera than you do.” 

“Then?” she asked.

“It's… everything else about your crazy plan. What if something goes wrong? What if I can't keep avoiding meeting with my agency to talk about my contract? What if they find out about…”

“Mason” Adele said, cupping his face and forcing him to look at her. “Everything is gonna be ok. Our plan will work out, your agency won't find out, and you will be free.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I came up with the plan, didn't I? It is perfect” she smiled. “Jokes aside, if we don't believe it will work out, it won't. We have to stay positive.”

“Easier said than done” he sighed.

“Lucky you, you have me to kick you out of bed every time you start doubting.”

“Yeah, nice way to treat your boyfriend” he said, trying really hard to not smile but once again being betrayed by his dimple. “What if I injure myself, uh? Then what?” he said, tickling her.

“Then we'll call your mum so she can take care of you. You are like the worst patient ever.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Mason!” Adele laughed when he tickled her again, making her move on the bed. “You know you are, everyone says it.”

“Poppycock” he said.

“The truth!” she laughed again when he tickled her, moving to escape from his reach. What Adele hadn't realized, though, is that she was closer to the end of the bed than she thought. “Oh, shit!”

“Adele!” Mason said, trying to catch her before she fell. “Addie, are you alright? Addie… Why are you laughing?”

“I just…” she said, cutting herself mid sentence and starting to laugh again.

“Addie, are you sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?” he chuckled.

“Oh, shut up!” 

“Do you need help getting up?”

“I actually do” she said, taking the hand Mason was offering her.

“Adele!” he said when she pulled him towards her and made him fall again, this time landing on top of her. “Are you mad?”

“Madly in love with you, yes” she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Going cheesy won't make me forget that you've pushed me out of the bed. Twice.”

“I see… and if I do this?” she asked before kissing him.

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Umm…” 

“Biting your lip won't help either.”

“What?” she chuckled.

“You do it sometimes when you think. You bite your lip, and it drives me crazy.”

“And it isn't working now?”

“No.”

“Really?” Adele smirked while biting it again.

“Ok, maybe a tiny bit.”

“And if I do this?” she said, moving them on the floor until she was the one on top and straddling him. “You usually like this position, especially when I look like this” she said, slowly taking off her t-shirt while Mason's eyes followed her every move. 

“Have I told you yet that I love how you've turned my t-shirts into your pyjamas since we got together?”

“Don't change the topic of conversation, Mason.”

“But it's true. They look better on you that they do on me.”

“Should I put it back again, then?” 

“Hell no” he said as he sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him, his chest against her naked one. 

“Then what?” Adele asked, biting her lip once again. “Have you forgiven me for pushing you out of the bed? Twice?”

“I'll let you know later. Right now all I want is you, Addie. All of you. You and only you. I love you.”

“And I…” but she wasn't allowed to finish her reply, Mason's lips finding hers. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I think this is my favourite photo from this set.”

“And you are my favourite.”

“Mason!” Adele giggled after he kissed her cheek. “There are people watching.”

“And?” he said while hugging her from behind. “We agreed to do this, didn't we? To be all lovey-dovey so they could have a cute behind the scenes video of the shoot for the fans.”

“We did, yes. But maybe you could tone it down a bit.”

“Umm… no” he said, now kissing her neck. “And you started it all, it's your fault.”

“What?” Adele laughed.

“Have you forgotten about last night? About this morning? Because I haven't” he said, kissing that spot on her neck that he knew made her knees feel like jelly.

“Mase” she gasped. 

“Yes?” he whispered in her ear, the feeling making her shudder. 

“We still have work to do.”

“But we could take a break. Maybe go somewhere private just you and I and…”

“Mason, can you… Oh, sorry” the stylist that was working on the photoshoot said behind them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no, it's fine” Adele said, clearing her throat and taking a step away from Mason. “We were checking the photos I just took, seeing if they were good and we could move into the next look.”

“And can we? Because I need him to try this shirt on. I think it'll need some alterations, and if we don't do it now we may not have time to shoot it.”

“Yes, yes. He's all yours” Adele smiled.

“Great. Mason, can you please come with me?” the stylist asked him.

“Of course. Though Adele lied to you.”

“Lied to me about what?” she asked with a confused look.

“I can't be all yours, because all of me is already hers” he said with a big smile, one that was all dimples.

“Jesus Christ, Mason” Adele said, feeling her cheeks on fire. “Go get changed before we all die of a sugar rush.”

“It's the truth” he shrugged. “And as if you didn't like it” he whispered to her before following the stylist.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“And that's wrap! Thank you very much, everyone” Adele smiled.

“Urgh, finally! Can't wait to get rid of you. And with you I mean you lot” Mason said with a teasing smile, pointing at the crew. “I could never get tired of my Addie.”

“Please someone stop him before he gets even more cheesy!” she said, making everyone on set laugh.

“It's been a pleasure to work with you during these couple of days, guys” the stylist said. “This issue is gonna be iconic.”

“I hope so” Mason smiled. “Anyway, are you up for a beer? I know I just said I can't wait to get rid of you all, but… please?” he pouted.

“We can't say no to that face, can we?” the stylist chuckled. “Let's meet in the pub at the end of the road in half an hour. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, perfect. Addie?”

“Sure” she smiled. 

“Addie, are you ok?” Mason asked her while she finished packing her camera.

“Uhm.”

“Uhm isn't an answer.”

“I'm ok, Mason. Is that better?”

“If you were telling me the truth, it would. Addie, what happened? Aren't you happy with the photos?”

“What? No, no. The photos are amazing. I'm surprised they look that good keeping in mind that the model sucks.”

“Hey!” 

“Sorry” she shrugged. 

“But if it isn't because of the photos, then why are you looking so serious?”

“I'm ok, Mase. I already told you.”

“Addie… Adele” he said, taking her hands on his and making her focus on him. “What happened? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren't you doing it?”

“It's just… I… Urgh.”

“Addie…”

“Now I'm the one having doubts, ok?”

“What?” Mason chuckled. 

“Yeah” she sighed.

“Did I pass them to you through all the fluids we've shared lately?” he smirked.

“Mason!” Adele gasped, her eyes wide.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry” he laughed. “But why are you having doubts?”

“Because now that the photos are done, it feels more real, you know? And we can't make any mistakes. Just a little one could lead to your agency finding out and…”

“That isn't going to happen, Addie. This plan is going to work, and not only because you came up with it” he smiled, letting go of one of her hands and caressing her cheek. “I've been thinking about it, and the fact that things have been going pretty smoothly since my agency released the statement about you not being pregnant, is a sign of this working out, of luck being on our side.” 

Things had been going pretty well since they had told the truth, Mason wasn't wrong about that. Though maybe the fact that they had “embellished” the story a bit, had helped.

His agency had told the press that Adele had never been pregnant and that the photos had been taken out of context just as she had asked them to do. But they had added that if she had been wearing bigger and looser clothes, it was because all the comments about her body had made her feel self-conscious and insecure about it, and that with the support of Mason, she had finally stopped caring and decided to love her body the way it was, live her life and be happy. They had made her look as a victim, people going from hating her to pitying her and feeling sorry for her, somehow turning everything that had happened into some kind of feminist message, and made Mason look like the perfect boyfriend who supported her girl and made her feel loved and special, his fans swooning just by the thought of it. 

“Addie, you said it yourself. We have to be positive and believe that this will work out.”

“We do, yes” she nodded.

“And we are together in this. You and I, but also our families and our friends. This will work out.”

“It will” she said, finally smiling.

“Good” Mason smiled back, his hand still on her cheek. “Now, why don't you finish packing while I go get changed? I really need that beer.”

“Sure. But you can't be that tired, you just posed in front of a camera” Adele teased him.

“I actually am. You should have seen the photographer, she was so bossy…”

“I thought you liked me being bossy” she laughed.

“In bed, yes. Out of it…” he smirked. “See you in a bit, ok?”

“Ok.”

“I love you, Addie” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Love you too” she replied.

[russellsppttemplates]

i just cannot get enough of dad!lance omg 🥹🥹 maybe something like first parents night out and them going back home early cause they miss addy 🥹

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?", Lance complimented, making you blush as you wiped your mouth after taking a sip from your glass, "a few times, yes", you said. "Just telling the truth, sweetheart. I like that colour on you", he smiled.

Chloe offered to look after Addalynn for the night so you and Lance could have a date by yourselves and enjoy some quality time together, and so far, it had been lovely. You left home early to walk along the city before making it to the restaurant, ordering your favourite dishes and actually having adult conversations for the first time in a while. You had put on one of your favourite dresses, and it seemed like your husband thought the same.

"Can I take the plates with me?", the waiter asked as he arrived to your table, noticing you and Lance had been chatting for a little bit after finishing the food, "sure, absolutely! The food was great, as always", you said as he gathered your plates, clearing up the table except your glasses.

"What is it?", you asked Lance, seeing him play with your fingers absentmindedly as he looked at you, "it's just-", he was interrupted by the waiter, "Here's the dessert menu, and we also have the drinks on the back", he handed Lance the card as you fiddled with your necklace. From the beggining of your relationship, Lance noticed that you rarely ever went out without your necklace, the gold piece with your initial, resting on your neck at practically all times, so over the years, he had gifted you a medal for you to add in, later an 'L' piece, and the most recent one, an 'A' piece for your daughter.

"Do you miss her too?", he asked, startling you since you hadn't noticed you were filling with the newest charm. Blushing at being caught, you couldn't bring yourself to lie about it, "I loved this, don't get me wrong. I think we should do this again so we can get used to not having her around for a little bit and for her, too, but I-", you said as Lance set the card down as the waiter approached you again, "can we please have four slices of cheesecake to go? I'll just pay at the front, if that's okay", he checked over with the waiter, who nodded and fixed the to go box as soon as he could.

Lance got up and grabbed your coat, helping you get dressed in it, "I know exactly how you feel. Let's go home so we can snuggle our little princess and have some dessert. Hopefully we can bribe Chloe if she had too much trouble", he winked, lacing your hands as you walked up to pay, thanking the waiter and wishing them a good night.

Arriving home, Chloe was the first to greet you and Lance, "you know you could've taken longer, I was doing just fine, you didn't gave to rush back", she reasoned, "we know, but we didn't want to be away from her much longer", Lance explained, taking off his coat and peeking at his sleeping daughter, "she's an angel, you guys, she fussed a little when I gave her the bottle, but then she fell asleep straight out".

"We have some cheesecake for you and Scotty", you said as you walked to the kitchen after kissing your daughter's head, putting the slices in a container so she could go and enjoy the sweet treat with her husband, thanking her once again for her help.

Sitting on the sofa, Lance kept staring at Addalynn as she slept peacefully, "look at her, not a care in the world, everything is just fine in Addalynn's little world, isn't it, my love?", he cooed.

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[gorgonwrites]

bound to you, part 4

diluc x fem!reader

wc: 3, 155

author's note: alexa, play Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token

cw: 18+, MDNI!!! fem!reader, reader is an artist, oral (fem receiving), fingering, overstim, dacryphilia, body worship, edging, angst MAYBE if you squint, arranged marriage, tooth rotting sweetness bc diluc is a soft man and just wants to love you right

“And then I use orange here against the blue,” you made a quick swipe with your paintbrush, “See how it creates a highlight? The two colors contrast in such a way that it immediately brings your attention to this focal point.” your husband leans over your shoulder to look at the area of the canvas you were finishing. He had declined to paint with you, but he did insist on remaining in your presence for the rest of the afternoon. At first you weren’t sure you could tolerate his audience, but as time passed you both relaxed as he watched your brush dance across the canvas. 

“When did you start painting?” Diluc was directly behind you, bent over so he was speaking directly into your ear. Being so close to him sent a bolt of electricity through you, and you had to steady yourself for a moment before answering him.

“When I was small. I think I was 7 when my father bought me my first set of paints.” Remembering the day you received them made you smile. You had painted the most atrocious version of a cryo slime anyone had ever seen and paraded it around your home for days afterwards, convinced that it was the greatest thing to ever grace your family member’s eyes. 

“I was a little overconfident back then, but I was humbled quickly.” you laughed, “My parents sent me to painting classes and my teacher was ruthless. The first time she told me my skills were worthless, I cried for days.” 

Diluc frowned at the thought. If anyone but him dared to bring tears to your eyes- his thoughts came to a halt. Anyone but him. You were still talking but he didn’t hear a single word, too focused on imagining tears spilling down your face with your lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck. He could feel the growing bulge in his pants, and he was in no position to readjust himself. 

“Y/n, I just remembered I have something that needs taking care of-” he began to retreat, trying to escape to the privacy of his own chambers. Your arm shot out quickly and silenced him before he could finish speaking. You reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, holding his gaze. Diluc slowly reached up and covered your hand with his own, his bulging cock completely forgotten. 

“Are you unwell?” you asked quietly, surprised by the courage suddenly coursing through your veins. You brushed your thumb across your husband’s bottom lip, his eyes widening in response. 

“I am very well, I assure you.” he breathed. Your hands were so warm on his skin. “I have one more thing regarding the winery that requires my attention. Once you’re finished here, have Addy help you bring your things inside.” You began to pout. “This is the last thing I have to do for the next few weeks, I promise.” 

“Words mean very little to me, Diluc. How do you intend to comfort your lonely wife?” His response was a wicked smile, and he took your hand from his cheek only to hold it gently in both of his own. 

“I think you’ll find I can be very comforting if given the chance, angel.” a pang shot through your heart. He continued, “Your hands are warm today.”

“I- I haven’t used my vision to cool myself since you’ve kept me company this afternoon.” You gasped as he brought your hand to his lips, brushing them over each of your fingers. He then looked at you with a stern expression on his face. 

“Don’t do that anymore. I mean it.” Diluc wanted to know all of you, and you continuing to hide  a core part of yourself every time you were in his presence was beginning to weigh on him. 

“But the other day my hands were too cold and you withdrew from me, I was being careless, I-” you were speaking rapidly, barely louder than a whisper. You stopped suddenly when he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand. 

“I didn’t withdraw because your hands were cold. I withdrew because it was the first time you reached out to me and I was surprised.” He looked up at you and smiled again. “You think too much, has anyone ever told you that?” It was true that Diluc didn’t like the cold. He didn’t enjoy when snow covered the rolling hills of Mondstadt, he didn’t like cold drinks on a hot day, and he didn’t like even thinking about joining his staff as they jumped into the cold rivers that flowed down from Dragonspine. But he could deny you nothing, and if that meant overcoming this small hurdle, so be it. Your fingers suddenly felt icy in his hand, and goosebumps broke out across his skin. 

“Maybe this will be the first time I decide to do as you ask for a change.” you giggled mischievously, and Diluc rolled his eyes. You were also a brat he was learning, but he’d never say that out loud. 

You were finished for the day shortly after your husband left you. You were reeling from your exchange with him, and your arousal was almost tangible as you gathered your things. Adelinde came out to greet you, and helped you carry everything back to the manor. The two of you were in the library adjusting your painting above the mantle before you finally spoke. 

“How long has Diluc been calling you Addy?” you were curious. He’d never referred to Adelinde by the nickname in front of you before, and you found it incredibly endearing.

“So he finally let that one slip, did he?” Adelinde laughed, “He’s been saying that since the day I arrived at the manor. He was still very young, and I don’t think he could quite manage my full name at the time. Addy has stuck ever since.” The thought made you snicker. Of course he would adopt his own name for her rather than ever admitting that there was a time when he was incapable of pronouncing her name. You both continued to adjust and readjust the painting, careful not to smear any of the drying paint. 

“He worries about you, you know.” Adelinde said absently as she worked with you to finally move the canvas in place. “You’re all he has.” You looked at her, confused. 

“I didn’t think I did that much to cause him to fret over me.” Yes, you liked to push what you could and could not do, mostly because you hated the feeling of being caged like a bird. His requests were always simple things- don’t venture off of the winery grounds when he was away, no housework, no fieldwork, and no going out after the sun set each evening. 

“The young master has grown up in a difficult world, my Lady. Forgive him for being a cautious man.” you knew nothing of what Adelinde referred to. Your curiosity was eating at you though, and you wanted more information on your ever elusive husband.

“What do you mean?” 

Adelinde just sighed in response, shaking her head. If you really want to know, you have to go ask him yourself. You huffed out a breath in response, and instead turned your attention to the painting freshly mounted over the mantle. Courage, you thought to yourself. I just need ten seconds of courage. 

You paced back and forth at the foot of your bed, unable to make up your mind. You had bathed and now wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide from the thoughts whirling in your mind. After your interaction with Diluc earlier, your arousal had continued to grow throughout the evening and it was now almost unbearable. More than that, your curiosity was starting to spill over about your husband’s life before you married him. You needed to know every detail he was willing to share. You’d been walking around your room for ages, and the moon was high in the sky. He probably wasn’t even awake. 

I’ll go to his door, knock, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll come back and pretend it never happened. It took several times of you repeating the thought in your head before you were finally convinced to venture out into the hall. You slowly and carefully made your way through the dark to Diluc’s door, your breathing starting to quicken. You lifted your hand and lightly knocked, half hoping that it was too quiet for him to hear. After a few moments you began to turn away, relieved. Your chest tightened when you heard the lock on Diluc’s door click, and light from his room spilled into the hallway. You froze in place, immediately regretting your decision to come see him. 

You could tell from the wild expression on his face that he wasn’t expecting to see you. He was shirtless, and his hair cascaded over his shoulders. There was a hint of a flush on his chest, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had been doing before he opened the door. Heat began to gather between your thighs at the thought.

“Y/n? Are you well?” He looked worried, pushing his hair out of his face. Grabbing your hand, he gently pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you. Your eyes raked over every inch of your husband, quickly forgetting your bubbling curiosity from earlier. 

“Very well,” you rasped. Courage, you reminded yourself. You closed the gap between your bodies, placing your hands on his bare chest. You could feel his body tense under your touch. Craning your neck, you leaned into him to whisper into his ear. “I came to remind my husband that he left his wife lonely and wanting this afternoon.” 

His hands were on you instantly. He firmly held the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. He took your chin in his other hand, forcing you to look up to him and hold his gaze. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes searched your face for any signs that you wanted him to let you go. After a few moments he was satisfied, and he spoke. 

“And what would my wife have me do to correct such a transgression?” his eyes had a feral look you had never seen before. You snaked your arms around his neck and grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his head back to give you access to his neck. He whined as you planted several soft kisses there before you finally answered his question. 

“Ruin me.”

Before you knew what was happening, Diluc grabbed your hips and threw you over his shoulder. Without a word he turned and quickly made his way across his chambers, tossing you onto his bed. He lifted your nightdress off of you easily, exposing your naked body to the cool night air. You reached out for him, craving his touch. He stood between your legs where you sat on the edge of his bed, and held your face in his hands. His breathing was increasingly labored, and you could feel yourself start to shake from excitement. Your face was so close to his. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned down and took your lips in a crushing kiss. 

He kissed you like he was starving. His hands continued to wander, familiarizing himself with your body inch by inch. You bit his bottom lip, making him groan.

“Do that again and see what it gets you.” You most certainly would have, but he didn’t give you the chance. He quickly moved to your neck, biting and licking his way down to your chest. You leaned back, letting your husband explore your body. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth over it as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers. You brought a hand up to your mouth, trying to hide the moans spilling from your lips. His hand shot up and grabbed your wrist before intertwining his fingers with yours, bringing your hand away from your face. 

“I want to hear you, angel. You can’t hide from me anymore.” He continued teasing your nipples, and slowly made his way down until he was between your thighs. He spread your legs wide, pushing your knees towards your chest. You whined, feeling hopelessly exposed with your husband's mouth inches from your pussy. Kissing your inner thighs, he began to suck and bite lightly, leaving marks that only he would ever see. 

“Tell me you want me.” Diluc’s voice was demanding. You hoisted yourself onto your elbows so you could look at him. He had completely halted his actions, waiting for your response. You fell back, covering your eyes with your hands. You were suddenly feeling shy and your voice died in the back of your throat. Your husband moved upwards slightly, reaching for your face. You peeked through your fingers at him and he took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each of your fingers and then your palm before turning it over to plant a final kiss just above your knuckles.

“Tell me you want me, angel. Tell me how to love you- I’ll give you anything. Everything. I’ll give you all of me.” you felt tears pricking at your eyes as his words started to overwhelm you. 

“Gods, I want you Diluc, please-” you started to cry, “Take what is yours and make me come!” As soon as the words left your lips, his mouth was on your pussy. You were impossibly wet and your juices coated his tongue. He pushed your knees back to your chest again, giving him greater access to your core. He licked a long stripe from your pussy to your clit, and taking it between his lips he began to suck gently, flicking his tongue as he did. 

“Fuck!” you sobbed as he continued his relentless attacks on your now puffy and swollen clit. You could feel yourself close to your release, reaching down and grabbing Diluc’s hair, pushing him further into you. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped. 

“Not yet, angel.” He kissed your thighs and then began to make his way back up to your neck. You whined in frustration, infuriatingly close to coming undone. He peppered your chest and neck with kisses before meeting your lips again. Tasting yourself on his tongue felt wicked. You quickly pulled away, trying to push him back down between your legs. He resisted, and when you huffed in response, he grinned ear to ear.

“You’re a cruel man, Master Diluc.” you crossed your arms, trying desperately to seem angrier than you actually were. 

“Not cruel enough, it seems.” he growled in your ear, and suddenly plunged two fingers into your pussy. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, arching your back from the pleasure. You gripped his biceps and did everything you could not to scream. He slowed his fingers for a moment to let you catch your breath. 

“Like this?” he asked, moving his fingers in and out of your pussy messily, “Or like this?” he stilled his fingers, curling them up into the spongy spot inside of you. You choked as he began to stroke your clit with his thumb, and you could feel a familiar sensation building inside of you. 

“Like that, oh- please, Diluc!” you threw your arms around his neck as he pleasured you, finding his lips as fresh tears started to fall down your cheeks. 

“Give it to me, angel. Let go.” you felt a coil snap in your core and your vision went white, screaming your husband's name as you came on his fingers. He didn’t let up, and you began to writhe under him from the overstimulation. He was a greedy man, and he wanted everything from you. You felt the coil quickly tighten again and just as you came down from your first high, you fell apart for a second time, squirting all over Diluc’s hand. His movements slowed finally, and he gently pulled his fingers out of you. He brought them up to his mouth and sucked them clean of your essence, not wasting a single drop. You were completely out of breath, still holding onto your husband tightly. You were both sweaty, and he loosened your grip so he could sit up and pull you into his lap. You realized he was still clothed from the waist down, and wanting to return the favor you reached for his pants trying to remove them. He stopped you, and when you began to pout he couldn’t help but laugh. He got up and walked into the bathroom to begin drawing a hot bath for you. 

He walked back to the bed where you were still pouting, mumbling things he couldn’t quite make out. He leaned down, his hands on either side of your hips as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. You reached up and began running your fingers through his long hair, and your mumbling quieted as you began to pepper the top of his head with soft kisses. Steadying himself, he kissed your collarbone and then looked up at you. 

“That’s enough for tonight, angel. Let me clean you up.” He helped you to your feet, but your legs were too wobbly to walk after two back to back orgasms. You begrudgingly let him carry you to your bath, and afterwards you carefully put your nightdress back on. You found him sitting by his window, an open book on his chest as he began to doze. You lightly brushed your fingers across his cheek, earning you another smile. 

“Would you like to stay with me tonight?” he asked quietly, without opening his eyes. When you didn’t answer immediately, he frowned and peeked at you in  hopes of catching your expression. You had your hands on your hips, and let out an exasperated sigh. You sat on his lap and put your elbows on his chest, resting your chin in your hands. 

“Master Diluc asking his wife to stay overnight with him in his chamber? Hell must have frozen over!” you tried to sound sarcastic, but your giggling gave you away. Diluc quickly wrapped you in his arms and bombarded you with kisses, making you laugh even more as you tried to escape his grasp. 

“If Hell is frozen over,” he continued his relentless attack, “it was most definitely your doing.” He stilled and shuddered when you placed a cold hand on the back of his neck. You smiled, satisfied.

“Yes, I want to stay with you tonight. If you’ll have me.” Diluc suddenly stood up, bringing you with him. Holding you close, he kissed your forehead and laughed in response.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to let you leave.” 

[lucydixon]

Firestarter - Chapter 5

10k Znation x Original Female Character

Summary: The gang heads west, and Torch opens up a little more

CW: Swearing, Cannon typical violence, Zombie apocalypse typical weapons, Violence, Death

Spoons

With no further instructions, the truck headed West at an agonizingly slow pace.

Between the traffic jams and destroyed stretches of road, it took over twelve hours just to make it across West Virginia and into Ohio.

Torch seemed to be finished with her blank staring off in the distance and was slowly re-inserting herself into the conversation going on in the bed of the pickup, which she refused to leave everytime it was her turn to sit in the cab.

“What about you Torch?” Addy asked, “What food do you miss the most from before?”

“Bread.” The girl nodded solemnly “I ever see another loaf of bread, Best hope y’ain’t standin’ in my way.”

“Oh god,” the older girl groaned, “I would kill someone for a croissant.”

“Fuck is that?” Torch shot her a weird look “A Crust-what?”

“A croissant.” She annunciated “It's a pastry. You’ve never had one?”

“Think I made it clear that I ain’t.”

The girls blinked at each other for a good minute before laughing.

10k was alternating between sitting with them and staring out over the roof of the truck, not speaking much but glad that Torch was.

At some point, she’d put her hair into two braids and he tried not to stare but found it hard not to notice a jagged scar on the back of her neck. He figured it wouldn’t go over well if he asked her where she’d gotten it, but he badly wanted to. Instead, he bit his tongue and listened.

“Christ,” Torch cussed after they wound up having to re-evaluate their route due to roadblocks for the fifteenth time “gonna take fuckin’ forever to get to California if shit keeps goin’ like this.”

“Once we find someplace to stop, we’ll reorganize.” Warren assured her from the front seat “We’ll hold up for the night and rest.”

The girl sighed in relief, desperate to get up and walk around for as long as she could. It would be nice to sleep indoors for a change, maybe even in a bed if she was lucky.

It had been days since she’d killed anything and she was getting visibly antsy.

Before the truck had even fully stopped in the neighborhood that Garnet had found for them, her boots hit the ground and Torch stretched, sighing in relief when her joints popped. She couldn’t believe how good it felt just to stand.

She spotted a Z on the next lawn over, while everyone grabbed their gear and went straight towards it even though it hadn’t noticed them yet. She tore her buck knife from her belt and twirled the blade in her hand, palming it as she approached with a steady grip.

The Zs head snapped to the side when he heard her coming and it immediately started barreling towards her.

The girl stepped to the side and kicked the back of its knees the second it made it an inch past her. Her blade skewered its brainstem before it could so much as reach for her. Its body hit the ground and she took a step back, surprised she hadn’t gotten any gore on herself.

The rest of the group was staring at her while she wiped her blade off and tucked it back into her belt.

“What?” Torch shrugged when she noticed, feeling her cheeks warm “Y’all ain’t never seen a Z go down?”

“Nothing.” Doc shook his head as she approached “Just wondering if you were some kind of assassin before all this?”

Everyone else got back to unloading the truck before clearing the house and settling in.

The sun was setting fast, so they rushed to get set up before losing the light.

“Found some candles,” Addy grunted, dropping a box on the dining room table, “all we need is a lighter.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Torch, who just pulled one from her pocket and tossed it across the room without looking up from the drawer she was going through, oblivious to the amused stares.

“Anything good?” 10k asked her, peering over her shoulder.

“Shit.” She gasped, holding a hand over her racing heart, not having heard him come up behind her. “Like a fuckin’ cat.”

“Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly, “That happens a lot.”

“S’alright,” She chuckled “and nah, there ain’t anything useful in there, just a shit ton of spoons.”

“Spoons?” He frowned, looking at the four open drawers “Why would anyone ever need this many spoons?”

“Fucked if I know.” Torch shrugged “But I ain’t never seen so many all together like that. Some weird shit.”

“What are you two doing?” Doc asked after watching them stand side by side scratching their heads for a good few minutes.

“Y’ever seen so many spoons?” Torch asked, waving him over and gesturing to the drawers.

“No,” Doc joined them “Can’t say I have.”

“Alright people” Warren pulled their attention away from the spoons finally “I’m gonna take the first watch, then it’ll be Garnet. The rest of you, find a spot and get some sleep. I don’t know when we’re gonna properly stop again.”

Torch nodded with a yawn, climbing the stairs in search of a comfortable place to sleep.

She left the rooms for the rest of the group and claimed the home office and its fancy leather couch for herself. The blanket draped over the back of it looked warm enough to get the job done, so she dropped her gear and wandered around the room, not quite ready to sit down after spending so much time in the truck.

Torch paced the length of the small space, flicking her lighter over and over until she felt her eyelids get heavy. She finally curled up on the couch, wrapped in the sherpa blanket, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Torch woke up with the sun.

She sat there for a moment, confused. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up on her own, without somebody shaking her awake or screaming or the truck jostling her till she was torn from sleep. Now, the steady stream of warm light that flooded in through the windows felt so normal that it almost made her panic.

The house was far too quiet and it quickly put her on edge.

She poked her head out the door and peered into the hall, sighing in relief when she heard soft snoring emanating from the bedroom across from her.

Unsure how long they were staying, Torch brought her bag downstairs with her and set it down next to the front door. Garnet was up and his head snapped to the side while his hand rested on the butt of his gun.

“Torch.” He sighed, clearly tired “sorry.”

“S’alright.” She shrugged, not having flinched. “I don’t mind keepin’ watch if ya want to go up and try gettin’ more sleep.”

“Could you?” His shoulders slumped over in relief as he peeled himself out of the chair. “Thanks. Wake me up if anything happens.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute before settling in the now-empty armchair. It was angled towards the window, so she could see the front half of the house.

Torch enjoyed the peace and quiet for a good hour before hearing light-footed steps walking down the stairs. She didn’t have to look up to know that it was 10k.

“How long have you been down here?” He yawned, plopping down on the couch to her right.

“‘Bout an hour.” She shrugged, finally looking at him. “Thought I’d let Garnet get a bit more sleep.”

“Did you sleep?” He frowned, trying to gauge if she’d been up all night.

“Like a baby,” the girl hummed, cracking a small smile.

“Where?” 10k’s brows pulled together. He’d seen her go up the stairs the night before, but wasn’t sure if she’d actually stayed. He’d heard her lighter flicking on and off before falling asleep “Down here?”

“There’s an office upstairs.” Torch glanced out the window at the empty road “Good couch.”

“Cool,” He bobbed his head before taking everything out of his bag and re-packing it to his liking.

“Ya did that yesterday.” she muttered without looking.

He wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a question or a statement so he just blinked at her.

“Your bag.” She clarified as if she could feel the confusion “last few days, ya unpack it, then put it all back. Been wonderin’ why.”

The boy was glad she wasn’t looking because there was nothing he could do to stop the grin that stretched across his face. She’d been paying enough attention to him that she could recognize his routine. It was reassuring in a way to know that she might be looking at him just as much as he did at her.

“It’s so I know what I have in it.” He said after a moment, “I like to see all of it out in front of me.”

“You mean to tell me that ya can remember exactly how many headshots ya land, but ya can’t remember what’s in your bag?” She finally turned to look at him with a raised brow.

“It’s just something I’ve always done.” 10k shrugged before his lips curled up into a smirk “What about you?”

“What about me?” Torch frowned.

“Your shoes.”

Her cheeks warmed.

“I’ve watched you untie and re-tie them a hundred times over the last few days. What’s with that?”

“Don’t wanna trip over ‘em.” She shrugged, “I try not to make the same mistake twice.”

“So, what?” He looked incredibly amused. “You tripped?”

“Somethin’ like that.” The girl bit back a laugh. “Went down a flight of stairs runnin’ from Zs and knocked myself out cold.”

“How’d you get out?” 10k’s brows pulled together “Were you alone?”

“Went through the floor, but took a bookshelf with me, landed just right and kept ‘em off me.”

“You’re lucky.”

“If I was lucky, the fall woulda killed me” Torch scoffed “Was stuck under that damn thing for hours, wasn’t even any good books. Stumbled outta there with a concussion and wearin’ more guts than I had left in me.”

“But you got out.” He shrugged, looking smug “Still lucky.”

“Can’t help yourself, can ya?” Her lips curled upwards when he went back to looking confused “You’re a real ‘every storm runs outta rain’ type, ain’t ya?”

“What does that mean?”

“Think on it.” She sighed, standing to stretch when Mack and Addy came padding down the stairs.

A few minutes later, the rest of them trailed along and within the hour, they were piling back into the truck, slightly more rested than when they’d gotten out. Torch settled across from 10k and Cassandra, burning the frayed edge of the bottom of her tank top so it wouldn't get any worse.

“You’re gonna set yourself on fire doing that” Cassandra warned, looking wary.

10k watched her intently as she looked up with a raised brow, lighter still going.

“Are you outta your damn mind?” Torch narrowed her eyes “Y’all watched me make a bomb outta a bag of flour, and ya think I don’t know what the hell I’m doin?”

The lighter was flicked off and she pinched the burnt edge, sealing the melted polyester.

“Alright, sorry.” She held her hands up in surrender.

“I ain’t mad.” Torch cracked the tiniest, amused smile, and 10k laughed. “M’just fuckin with ya.”

Cassandra’s look of regret morphed into one of relief and she found herself chuckling softly.

“Christ” The girl shook her head “You’d think I’d killed a whole army in front of y’all. I ain’t no assassin, ain’t some super soldier or nothin’.”

“Just a girl with a knack for everything flammable” Cassandra scoffed “You might not have killed a whole Army, but you seriously saved my ass back in Philly, okay? That took guts and a whole lot of skill. You’re badass girl. It’s not a bad thing.”

Torch’s cheeks warmed and 10k nodded in agreement.

“It was pretty cool.”

“I know ya think it was cool.” She rolled her eyes at the boy “Course it was, it was a fuckin’ bomb.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Cassandra asked, same as 10k had ten times over the last few days.

Torch went back and forth inside her head a few times before sighing heavily.

“Fine.” She breathed and 10k grinned, clearly beyond excited “Was an accident. Back when I was a kid, there was this old lady who lived ‘cross town, her house was right at the edge of the woods and sometimes I’d be out there, hangin’ off trees and fuckin’ around with lighters. The trees out on my end were no good for climbin’.”

The boy and Cassandra were both listening intently.

“She had a grandson ‘round my age and he didn’t like me none 'cause we got into it at School one time, so he’d hurl things at me whenever he saw me ‘round there. One day, both of us were supposed to be at school, and obviously, ain’t neither of us actually made it out to class. He saw me and came runnin’ with a bag of flour.”

“Guess it was the closest thing to ‘em.” She shrugged “Anyhow, I didn’t see him comin’ and he tripped. Had the lighter goin’ and this big ol’ cloud of flour just went up outta nowhere.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Cassandra.

“Didn’t get me too bad” Torch frowned, able to smell the burning hair as if she was there, standing in the woods again. Ten years old frozen in shock. She shuddered “Gave me one hell of a haircut and fried the arm off my favorite sweater, but I got lucky. Didn’t get the skin all that bad.”

They could both see where this was going and suddenly, 10k felt bad for badgering her for the story.

“Him?” She shook her head and grimaced “Wasn’t so lucky. My sweater melted, his went up. If it was the summer, he mighta brought the forest down with ‘em. But it was fall and the ground was still wet, so he rolled around till it went out, but his grandma was in town, grocery shoppin’ or somethin’, I dunno.”

“Waited in a tree till she got back after draggin’ him up to the porch. She screamed up a storm and whisked his ass straight to the hospital, but I didn’t see him no more. Wasn’t dead, just gone.”

“Wasn’t the first fire fuck up I had and it sure as hell wasn’t my last” Torch shrugged “got the name years before all that, but that was the first person who was unlucky enough to get caught up in it.”

“That’s awful.” Cassandra looked at her with so much sympathy that it made her skin crawl “you were just a kid. You couldn’t have known.”

The girl shrunk back and looked almost confused.

“Course not” She muttered “What's that gotta do with anythin’?”

“I just mean that it’s not your fault he got hurt.”

“I know,” Torch frowned “I wasn’t the one tossin’ shit. He was bein’ a dumbass”

“Right-”

“We ain’t gotta talk ‘bout it anymore.” the girl waved her off.

“Okay.” Cassandra sighed in defeat while 10k blinked at Torch, a little shocked.

She didn't say anything else until the next time they stopped.

[ar-feyniel]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by dear @luthien-under-bough

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

52

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

878,730. That's insane actually now that I think about it.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

HOTD/ASOIAF, but also dabbling into "The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue"

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Maternal love - Aemma-centric time-travel fix-it

Armistice - slow-burn(ish), enemies-to-lovers epic fic with human sacrifice and a lot of denial of feelings. And magic!

daughter's wrath - early marriage Daemyra, basically a "what if Rhaenyra married Daemon once her father's marriage to Alicent is announced". Brat!Nyra to its fullest.

Violet-Eyed Jealousy - my biggest claim to fame, the thing that started daddy-in-law agenda, canonverse.

Passion driven - my very first attempt at writing for this fandom and in English overall, the whole fic is shorter than some of my current one-shots lol, but it still hangs strong in top-5.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Unless they are mean, obnoxious or demanding.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably you took everything from me because it's Daemma, canonverse, and they are doomed lol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Tbh almost all my fics end with "they fuck and are happy", it's hard to pick just one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I do, occasionally, and sometimes it upsets me, sometimes I just block and move on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Mostly F/M, but also F/F and Multi. Haven't written any M/M yet, and as for kinks - well, I don't think I have any hard-nos at this point haha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

counting tides is technically a crossover because it's heavily based on "The Odyssey" and is adapted to ASOIAF setting.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, unfortunately.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, without my permission lol. I made the mods take it down.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I plan to! With an author who I consider to be a dear friend of mine. <3

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Daemyra - and if we talk about other fandoms, I have my preferences, but Daemyra is *the* brainrot.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

the poison in my blood has your name. This fic was plagiarised and I have no idea whether I will come back to it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterisation, probably? I also like to believe my premises are creative.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Consistency, that's easy haha. My creativity and inspiration are too fickle.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't see the point. Whenever I encounter High Valyrian or any other language I don't speak in a fic, I just skip this part and never bother with looking for translation.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Silmarillion.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

maybe this thing was a masterpiece ('til you tore it all up) - it's an angsty modern AU that is probably my best writing ever. I cried when writing it, and every time I reread it, there is a knot in my chest. This is something I am really proud of.

no pressure tags @calenlily @grandlovescheme @awfullylongtime

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Fifteen - Pawn (Part 2)

20 BBY Krayt Medical Bay

"Lieutenant?" Headshot pokes his head around the corner as I'm sitting there letting the medic wrap my stomach again. I wince and look up at him.

"What do you want?" I try not to roll my eyes.

Headshot closes the door behind himself and steps into the room. He holds his helmet by his side. "I'm supposed to tell you the General wants to see you. I am assuming for another...lecture."

I shift and the medic glares up at me. I sit back and let him keep working.

"Stay still," I'm warned. I look over at Headshot. "Any chance of me getting out of this one and you three handling it?"

"Well, I'm sure if I march up there and pretend to be you, I could pull it off. Actually, maybe I should send Raf, he's got the scars for it."

This time, I roll my eyes. "Nidor can tell us all apart. You're not nearly thick skinned enough to be me. And you lack charm."

Headshot presses a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded."

"See if I care." I wince when the medic finishes taping it all up. He straightens and looks me dead in the eyes.

"Do not pull those stitches or I will make you hand sew them back together."

"Fine."

With a final warning glare, I'm released. I stand up, slowly, and reach for my uniform shirt. "The bridge, again?" I ask.

"Yes and no. He wants to see you in the comm room."

The door opens before Headshot can finish and the Captain steps inside. "Headshot, get back to your station."

"Heading back to my bunk, sir." Headshot salutes. Addie takes over.

"Ignore everything he said." Addie removes his helmet and sets it on the medical table. "The General won't be seeing you, not now, and not soon. For one you're injured. For two I've handled everything on your account."

"What?" I echo. I don't remember all of my time down there, but I remember pretty clearly defying an order. Not my best moment, but I had my reasons and I'll defend them myself. "I can take the fall for my own—"

"No," the captain snaps back at me. "You have taken the fall for your actions. You nearly died down there, but you know what else? That droid of yours got some pretty good intel. He found out more than we would've ever coaxed out of a single Sep. So you did your job, Kian. But let me get something straight." Addie levels his finger at my chest. "That was a reckless move not even a rookie would pull. You're no pilot. We thought you were dead."

Addie's voice has the same raw tone I've felt in my own throat in the past. I look at my boots. "Yessir."

"I get you don't agree with the General. Hell I don't half the time, but he's still in charge."

"Why?" I burst out. "He's more reckless than I am!"

"This is war. There's no such thing as caution."

"There is good strategy."

"And he has good strategies!"

"The Jedi don't care about us!"

I can hear the echo of the words the Captain has opened his mouth to say: Because we're expendable. But even he can't say the words. They're written in the very code of our genetics, and we can't accept them. Because we're human.

I step up to Captain Addie and stick my own finger in his chest. "You know full well those pricks don't know the first thing about war. They're just playing god."

"You're downright disrespectful, Kian. You know that?" The Captain sighs.

"Yessir, I do."

"And antisocial too."

"Got my reasons."

Addie picks up his helmet. He looks at the door. "Get back to your bunk and get some rest. I almost wish I had half the guts you do. But for the record," he looks at his helmet. "I agree. The Jedi aren't soldiers, so we've gotta show them how."

"And how many more of us will die being an example?"

Addie is silent. I finish buttoning my uniform shirt and limp for the door. I should've seen it earlier. I knew I was a pawn, but I didn't understand. Now I do.

#

13 BBY Illandin

The room is dark and that's when I see it. The lightsaber igniting and cutting through the shadows.

She's here and she's just as trapped as we are. She thinks she has us cornered, why wouldn't she? The Jedi were always haughty. Being right and being good aren't always the same thing.

They were always wrong about one thing. The force they wield isn't light or dark, it's pure power. Absolute power corrupts and the Jedi are just as bad as their enemies. I hate her. I hate every being like her.

They'd be alive if it weren't for you.

The Jedi woman charges through the darkness. I fire off several rounds, the lasers lighting up the space. I'm here, Dross is here, Jay was close behind with R3 and I know Zur's in the room somewhere with Esho. And this Jedi just gave us one big bright beacon to follow her with.

She bats a bolt aside. I curse and fire again. This time, I've got her. Even Jedi aren't invulnerable.

She roars and swings. I duck. Dross darts up behind me, but she catches him across the arm and he goes down without even a scream.

Esho lunges. She's on top of her, clobbering the woman with her fist. That is my niece, no doubt about it.

Zur fires. More shots in the air, batted aside by the lightsaber. I'm snapping my blaster back up into position to fire again when the door comes flying in from a grenade. The Jedi startles. She throws Esho off and tries to pummel her but Esho locks the woman in place so I slam a few more bolts into her and rush up to help. She breaks free as Zur fires wide. Dross is out on the floor.

"Get him!" I yell at Zur as Jay busts in guns blazing.

I turn and I'm not on my feet anymore. I slam into a crate and it smashes as my back hits the floor. The jedi runs after me. I haul up my blaster but she's too close.

Esho scrambles up. "Uncle Kian!"

"Pin her down!" I yell. The lightsaber swings and I duck, avoiding it. She brings it up for another swing.

Zur fires from across the room. The Jedi hisses as the lightsaber is knocked free and skitters out of sight. Now's our chance.

Esho lunges. She and the Jedi collapse on top of me. I swing a punch. I can't get my blaster up and Esho is struggling. The Jedi still has her arms free. A fist rams into my ribs with more force than a hand could deal. I'm gasping. She strikes again, and again, and I don't know if I can breathe. Somethings broken, but I can't let her escape.

I won't let that evil back into the world.

Hauling off, I punch back. I connect with her jaw and send her reeling back into Esho as I fumble for my blaster. I haul it up but Zur beats me to the punch, firing from across the room and delivering a laser bolt to her face. It's nasty, but effective.

Esho drops the corpse. I crawl back up to my feet.

"That's...it?" Esho asks. I look and see she's pale in the face. I nod and look down at the corpse. My lip curls tight revealing teeth.

But there's one less evil in the world. I look around and see Zur patching up Dross. Jay and R3 are alive and kicking and Esho's here beside me. I exhale, then draw my vibrosaber and swing as hard as I can. And with shaking arms, I sink the blade through the Jedi's neck with every ounce of leftover rage.

#

19 BBY Aboard the Krayt

"You get your wish, Lieutenant." Nidor stalks around the comms table. It's been two months. Two weeks suspension, otherwise known as my medical leave, and the rest grueling it out in trenches wherever the General could put me and the other Dar'Aliit members. I've watched more men die than I can stomach.

I think that was his plan.

I stare cold and dead-eyed at the hologram readout of a planet: Illandin.

"I'm sending you in alone. The Captain recommended your unique skills, and I'd be loathe not to listen to him."

As if you do any other time. I know he's trying to get rid of me. After Caeopa I imagine the General realized that any situation he puts me in, I'll disobey. He's right. But I won't nearly get myself killed doing it again.

Nidor waves his hand and one of the crew steps forward. It's our analyst. He spreads out the map. "The Chancellor issued this mission not long after you returned from Mon Calamari last week. He has placed a request for someone to attend a gambling ring on Illandin. Though the planet isn't well known for criminal activity, there are several frequent players who have been supplying Separatist trade routes."

"And you think they won't recognize me?" I look at the General.

"No," the analyst continues. "Because you will be going under an alias. You're a deserter, who's only looking for a good game. Illandin has a small but growing clone population, many of whom were discharged or went AWOL."

And no one's tracked them down and executed them? Wow. I guess the Jedi can show pity.

"As such, that will be your cover. If anyone asks too many questions," the analyst looks up at me with the most serious stare I've ever seen preceding his next sentence. "Just buy them a drink."

I chuckle. "Yessir."

"Enough," Nidor cuts in. "This mission is of utmost importance. You will be entrusted with one million republic credits. Your goal is to fleece the others of their money. I hear you're...a very good gambler."

Only when I want to be.

I stare cooly back. "Yessir."

"Good. Then I trust you'll return with that and more. Your deployment is tonight. For now you'll be outfitted with clothing to fit in and escorted to the planet. The games take place in a bar known as the Kiln."

I nod.

The General stops and waves out the analyst. The two of us remain in the room. "Know I would not be sending you if this were up to me."

I shrug. "I'll go where you command."

"Drop the act, trooper."

"Sir. Yes. Sir."

Nidor hisses through his teeth. "Remember you're as expendable as the next clone. I tried to keep you alive."

And why me? I swipe the data chip left in the holotable and pocket it. "Permission to get dressed, sir?"

Nidor snarls. "Granted."

I about face and leave. I wonder if this is how Rex felt up against Krell some days. Nidor might not be as reckless, and I haven't seen him go full crazy yet, but it's in him. It's in all of them. Their power is eating away at them.

I'm flagged down by an officer who takes me in to get fitted for civilian clothes. Then the armory. They whisk me around the ship like some sort of senator until I'm practically unrecognizable as a service man. All that remains the same is my hair and face.

They've given one pilot to take me to the surface. Guess I'm not trusted to fly alone again. R3 accompanies me, though. His crass attitude is the same as ever and that grants me mild relief. Though I can also imagine the jokes Headshot would be making around now. A small part of me misses the banter.

It's a short trip down and an even shorter goodbye. The base here is independently run by local militia. They don't even glance twice my way and I'm able to slip into the crowds. I do see familiar faces, as well as unfamiliar ones. The air here is dusty and it smells like farms but the base houses its own little town.

Up ahead I can see the bar they were talking about. The Kiln. It looks inviting. I glance back and the ship is already gone. I'm on my own, except for R3.

"You'd think he'd know better than to turn me loose now," I chuckle. I keep walking toward the bar. Bar and BBQ it says. Intriguing. Haven't seen that combo before.

"R3," I look down. "How many hours till the game?"

He beeps back an answer of twenty four hours.

You can't get moonshine on a star destroyer, but I've got a craving. I shove my hands in my pockets and follow the street.

"Let's get to know this place, shall we?"

New chapter coming soon...5/23!

Read on Wattpad

Read on AO3

[jjacob]

all i want for christmas is you

❝ the school had started to take notice of you. lee juyeon, however, had always noticed. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee juyeon x fem!reader (ft. best friend!lee minho)

GENRES ▸ fluff, high school au, sports au, best friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ mild profanity but !! lots of !! fluff !! 

SUMMARY ▸ the bet was simple: find a date to the winter ball. the only problem was that juyeon didn’t want just any girl. he wanted you.

PLAYLIST ▸ all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey

WORD COUNT ▸ 5055 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ merry christmas! this is a gift for addy @honeyju​ the biggest juyeon simp ik !! ily addy i am excited/scared/not emotionally ready to read the minho one which ! btw y’all should read here bc our stories are loosely connected! also disclaimer: i know jack shit ab football but i tried

LEE JUYEON TENDED TO REGRET HALF THE THINGS HE SAID SOMETIMES. 

In eighth grade, Juyeon’s sense of humor was largely self-deprecating and consisted of saying he wanted to die at the slightest inconvenience. But, with his spectacular timing, he let the joke slip in front of a teacher once and froze up upon seeing her concerned expression. Juyeon later received a note from the counselor’s office and had to convince them that he was perfectly fine.

In tenth grade, Juyeon had grown past his phase of dark humor and moved onto high school football. He made the cut for the team the previous year, and managed to make it on the varsity team by the time he was a sophomore. In the beginning of the season, they asked who wanted to be captain the next year, and Juyeon boldly declared that he did. Thus, he was ridiculed and sentenced to pick up balls and clean up the gym after every practice from then on.

Now, as a high school junior in the varsity football team, Juyeon had screwed himself over by making a stupid bet with his best friend, Lee Minho.

Lee Minho was, in short, a conniving bastard. Juyeon never should have trusted him and gone along with his antics. The mere thought of what he had gotten himself into was enough to send his heart into overdrive.

The bet sounded simple enough: find a date to the Winter Ball.

Of course, it was easier said than done, but Juyeon was a star athlete and had girls sliding in his DMs left and right. He could easily find a date if he wanted to, and, honestly, Juyeon only needed to send a few texts and he would probably be secured for the dance. The problem was, however, that Juyeon only wanted you.

Minho was well aware of Juyeon’s pitiful, unrequited love towards you. It was probably the reason he suggested the bet; his best friend either wanted to see him miserable or see him score a chance with you. Either way, Juyeon wasn’t sure his heart was ready to shoot his shot.

Juyeon had crushed on you ever since you sat next to him in the seventh grade and let him borrow your pencil. It was such a silly start to his admiration for you, but his feelings grew stronger when the both of you actually became friends. You were so bright when you laughed, so sweet when you spoke, and so adorable when you smiled. Juyeon had never felt this way about anyone else and always got butterflies when he saw you. Juyeon was never one to chase after girls but he would find himself constantly thinking about what you were up to and having several internal dilemmas over whether he should ask you to hang out or not.

Five years later and Juyeon still harbored feelings for you. Now, they had matured into something deeper, but you still racked his brain nevertheless. It didn’t help that you had a major glow-up in high school and were probably the most beautiful person Juyeon had ever seen.

The school started to take notice of you.

Juyeon, on the other hand, had always noticed.

“Are you sure we can finish a medium before practice?” Minho asked Juyeon, setting a box of pizza on the table in front of him. “Also, I saw Y/N by the gym earlier.”

Juyeon perked up. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, grabbing a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself. “You know what day it is, right?”

Minho took a bite out of his pizza, observing Juyeon with a raised brow. His best friend was on the baseball team but treating themselves to pizza had become a monthly ritual. Despite being on different teams, he was closer to Minho than his football teammates.

“Thursday?”

“And that means?”

Right.

Juyeon had formulated an elaborate plan to ask you out during the football game today, but, of course, it all depended on whether their team won or not. It would have been kind of ridiculous to propose after a loss. On the bright side, he knew he could count on the fact that you’d actually be present considering you were a cheerleader.

But what if you already had a date? You surely hadn’t mentioned it to him or posted about it on social media, so he was riding on an assumption that you haven’t been asked. That was bizarre to Juyeon, though, because you were the prettiest person he had ever seen. However, it was true that you were gradually getting popular, and that made Juyeon a touch nervous.

“I ask her out tomorrow,” Juyeon breathed out. “Am I ready for this?”

Minho scoffed lightly. “Are you ever?”

Juyeon frowned at his best friend, scrunching up his nose at his distasteful comment. “What about you? Have you gotten a date?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Juyeon sighed. That was probably all he would get out of Lee Minho today. Once Minho set his mind on something, he carried it out diligently until the end. Juyeon honestly had no idea who he wanted to bring since Minho didn’t like talking about girls he was interested in, but he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal as long as his best friend was happy.

It wasn’t like Juyeon was never going to hear about his friend’s endeavors. After all, he did pick up on Minho’s slow descent from an apathetic individual to a whipped ball of fluff. If Juyeon mentioned that to his best friend, however, he would probably be ridiculed for consistently being whipped for you since the seventh grade.

Juyeon nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of his ringer going off. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Minho’s teasing smirk at the sight of his frazzled self.

y/n: hey :) i’m gonna drop off some gingerbread cookies my mom made after practice so lmk when i can come over

Juyeon must have saved a country in a past life for this kind of luck.

juyeon: i love your mom’s cookies. you can come over whenever you’d like

y/n: how about we walk home together after practice?

juyeon: sounds good to me

Now, the pizza was starting to make his mouth water, but if you were walking home with him, Juyeon was ready to drop it and run to see you even though he loved pizza. But Juyeon loved you more than he loved pizza, and he believed that was true love.

“She made me cookies,” Juyeon announced.

“She made you cookies,” Minho repeated, leaning forward in surprise.

“Well, her mom did, but yeah.”

Minho turned his attention back to his pizza. “So this is about your mommy kink again.”

“I don’t have a fucking mommy—why would you say that?” Juyeon cried out, kicking his friend’s shin under the table.

“You don’t? Last time I checked, she was making dinner in the kitchen when I came over yesterday.”

“I’m talking about the kink!”

Yet, even a silly back-and-forth with Minho couldn’t get Juyeon down from his high over you. He was still processing the fact that you were going to walk home with him and, if Juyeon played his cards right, maybe he could get a feel of how comfortable you would be if he asked you out during the game tomorrow.

Minho snickered. “You look happy.”

Juyeon couldn’t even mask his lovesick smile and flushed cheeks. He folded his arms on the table in front of him and buried his face in them, his head spinning at the thought of you.

“Shut up, Minho.”

The only problem with you being on the cheerleading team was that you were extremely distracting.

Juyeon was the star quarterback and frankly, it was kind of pathetic that the one thing that kicked him in the ass was seeing you in the knee socks and pom-poms. It didn’t help that you were a flyer so Juyeon’s stomach pitted with anxiety whenever he saw you being thrown up and whenever he heard a scream coming from the direction of the cheerleaders.

Today was different, though. Juyeon could care less about the screams and falls from the corner of the field. All he could think about was you and how he was going to ask you out. If his plan was going to work, it was going to draw a lot of attention and be quite embarrassing if it failed.

All of his confidence got knocked down with a single sweep when he saw someone asked you to the dance.

One of the cheerleaders broke into a fit of giggles at the sight, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

You were frozen stiff, an awkward smile on your face as the guy walked onto the field with a sign and about a dozen roses. Juyeon could feel his heart sinking to the ground with each step the guy took, with each second his smile grew brighter.

“Is he seriously confessing during practice?” Sohn Youngjae asked, brows furrowed as he rested his arm on Juyeon’s shoulder. “That’s real brave.”

“What’s his deal doing it here? He isn’t even on the team,” Juyeon said, coming off more bitter than he had expected.

Younghoon scoffed. “It’s a bold move. He must be confident that Y/N’s going to say yes.”

Juyeon squared his shoulders. He was conflicted with the swell of anger and deflation of you possibly being taken, but nevertheless, all he could do was watch helplessly as you were being asked out. From where they were on the field, Juyeon couldn’t hear much, but he could see your reactions quite well. The wolf-whistles and cheers were pissing him off, but he was fixed on you.

He turned to look towards Minho, who was practicing on the field adjacent to theirs. His best friend met his gaze immediately like they had some form of exclusive telepathic communication. Minho nodded towards you and raised a brow, as if nudging Juyeon to go interrupt them. That, however, was something he was far too cowardly to bring himself to do.

Your voice resounded clearer than Juyeon had expected.

“I’m really sorry,” you apologized sincerely, ducking your head and keeping your hands entwined behind you. “I’m not interested, but I do appreciate the gesture.”

Juyeon felt a weight lift off of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve felt relieved that you shot him down or nervous that you rejected an attractive, confident guy who clearly liked you. However, he soon had no time to mull over that when the guy’s reaction was getting more aggressive than crestfallen.

“Y/N, I asked you out in front of all these people,” he said with a distasteful laugh. “Are you seriously rejecting me right now?”

“Sorry, I just don’t want to go with you,” you replied firmly, voice dropping as you became more conscious of your surroundings. “I’m sorry it had to be public but you didn’t really give me a choice.”

For a split second, Juyeon wondered how he could still hear you when you were practically muttering at this point, and then he realized that he started walking to you without even realizing. His feet carried him unknowingly, hand balled at his side and eyes stony and trained on the guy.

“You could’ve just accepted it and told me later that you didn’t want to go with me,” he said with a scoff. “It’s like you enjoy humiliating others publicly.”

Your teammates rushed forward to argue and fend him off while you opened your mouth to protest, but Juyeon was faster, moving in front of you so he was head-to-head with the guy.

“She said she’s not interested,” he said with a threatening undertone, wondering where he managed to muster up the courage to be this assertive.

You were visibly shocked by Juyeon’s actions, and he couldn’t even blame you because he was equally just as surprised as you were. Yet, all he could do was glare daggers down at the other guy with steely eyes and frown until he backed off.

“Thanks,” you said softly once the guy had left.

Juyeon was flustered by all the girls giggling behind you but was amazed by how cool and collected you remained despite that. He turned to you, eyes softening and shoulders relaxing. He knew he was getting an earful about this from his teammates after practice and most definitely from Minho as well.

“No problem,” Juyeon replied, cheeks red. “He was bothering you. I couldn’t just ignore it.”

“That was really sweet of you, Juyeon.” You bit back a smile and suggested, “Meet you at the front gates after practice?”

“See you then.”

Even though Juyeon could’ve spent the rest of practice talking to you, he sprinted back as fast as he could because his cheeks were only getting redder as the cheerleaders gushed about what he did for you. He could hear their gossip and whispering even as he was running back to his team. Juyeon was positive he wouldn’t escape the embarrassment, though, because Lee Jaehyun was smirking at him when he got back.

“You’re blushing, dude.”

Juyeon shoved him.

There was a universal law that was newly decreed. It read: Lee Minho shall never text, call, or speak to Lee Juyeon whenever Y/N was around.

The reason for that being the fact that Juyeon was easily embarrassed and Minho’s texts were not helping his case. He felt it was rude enough to check his phone while he was walking with you, but every time he saw a notification flash, his eyes widened with sheer distress over Minho’s texts.

minho: like three people asked me if you and y/n are fucking bc of what you pulled during practice today

minho: wait are y’all fucking and just not telling me

minho: i knew it was sus that she was coming over to your house

juyeon: fake news!! stop making me feel shy :(

Juyeon decided he had enough Lee Minho for today and turned off his phone.

“That was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” you gushed to Juyeon as you walked home with him, fingers looped around the straps of your backpack. “Way cooler than you punting footballs.”

“No need to flatter me,” Juyeon replied coolly but his shy smile and red-tipped ears said otherwise. “That guy was being unnecessarily aggressive.”

“His proposal was out of nowhere!” you exclaimed. “I don’t get what he expected me to do.”

Juyeon smiled through the pain. Lord, give me strength, he prayed to whatever divine power was out there.

“Are you not interested in having a date to the dance then?” Juyeon asked, looking down at you curiously.

You paused for a moment and Juyeon thought his heart would stop in anticipation for your answer. Come to think of it, he had never seen you go to a school dance with a date before. You were always with your friend group. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see you stick with them, but Juyeon was hoping he could change that.

“Well,” you started, “if the right person asked me then I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Juyeon couldn’t exactly read your smile but it made him want to faint. The rest of the walk back home was spent talking about school and football, but Juyeon couldn’t get your answer to his question out of his head. He even walked past his house because his head was so full of you, resulting in you needing to stop him and tell him that they had already reached his place.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Juyeon’s mom chirped with a good-natured smile. “How has your mom been?”

Juyeon’s eyes widened upon the realization that they never stopped by at your place first to get the cookies. He opened his mouth to interject but you went on to answer.

“She’s been great, Mrs. Lee,” you replied, smiling just as big, and pulled out a box of cookies from your bag. “She wanted me to give these to you.”

“That’s so sweet! Give her my thanks,” his mom replied and opened the door wider once she accepted the cookies. “Come in for some tea, will you?”

Juyeon was practically frozen at the doorway while you were taking off your shoes and walking inside. If you had the cookies with you this entire time, then why didn’t you just give them to him to take home himself? Unless you were worried about the courtesy, it was a bit out of your way to take the time to walk home with Juyeon to deliver them.

“Juyeon, what are you doing out there?” his mom asked. “Come inside. It’s cold.”

“Right.”

Having you over at his house wasn’t exactly the sparkly fantasy that Juyeon thought it would be.

He was getting quite jealous of your mom hogging all of your attention. It wasn’t like you and Juyeon drifted apart during high school, so he wasn’t sure why his mom had to pull you away from him and have her own conversation with you. The worst part was that Juyeon couldn’t even join in on the conversation. He had no idea what they were even talking about.

That is, until his mom brought up the dance.

“Do you have a date, Y/N?” Juyeon’s mom asked.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I usually just go with my friends.”

“You’re so pretty, though,” Mrs. Lee tutted. “I’m sure someone must’ve asked you out.”

“Actually, someone asked me today,” you said. There was a moment of silence as you looked over at Juyeon while his gaze bore into yours. For a moment, you were struggling for what to say, mouthing words that weren’t being processed. Juyeon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly once you regained your composure. “Juyeon actually helped me out.”

Mrs. Lee straightened up. “My son did?” She looked amused as she turned to Juyeon.

“Yeah,” you answered, grinning. “He was really cool.”

Juyeon blushed darkly once their eyes were on him. “W-what? I couldn’t ignore it. I wasn’t even doing that much. I was just helping out. You know, being a decent person,” he rambled and stood up. “Anyways, isn’t it getting late? Mom, Y/N has to go home soon and it’s gonna be pitch black outside if you keep her here.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Mrs. Lee frowned as she peered out the window. “Juyeon, you walk her home then.”

“What?” he sputtered out, looking between you and his mom before he caved, muttering, “I’ll go get my jacket.”

After an exchange of goodbyes, you had stepped out of the house and waited while Juyeon was slipping his shoes on. There was a moment of struggle where he had tied his laces too tight and couldn’t get the shoe on but he managed to slip it on after a few seconds of internal screaming. Juyeon zipped up his jacket the moment he stepped outside, the brisk coldness making his goosebumps rise.

“You really don’t have to walk me back,” you told Juyeon. “It’s cold outside.”

“It’s really late,” Juyeon replied, rubbing his hands together in hopes that the friction would provide some heat. “You shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, and I really don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your face. “For this, for what you did during practice—everything.”

Juyeon was glad that you weren’t looking at him because his mouth was opening and closing over and over again like a fish. He was also thankful for the fact that he could blame the dust of pink across his cheeks on the cold winter bite. Unfortunately, you lived close by so Juyeon didn’t have time to come up with a cool response and he didn’t want to leave things like this. There was a good vibe going on and he was upset that he couldn’t act upon it; when it came to you, Lee Juyeon was a coward.

“Um, we’re here so…” Juyeon trailed off when he turned to you, sort of thrown off by how beautiful you looked with your windswept hair and flushed cheeks. Dazed, he reached forward and moved a strand of your hair out of your face. “It’s good I walked you home and you’re not like, lost or… something—I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed, and it was an octave higher as if you were rattled from him touching your hair. “Ah, yes, a few streets down can be a harrowing trek.”

Juyeon laughed with you before his eyes settled on you. Your hands were crossed, rubbing your arms that were prickled with goosebumps. A wave of guilt washed through Juyeon and led him to strip his jacket off immediately. He ignored the piercing chill and put his jacket around your shoulders, making sure they covered your bare arms.

“My house is right here,” you argued. “You’re going to be cold.”

“Keep it on. I have something to tell you after the game,” Juyeon said firmly. It was his second burst of courage for you today and he was a little too amped up for his own good. “If you don’t like it then give me back my jacket tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, Juyeon turned on his heel and bolted home, the biggest grin across his face because he was head-over-heels for you.

Juyeon had never been so nervous in his life.

The game was underway, Juyeon’s leg bouncing as he eyeballed the scoreboard. His team was strong in the first two quarters, cutting it close by the third, but now they were neck-to-neck. They had ended with a tie and now they decided to go into overtime for the sake of choosing a winner for the game. It was a sudden death round so whoever scored first would win the game. Juyeon, however, found it difficult to concentrate.

Especially with Lee Minho breathing down his back.

“Are you ready?” his best friend asked.

“Yes—well, no, but I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s true.”

“I already made the sign and told the team and everything,” Juyeon whined. “I really screwed myself over, Minho.”

Minho pushed at the back of his head. “Dude, I’m talking about the game.”

“Oh, that—that’s fine,” Juyeon stammered. “Fifteen minutes—we just have to win, and then I have to ask out the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“You could chicken out,” Minho suggested, “but that also comes with me never letting you live it down.”

“You see, I kind of already implied that I’m going to tell her something important.”

“You did?” Minho’s voice was somewhere between shocked and impressed.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Juyeon muttered, pushing himself off the bench. “Keep the poster safe for me!”

“Good luck, champ!”

Juyeon, sweaty and bangs sticking to his forehead, had to ignore every distraction and think about winning the game before his stomach threw itself into a pool of anxiety over asking you out. He got in a huddle with his team in the remaining fifteen seconds they had before they had to get in formation and lowered the facemask of his helmet. It was up to this one last play to determine whether they would win the game or not.

“Just like we practiced, alright?” Juyeon told them. “Double-wing power pass. We get them to bite thinking it’s a run play and then open up a passing lane.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Jaehyun cheered, and the rest of them put in their mouth guards and lowered their facemasks.

Juyeon took a shaky breath as he got in formation at the line of scrimmage. His heart was racing but he wasn’t sure it was about the game. Nevertheless, he steeled his nerves and held his ground. The whistle blew and the crowd was silent, observing the tension on the field carefully.

“Silver-80! Silver-80! Hut! Hut! Hike!” Juyeon yelled, and the center, Sangyeon, snapped the ball to him.

Juyeon faked a handoff to Jaehyun, the fullback, and spun around, rolling to his right. Changmin sped up in front of Juyeon to defend him. A smile tugged at Juyeon’s lips. Their plan was working just as he intended, but there was a problem: they couldn’t open up a passing lane for the running backs like he thought they would. The play was too rushed, so it wasn’t ever a guarantee.

So Juyeon had to do what he would normally deem crazy.

He spun at the sight of the other team coming to tackle him and skirted around the field, belting down the field. He dodged past another linebacker that tried to body him. His primary motivation was that he didn’t want a concussion before he confessed to you, but he assumed it was okay to admit that to himself as long as he didn’t throw the game.

Juyeon felt a hand grab him but he pushed forward, running across the goal line and into the end zone. He threw the ball down and cried out in joy as he scored a touchdown. The whistle blew and the scoreboard flipped. They won.

He did it.

Juyeon’s team ran to him, cheering at the top of their lungs. He was lifted up on Jaehyun and Younghoon’s shoulders, grinning happily before his heart sunk back down. The cheerleaders ran to the field, cheering and tossing their pom poms up. The crowd was roaring. Juyeon was realizing that he had to do the scariest thing that a heterosexual teenage boy ever had to experience.

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” Juyeon tapped his shoulder quickly. “We have no time. I have to do it now.”

“Oh shit.”

Jaehyun and Younghoon dropped Juyeon onto the turf. Juyeon winced at the sudden impact, gathering himself back to his feet and hoping you didn’t witness that. Jaehyun gave him a half-assed apology and pushed him forward to run and get his poster and flowers from Minho. Jaehyun then grabbed Changmin by the shoulders, urging him to go to the announcer’s booth.

Juyeon sprinted over to Minho, waving his hands dramatically. “Give, give, give,” he demanded amongst all the cheering.

Minho didn’t waste any time and pushed the poster and bouquet into Juyeon’s hands. “Break a leg, tiger.”

“Trust me, I nearly did.”

Juyeon jogged back onto the field, cheeks hot and head a little dizzy for what was about to come. He didn’t even tell his mom he was going to ask you out and she had to watch her son ask his best friend out to the dance. This was probably going to be a moment of utter humiliation but once Juyeon saw you in your high ponytail with a bright smile on your face, all that fear faded away and it was just you and him.

More importantly, you were wearing his jacket over your uniform and Juyeon felt like he was going to combust from the cuteness.

“Guys, guys,” Jaehyun called to the team. “Surround Juyeon. Make sure Y/N doesn’t see him.”

Juyeon’s heart was beating a hundred miles per second. He was glad he was running on the adrenaline from winning the game because otherwise, he would be cowering in fear and sweating buckets right now.

“Everyone, listen up!” Changmin spoke over the intercom. “First of all, the football team scored a major dub today—ow! Sunwoo, cut it out—alright, I’ll get to it!” Changmin broke from the mic and started bickering with Sunwoo.

There was a pause, and Juyeon was surprised to hear Minho’s voice fill the speakers, “Anyways, my buddy and our star quarterback, Juyeon, has something to say for a special someone.”

The crowd fell silent, a couple cheers and wolf-whistles as it was pretty obvious that a confession was about to happen.

“This is so fucking fluffy,” Sunwoo mumbled.

“Shut up, Sunwoo,” Juyeon replied, nudging him with his elbow.

The football team moved out of the way so that they weren’t huddled around Juyeon anymore. Juyeon’s breath caught in his throat as he walked forward to the middle of the field, holding up his sign, reading: Will you be my sunshine?

“Y/N,” he called out loudly, “honestly this confession is long overdue, but will you go to Winter Ball with me tonight and be my sunshine?”

The crowd started cheering and whistling again, and Juyeon wanted to die. She hadn’t even given him her answer yet and everyone was acting like she had agreed and they eloped. The cheerleaders pushed Y/N forward and she approached Juyeon, looking like a deer in headlights.

Juyeon took another shaky breath and continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long so it would be an honor if I could take you to the dance,” he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you.”

You bit your lip but that wasn’t enough to contain the happiness that showed on your face. You zipped up Juyeon’s jacket and threw yourself into his arms. Everyone practically exploded but Juyeon was sure his heartbeat was louder. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

Was this what people called a Christmas miracle?

“Oh shit!” Changmin screamed over the intercom. (“Shut up, they’re having a moment,” Minho’s faint voice was picked up in the background).

“Oh my god, you just made me the happiest man alive,” he mumbled.

You pulled back and reached forward to move his damp bangs off of his forehead. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, did you—did you like me?” Juyeon choked out.

You laughed and cupped his face in your hands. There was a shaky inhale and exhale of breaths when his lips brushed against yours, and Juyeon closed the distance, kissing you like he was starved of your touch. His hold tightened on you as you melted into him, and then you both pulled away, smiling and dazed and lovesick.

You giggled. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grinning as he brushed his nose against yours.

Juyeon could care less about all the presents and holiday cheer because he had you and you were all he wanted.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.��” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[whadd-up-babie]

✨🥺🥰 Sykkunos Sister 🥰🥺✨

Part One

Author's Note: Fuck time lines. I don't care if time lines don't add up. I mean on any other occasion I would care but right now at this exact moment in time, I couldn't fucking care less.

Word-count: 4k

Warnings: idk

~~~

You walked into your new apartment, your two roommates and life long friends by your side.

You smiled and turned to the two, “You see this ladies?” You said with a satisfied smirk on your face, “All of our hard work finally paid off.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually here.” Addie said with stars in her eyes. “A couple of years late maybe, but still here in L.A”

You chuckled “I can't believe we wanted to move here as soon as we got out of highschool.”

“Yeah imagine how horrible that could've gone?” Your other friend Selena spoke up.

You visibly shuddered at the thought of how bad that could've been. You felt a buzz in your back pocket and looked down at your jeans.

“Me and Selena are gonna check out this place before we start bringing the boxes in.” Addie told you as her and Selena walked off.

You nodded your head as you pulled out your phone from your jeans. It was a text message from one of your brothers' roommates.

Toast Are you in L.A yet?

You Yeah, I just walked into my new apartment

You quickly typed out and hit send. You’ve been in contact with your brothers’ friends for a while now. You haven’t seen Thomas, or Sykkuno, in years and you wanted to surprise him during one of his streams.

He was streaming Proximity Chat Among Us with; Toast, Lily, Poki, Rae, Ludwig, Dream, Brooke, Jacksepticeye and Corpse. You were a fan of all of them.

You lived a couple blocks away from your brother and his friends which was very convenient for you, considering as the younger of the both of you it is your duty to be the most annoying human being possible. So random pop ups at his home would be much much easier.

Toast I told the lobby that I ordered delivery so they expect an interruption

You Ooooh big brain moment

Toast But I did actually order pizza, it’s pick-up so can you do me a favor and pick it up on your way

You I revoke my “big brain moment”

Toast sent you the address for the pizza parlor and the OfflineTV house.

“I’m gonna go surprise Thomas.” You called out into your apartment, “I promise I'll be back to help unload the stuff.”

“You better, considering you're the strongest one here.” Selena responded.

You chuckled and walked out of the door and into the hallway that led to the exit of your new home.

Your apartment only had two floors, you were lucky enough to score the bottom floor. It was two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The three of you slept in the smaller guest room. You had bought two bunk beds from Ikea that you planned on placing in that room.

In the master room was where everything Important was. Selena wanted to be a streamer, so her gaming set-up was in that room. Selena wasn't one of those well known streamers but she had a following. Addie wanted to be a model, so the majority of her clothes were in the master bedroom closet, whilst you and Selena shared the smaller closest in your shared room.

You on the other hand wanted to make music. All of your instruments were in the master bedroom. You owned an electric keyboard, a guitar, a bass guitar, a cello, and you just started learning how to play the ukulele.

The room set up plan was simple. You had two desks on opposite sides of the room. Selena would get the wall with the window if she ever planned on using more natural light. Selena's desk would hold her gaming set-up, she currently had two monitors, but she's saving up to buy a third.

Your desk had the latest IMac, it was a moving away gift from your family, everyone pitched in. You had an inexpensive but high quality microphone to record vocals.

In between the two desks you had a futon and coffee table gifted to you guys by Addie's grandma. Noise cancellation foam pads would coat the walls.

But you haven’t done any of that stuff yet considering everything was still in the U-Haul truck.

You walked out of the apartment whilst typing the address to your brothers home in your Waze app, you added the pizza parlor in as a stop.

You got into your SUV and started the car. You connected your phone to the bluetooth and shuffled one of your Spotify playlist.

White Tee by CORPSE began to blast through your speakers. You bopped to the rhythm and began to lip sync the lyrics.

~~~

It took you 30 minutes to collect the pizza and drive to your brothers house. You stood outside the door with the pizza balanced in your hand as you attempted to ring the doorbell.

You texted Toast beforehand so you hoped he was prepared and wouldn’t make you wait outside. You didn’t like being outside, it meant that people could see you. And you didn’t like that.

You stood outside for a couple of seconds before Toast finally opened the door.

“Finally!” You exclaimed as you pushed past him to enter his home.

“Welcome.” He said sarcastically.

“Where’s my brother's room!?” You asked excitedly.

Toast pointed you towards the direction of Sykkunos’ room and you went running.

You stood outside of his door all giddy and happy, apparently they were playing proximity chat among us. So if Sykkuno was next to anyone in- game they would surely hear you, as well as the rest of the offlinetv house.

You took a deep breath and shouldered the door open.

“I’VE GOT A PIZZA DELIVERY FOR THE BESTEST BIG BROTHER IN THE ENTIRETY OF THE WORLD!” You all but shouted, scaring him off of his chair.

He turned to look at you and his face of fear quickly morphed into one of pure happiness.

“I call him Thomas but apparently his stage name is Sykkuno. I wonder where he got that from.” You said, this time more calmly.

“Y/N!” Sykkuno said happily. He quickly got himself off the floor and tackled you in a hug.

“You know I would hug you back but like… I’m holding a pretty big pizza.” You told him. The smile on your face was so big it began to hurt your cheeks.

Sykkuno brought his hands to your shoulder and held you at arm's length. He looked you up and down.

“You’ve really grown.” He told you.

“Yeah.” You agreed, nodding your head, “You still look like a ten year old.” You said jokingly.

You laughed and he joined in. You placed the pizza down, and he led you towards his set up.

“We’re gonna need another chair.” He said looking around.

“No we don’t,” You said plopping down into his chair.

He gave you a weird look.

“I’m the guest.” You said waving your hand.

He didn’t say anything, he just looked you dead in the eyes. Right into your soul.

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“I don’t like it when you do that.” You said as you stood from his chair.

“I only ever do it to you.” He said as he walked by you to reclaim his chair.

“That’s why I don’t like it.” You grumbled.

A couple of minutes later you got your own chair, they were even nice enough to give you a water bottle. You sat next to Sykkuno with one of his earbuds in your ear so you could hear what was happening in his game.

So far you’ve run into Rae, Poki, Toast and Lily and you told all of them about your relation to Sykkuno though Toast and Lily already knew.

Sykkuno passed by Jack and you were about to scream in the mic, but someone reported a body.

“Well now I’m disappointed.” You mumbled to yourself.

“The body was i-“

“What! Toast is dead!” You said shocked, “We were just with him.”

There was a moment of silence within the game.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” The other players muttered in agreement.

“That’s my sister, Y/N.” Sykkuno said.

A gasp could be heard from almost everyone

“Sister!” Ludwig shouted over the gasps, “Sykkuno you didn’t tell me you had a sister. I thought we were best friends.”

“I’m not really his sister.” You told them.

“Yeah she’s my foster sister.” Sykkuno explained.

“When I was younger Sykkunos' family was my foster family, until I was adopted by a lovely couple in Chicago.” You said.

“We haven’t seen each other since her adoption.” Sykkuno continued.

“And that was. What? 10-ish years ago?” You finished turning to Sykkuno.

“Yeah around that time.” He answered.

You brought your water bottle up to your lips and began to drink.

“Well it’s great to meet you Y/N!” Brooke said excitingly.

A chorus of “nice to meet you” entered your ear, but a very distinct “what up baby” caused you to spit your water back into its bottle.

“What’s wrong?” Sykkuno asked as he looked towards you.

“That did something to my stomach.” Was all you said.

“The water?” Sykkuno questioned further.

You felt your face heat up.

“Yeah.” You said nodding your head. “It’s totally the water. It couldn’t possibly be for any other reason.” You said bring your hand up to hide your smirk with your knuckles.

You turned your head and saw the chat exploding with the word SIMP in all caps.

~~~

You were at Sykkunos house a couple of days after that incident. He was streaming Proximity Chat Among Us with the same lobby again. They were playing in Polus.

Corpse was telling the lobby about his day when you thought to yourself, “I wanna wake up to the sound of your voice.”

You scrunched up your eyebrows wondering why it got quiet all of a sudden before Sykkuno bursted into fits of laughter as well as the rest of the lobby.

It finally dawned on you that you said that out loud. Your eyes widened and your face began to heat up.

“That sounded so suggestive, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was speaking out loud.” You began to laugh with the rest of the group and Corpse joined in quickly after.

The game started and you were all calmed down.

“I still can’t believe I said that out loud.” You announced to the group. A few giggles left their mouths as well as your own.

“No but just imagine waking up at 7 am to Choke me like you hate me but you love me! Every single fucking day.” You said before bursting into laughter, the lobby joining in soon after.

Sykkuno was doing his tasks in O2 before he announced to his stream he had to use the bathroom.

“I’ll watch the game for you but I won’t play because… I don’t want to.” You told him as he muted his discord and got up from his chair.

“That’s fine.” He said and left the room.

You turned to his chat. They started bombarding you with questions.

“What’s your Instagram.” You read aloud.

“Oooh shameless plug, follow me on all of my socials @y/n, also subscribe to my YouTube channel “Y/N L/N” I make music…sometimes.” You answered.

“Do you simp for Corpse.” You read another.

You pursed your lips. “I’m not gonna answer that question, but I will confidently admit that I simp for Rae and Poki.” As you finished that statement, Corpses avatar walked into the room.

You reached over to Sykkunos Keyboard and un-muted his mic.

“Hey Corpse!” You chirped.

“Hey Y/N.” He replied. “Where’s Sykkuno?” He asked you.

“What, am I not good enough?” You asked with mock offense

He chuckled before speaking up. “No, I was just wondering.”

“He’s in the bathroom.” You answered. “I’m all by my little old self. Minus the stream of course.” You turned to smile at Sykkunos camera before focusing your attention on the game.

“Would you like some company?” He asked.

“I would love some company, thank you Corpse.”

He brought his Avatar to stand by Sykkunos.

“How’s your day?” He asked.

“Not very fun.” You answered thinking back to what happened this morning. “We were finishing building the second bunk bed, but I dropped one of the heavier parts on my foot, so that hurts.”

“Oh that sucks.” He stated.

“I know. How’s your day?” You asked him.

“Very uneventful, just writing some potential lyrics and stuff.” He said.

“Oh yeah you write your own music.” You responded. “How did I forget that.” You mumbled to yourself.

“What do you like to do for fun?” He questioned.

“Oh I make music, or do covers. Depends on how lazy I’m feeling.” You told him.

“You make music?” He asked. You could hear the shock in his voice.

You hummed in response. “Yeah I dabble in music production. I write a nice chunk of the music, but I have some other musical friends help me with other stuff. It’s not enough for me to be noticed by the big producers or record labels though.”

“You think you could show me some of your stuff?”

“Yeah!” You said excitedly. “Do you want me to send it through Discord, Insta or Twitter.” You said as you fished your phone out of your back pocket.

“Do discord.” He told you.

“Got it.” You pulled up your discord app as Sykkuno got back from the bathroom.

You already friended the lobby Sykkuno was playing in after your first meeting.

Sykkuno got back in his chair. “Alright I’m back.”

“I unmuted your mic by the way.” You told Sykkuno, your eyes glued to your phone. You had to send Corpse the perfect snippet. So far all your options were shit.

“Oh hey, Corpse!” Sykkuno said once he got situated.

“Hi Sykkuno.” Corpse replied, “I was just talking to Y/N, she’s great company.” He complimented you.

“I am good company,” You said looking up from your phone, “I wish my roommates thought that.” You muttered to yourself, apparently louder than you thought because Corpse began to chuckle.

You smirked slightly. The sound of Corpses’ laugh caused a blush to spread to your cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you two finish your tasks.” You coughed up, trying to hide your blush. “I mean you’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Does anyone ever do their tasks when they play proximity?” Sykkuno asked.

“Exactly.” Corpse agreed.

“I’m a very work oriented person so I probably would.” You told them. You finally found the perfect audio file to send Corpse.

“I hope he likes it.” You thought to yourself. You sent Corpse the file the same time a body was reported.

“I found Luds’ body in decontamination.” Rae said.

“Sykkuno and Corpse did nothing in o2 practically the whole round.” You told the lobby. The lobby has gotten used to you speaking up while they played.

“I was keeping a new friend company that's not exactly nothing.” Corpse said, trying to defend himself.

“It meant nothing to me.” You said, you were quiet for a few seconds before you spoke up again, “I’m sorry! That was mean! I didn’t mean it! Thank you for disregarding your tasks just to keep me company!”

The lobby broke out into laughter while you continued spewing out apologies.

~~~

The game ended quickly, turns out Poki and Rae were the imposters. You decided then to make your departure.

“I should probably head home.” You told the lobby, “The only food the girls know how to cook is pizza rolls, pizza bagels and ramen. And we promised each other we would start eating healthy.” You got up from your chair as the lobby was saying their goodbyes.

You exited Sykkunos room and walked towards the exit. You ran into Michael and Lily and said goodbye to them on your way out.

You reached your car and pulled out your phone, checking for notifications. You usually stay off your phone whenever you watch your brothers’ stream so you never know what's happening.

It turns out you had 10 missed calls from Selena, and over 100+ messages of her asking you to answer the phone.

You quickly got into your car and called your roommate.

The phone only rang twice before she answered.

“YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT I JUST DID FOR YOU!” She screamed into the phone.

You brought your hand away from your ear and cringed at how loud she was being.

“That’s fun.” You muttered to yourself. You put your phone down in one of the cup holders and put it on speaker.

“What did you do exactly.” You asked aloud as you put your key into the ignition.

“So you remember that cute guy we ran into-” She began but you interrupted.

“NO!” You shouted. “I am not in the mood to go on dates. We are here in L.A to focus on our careers. I don’t have time for dating.”

Selena was quiet for a few moments before she spoke up.

“Okay, but if you meet him and start catching feelings but it's too late, just know it's not my fault.” She said before she hung up.

You sighed to yourself. You were not ready to go out on dates. Especially not after your last relationship.

You drove in silence for the majority of the way home until you got a discord notification on your phone. You waited until you reached a stop light to look at it. Apparently it was from Corpse.

CORPSE I loved the vocals I honestly wasn't expecting this type of music from you

You quickly typed out a reply while still paying attention to the road ahead of you.

You Thanks! I just thought you would like that type of sound so I decided to send that one

You hit send right as the lights turns green. You placed your phone back into the cupholder and began to drive. You got another discord notification, you assumed it was Corpse.

“He can wait 5 minutes.” You thought to yourself. Corpse may have peaked your interests but that doesn't mean you were willing to get into a car crash for him.

You quickly pulled into your apartment complex and ran into your home, phone in hand. You had gotten 3 discord notifications whilst you were driving. You quickly sat down on your couch in the living room and propped your feet onto the coffee table.

CORPSE I like how this is mixed and produced You have a great tone throughout the song Would you want to collab sometime?

You felt your heart leap into your throat.

“This couldn't possibly be happening.” You thought to yourself.

Corpse was very relevant in the music industry, he had told you during one of the Among Us games that many labels were reaching out to him. This collaboration with Corpse could make you a star!

You A collab with one of the most trending people in the world? Count me in!

CORPSE Great! we can meet up whenever you want to work out some lyrics

You smiled to yourself thinking of how many doors this could open for you. This could make or break your career.

“Holy shit.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Me and Corpse are making a song together!” You thought to yourself.

“What kind of Wattpad fanfic is this?” You said out loud as Selena and Addie came out of the Master Bedroom.

“Oooh what about Wattpad fanfics?” Selena asked, as she headed towards the kitchen.

“My life is a Wattpad fanfic.” You told her. You furrowed your eyebrows in thought, “Is this my existential crisis?”

“What?” Addie asked, very confused as she sat down on the arm of the sofa.

“What am I rambling about.” You turned to your roommates. “You’ll never believe what I just scored.” You told them excitedly.

“What?” Selena asked as she exited the kitchen a bag of chips in her hands.

“I’m going to do a collaboration with Mr. Corpse Husband himself.” You said proudly.

“No way!” Selena shouted, dropping her bag of chips on the floor. “You lucky bitch.” She said.

“You guys have only known one another for like 3 days.” Addie said.

“We’re making a song, not getting married.” You told her.

“Yet.” Selena said with a smirk.

“I’m going to bed.” You told them as you stood up from the couch.

“What!?” They said in unison.

“But it’s like 8 o'clock.” Addie finished.

“I know but I’m not in the mood to put up with the both of you.” You said as you left the living room.

“I only said one thing!” Selena complained.

“One too much.” You told her.

You walked down the hall and entered your shared room. You sat down at the foot of your bed and sighed.

“This is not at all what I expected when I told mom I was moving to Cali.” You threw yourself backwards.

“How are we gonna go about this?” You asked yourself. Were you and corpse gonna work together in person, were you gonna work over a discord call? You haven’t seen his face, you’re not sure if he’s seen yours yet. All these thoughts came and went inside your brain, it was starting to give you a headache.

You grabbed your pillow and brought it down on your face. You made a noise somewhere in between a groan and a whine when you heard you got another discord notification from your phone.

You reached around for your phone until you finally grabbed it and brought it up to your face. It was another message from Corpse.

CORPSE For making the song I was thinking maybe you could come over to my apartment because I remember how you once told the lobby that your roommates are very loud

YOU They are very loud And thank you for the invitation, I was just starting to wonder how we were gonna work together

CORPSE Here’s my address and number Wanna meet up on Sunday 3 o’clock?

“Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.” You thought to yourself, You’re pretty sure you don't have any plans that day. You typed out a quick reply before turning off your phone and going to sleep.

~~~

It was Sunday 12 o’clock you left your house with a nice hot cup of joe in your hands. Corpse lived 2 hours away so you wanted to leave early to hopefully grab some breakfast.

The night prior you placed your guitar in the back of your car, knowing you wouldn't remember to do it the morning of.

You got into your car and pulled out of your apartment complex. It was a long drive filled with random songs. You pulled into the first McDonalds you saw and ordered your usual.

When you were back on the road you had about 30 minutes before you would arrive at Corpse’s house. Which meant, using the power of mental math, you would get there 30 minutes early.

You grabbed your phone out of your bag keeping your eyes on the road. You opened up your contact list and scrolled through looking for Corpse. You found his name and gave him a call. You put your phone on speaker and put it into your cup holder. The phone rang about eight times before he answered.

“Hello.” He answered, his voice was deeper than usual.

“Did you just wake up?” You asked as you turned off the highway.

“Yeah, I got a good… 35 minutes.” He told you with a chuckle.

“Make yourself some breakfast. I should be there in about 30 minutes.” You told him with a smirk.

“Yes ma’am” He told you before he hung up.

“This is gonna be a long day.” You muttered to yourself.

~~~

Sykkunos Sisters Master list

Story Snippets/Master list

Taglist:

I couldn’t tag some people, if you are one of those people message me so we can hopefully tag you successfully. If you want to switch lists just ask :)

All Corpse fics:

@carlosoliveriaownsmyass, @cookiewhoree, @zunmie, @phriendophphrogs,  @i-love-stamps-blog, @cupidsloverr, @cassie12435, @fivedicksinatrenchcoat, @mythicalamphitrite, @wiseflamingoqueen, @cherry-piee, @mono-has-a-gun, @ilovepizzaandimhot, @rambling-rabbit, @thecanterburywitch, @daisiesandmarvel, @brooklyn22, @and-claudia, @captainbuckyy

Sykkunos Sisters:

@punnypuppylove, @emsies-dream, @bbecc-a, @soft4kei, @penflop

[txemrn]

hiya 👋🏼 before anything, hope you’re doing well!!

i just finished ch8 and oh my god jenny the bar is already so low for her after what she did with aditya and what she’s been saying about mc and sam but she just manages to go lower with that idea of setting sam and addison up on a date

LIKE GIRL STOP absolutely screaming, crying, and throwing up in here 😫

Hey, anon!

You are so sweet! I am doing well--I hope you are doing the same!

Whew, what a chapter, right? I, for one, am VERY grateful this drama finally came out because the past few chapters have been very... dare I say, boring.

How friggin ridiculous was Jenny's idea? Does Sam need to figure out his feelings? Absolutely. He's been purposely shoving his feelings down, I think, for the sake of MC by saying the dumbest, most heartless shit EVER ("I've already mourned her..."). Or maybe he doesn't want to deal with having a heart that is torn between two loves. Even MC has been given him opportunities to chat about it, and he's all, "I love you! Now lets boink!" (Okay, so he's never said "boink"... go with me here LOL)

But, you know what will solve the problem? Let's just put the temptation out there and have them be alone for an extended period of time (if they haven't already... I digress). *shakes head* I think it's important for Sam to take the time to evaluate himself and what this means having Addi back. It is a confusing situation, and even MC is trying to evaluate her own feelings about Addi and how she should feel if Sam were to have his wife back in his life and the boys' life. It would hurt like hell, no doubt, but we gotta acknowledge this disaster of a VERY unfortunate situation. We need to pause this whole wedding nonsense... We need therapy (does Naya do that too?).

BUT A DATE? A FUCKING DATE? With his one great love? That is a wonderful idea... I hope they kiss... damnit, Jenny...

What did you think about Sofia's conversation with MC?

[zoominag]

1850-1899

This is part of a series in which I am posting clips of my larger project by decade as I finish them. For more about this project, or to ask me to include your doll or OC, check out my pinned post.

Previous posts:

17th century

1700-1739

1740-1769

1770-1799

1800-1849

The OCs in this post that are mine are Charlotte and Jane, Rachel and Abigail, and Hannah and Delia (they're in pairs because I did the Best Friends series based on @americangirlstar's suggestions, and in the process created a Best Friend for each of my own characters). Héloise and Aoife belong to @autistickirstenlarson, Violette belongs to @getintothesun, and Charlotte belongs to @gardner-n-pardner.

While putting together previous installations I became aware that I have the birth dates wrong for several of the canon characters. I'm planning a redo for the canon character set, eventually, so please do let me know if I'm wrong about anyone. I might already know, but since I have pretty severe dyscalculia as well as ADHD it's not bad to have the info available in multiple places.

I also feel that I should repeat the statement I made before that I had a hard time finding accurate, non-exoticizing references for Kaya, Speaking Rain, and Singing Bird's wardrobes without embarking on a level of research way beyond the scope of this project. If someone is reading this who has familiarity with and access to visual references for 19th century Nimiipuu, Salish, and Dakota/Lakota clothing, and the time and patience to help me understand them, I would be very interested in learning.

1850s

Héloise Cormier: 96-99 Kaya'aton'my: 95-99 Speaking Rain: 95-99 Felicity Merriman: 85-94 Elizabeth Cole: 85-94 Rachel Gabay: 70-79 Abigail Schorr: 70-79 Lydia Livingston: 51-60 Caroline Abbott: 49-58 Clara Montoya: 38-47 Josefina Montoya: 36-45 Hannah Kane: 26-35 Delia Freedman: 26-35 Violette Metoyer: 26-35 Aoife Callaghan: 14-23 Cecile Rey: 8-17 Marie-Grace Gardner: 8-17 Kirsten Larson: 6-15 Singing Bird: 6-15 Charlotte Devereux: 1-10 Addy Walker: 0-5 Sarah Moore: 0-5

Charlotte is a fun and interesting character: I made small edits to some of the base poses I use to accommodate her cane, and larger edits to others. I looked up some photos and videos of children with juvenile arthritis, which Charlotte has, to help get it right. Some of the outfits in Charlotte's collection were repeats, so I picked out a few more outfits from the same period that seem like they fit Charlotte's frilly, floral aesthetic. Meanwhile, this decade, Addy and Sarah are both born into slavery, Héloise, Kaya, and Speaking Rain say goodbye, Cecile and Marie-Grace begin wearing full-length, grown-up dresses, and Clara Montoya, ever sensible, tries out a Bloomer suit but finds that it doesn't make her work enough easier to offset the teasing and doesn't make any more of them.

1860s

Felicity Merriman: 95-99 Elizabeth Cole: 95-99 Rachel Gabay: 80-89 Abigail Schorr: 80-89 Lydia Livingston: 61-70 Caroline Abbott: 59-68 Clara Montoya: 48-57 Josefina Montoya: 46-55 Hannah Kane: 36-45 Delia Freedman: 36-45 Violette Metoyer: 36-45 Aoife Callaghan: 24-33 Cecile Rey: 18-27 Marie-Grace Gardner: 18-27 Kirsten Larson: 16-25 Singing Bird: 16-25 Charlotte Devereux: 11-20 Addy Walker: 6-15 Sarah Moore: 6-15 He-Mei Hsieh: 0-4 Florence Coburn: 0-4 Lucy Morgan: 0-4

He-Mei is a placeholder name that probably isn't right for her character. It's a Mandarin name, and she should have a name in Cantonese. Unfortunately I just don't know enough to be able to pick one out without help, so if someone seeing this who speaks Cantonese has a great idea, I'd love to hear it. Ironically, although AG has never made either a Chinese or significantly Disabled Historical doll, He-Mei and Florence owe the most to existing AG characters out of all my OCs. Maybe it's their dedication to getting into trouble.

1870s

Rachel Gabay: 90-99 Abigail Schorr: 90-99 Lydia Livingston: 71-80 Caroline Abbott: 69-78 Clara Montoya: 58-67 Josefina Montoya: 56-65 Hannah Kane: 46-55 Delia Freedman: 46-55 Violette Metoyer: 46-55 Aoife Callaghan: 34-43 Cecile Rey: 28-37 Marie-Grace Gardner: 28-37 Kirsten Larson: 26-35 Singing Bird: 26-35 Charlotte Devereux: 21-30 Addy Walker: 16-25 Sarah Moore: 16-25 He-Mei Hsieh: 5-14 Florence Coburn: 5-14 Lucy Morgan: 5-14 Gertrude Levy: 0-4 Mabel Kaplan: 0-4 Medha/Mahtab: 0-2

The First Bustle Era, with its big, poofy, drapey bustles, shrinks down into a tight, structured column shape. Florence's chair is based on historical examples: it has two large wheels that she can push in the front and one small wheel in the back. It's heavy and difficult for her to push as a kid, and when He-Mei pushes it she can't always see where they are going. I feel like Addy's school suit, in particular, translates well into these stiffer and more structured styles, and Caroline's Christmas dress isn't bad either. Another one that worked out well is Cécile's parlor outfit.

1880s

Lydia Livingston: 81-90 Caroline Abbott: 79-88 Clara Montoya: 68-77 Josefina Montoya: 66-75 Hannah Kane: 56-65 Delia Freedman: 56-65 Violette Metoyer: 56-65 Aoife Callaghan: 44-53 Cecile Rey: 38-47 Marie-Grace Gardner: 38-47 Kirsten Larson: 36-45 Singing Bird: 36-45 Charlotte Devereux: 31-40 Addy Walker: 26-35 Sarah Moore: 26-35 He-Mei Hsieh: 15-24 Florence Coburn: 15-24 Lucy Morgan: 15-24 Gertrude Levy: 5-14 Mabel Kaplan: 5-14 Medha/Mahtab: 3-12 Diya/Nasreen: 0-9 Harriet Shapiro: 0-4 Matilda Greene: 0-4

There's a lot still undecided about the sisters I originally called Diya and Medha but then considered renaming to Nasreen and Mahtab, depending on what kind of backstory would work best for them. Unfortunately, I know more about clothing history than I do about historical waves of immigration. I still think these characters have a good dynamic with each other and I love how their outfits turned out, but I probably won't be fleshing them out much unless I happen to learn a lot more about their potential backgrounds. For the time being, I'm leaving them in the project but I'm focusing more on characters I don't need to do a lot of original research to develop.

The Second Bustle Era is far more stiff and structured than the first, with heavier fabrics and narrower lines. Even the older girls are wearing bustles, while the younger girls often have large bows at the backs of their dresses in imitation of the bustled silhouette. This project first saw a bustled style in the 1680s, they were most famous in the 1880s, and even today we see them now and then on bridal or red carpet gowns.

1890s

Lydia Livingston: 91-99 Caroline Abbott: 89-98 Clara Montoya: 78-87 Josefina Montoya: 76-85 Hannah Kane: 66-75 Delia Freedman: 66-75 Violette Metoyer: 66-75 Aoife Callaghan: 54-63 Cecile Rey: 48-57 Marie-Grace Gardner: 48-57 Kirsten Larson: 46-55 Singing Bird: 46-55 Charlotte Devereux: 41-50 Addy Walker: 36-45 Sarah Moore: 36-45 He-Mei Hsieh: 25-34 Florence Coburn: 25-34 Lucy Morgan: 25-34 Gertrude Levy: 15-24 Mabel Kaplan: 15-24 Medha/Mahtab: 13-22 Diya/Nasreen: 10-19 Harriet Shapiro: 5-14 Matilda Greene: 5-14 Samantha Parkington: 0-4 Nellie O'Malley: 0-4

The final decade of the 19th century has us saying goodbye to Caroline and Lydia, and hello to Samantha and Nellie. Although it's less dramatic than the first and second bustle eras or even the period between them, this period is surprisingly fun to draw. And it's nice to be ending the century with their wintery formalwear. Happy new year!

As always, to get your historical doll or OC included in this project, HERE'S THE LINK. Obviously if your doll is from earlier than the 20th century they'll have to wait for the next round of drawings, but you're welcome to put them in the form and I'll include them in the next round, which will otherwise focus on the siblings of canon characters.

[dr-addieramsey]

Movie Night

Book : Open Heart - Post book 3 (A few weeks after they said their ' I love you's ')

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey X F!MC(Adelaide Nicholson)

Category : Fluff

Rating : Teen+

Summary : It' s just a simple movie night with zero plot....

A/N : This is my first fic so I'm sorry if it turns out to be trashy. English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes........

It was Friday night and Ethan was sitting in his living room, a medical journal in his one hand and a glass of scotch in another. His apartment was quiet and he was really grateful for the silence. It had been a hectic week. Being the Chief of Medicine was not an easy job and all he really wanted to do was enjoy his night and the next day off. Jenner was sitting by his feet.

Although he was really enjoying the silence a part of him wished that his girlfriend was there with him. Girlfriend. Although the term seemed juvenile he still couldn't believe he got to call her his. The beautiful Head of Diagnostics always soothed his mind and felt like home. He had no idea how she did that but he was grateful that he had her in his life. Ever since he had told her a few weeks back that he loved her and she - to his relief - had said those words back they both were over-the-moon happy.

This week although she had been really busy. The Diagnostics team had a really tough case assigned to them two days back and being the head of the team she had the responsibility to solve it as soon as possible before the patient got worse. On top of that she also had to review resumes and select a new member for the team. After Ethan left the team there was one spot on the team which needed to be filled. This meant extra work for her. Ethan had offered to help her with the interviews but everyone she just said "You already have so much on your plate being the chief of medicine and anyways it's the part of the job so I have to do it. Right?" He was proud of her as her mentor and boyfriend.

But tonight he just wished she could be with him. Although he had seen her in the evening before leaving the hospital he really missed her. His train of thought was interrupted by his phone that started buzzing. He looked at the caller ID and saw Tobias' name. He was in no mood to pickup the call yet he hit the 'accept call' option.

"Hello?"

"Hey Ethan! We just diagnosed the case we got two days back and we were about to go for some drinks to Donahue's. You wanna come?"

"Is Addie with you?" If she was with them and going for drinks, Ethan would go there no matter how strongly he wanted to avoid drunk interns and idiots who wanted to talk to him.

"No. We asked her to come with us but she said she had paperwork to complete. Last I saw her she was in the office. Now, answer my question. You're coming or not?"

"Thanks for asking but I'd rather sit at home and enjoy the peace of my apartment. You enjoy. Congratulations on the solve. Bye." Ethan immediately end the call before Tobias could say another word. He placed his phone on the table and picked up his journal. His phone started buzzing again. This time he picked it up without checking who it was expecting it to be Tobias again.

"Tobias I told you I don't want to go!"

"You should really stop treating him like that babe." Addie said in her melodious voice. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he heard her voice at the other side of the line.

"Addie! Sorry I thought it was Tobias again. So, are you still at the hospital?"

"Nope! I just left. I was really missing you. What are you doing?"

"Reading a medical journal, drinking scotch and missing you."

"Yeah? You're missing me?"

"Ofcourse..." Before Ethan could finish his sentence he was interrupted by the doorbell.

"Just a second, love. There is someone at the door." He started moving towards the door."Who could be there so late?" he muttered to himself. As soon as he opened the door he was delighted to see who was at the door. Adelaide stood at the door. She looked exhausted yet beautiful. A smile made its way on her face when she saw him.

"Hi!"

"Hello, baby!" He immediately pulled her in for a kiss. Both of them let a contended sigh when the broke the kiss. Jenner came to the door wiggling his tail. She scratched him behind his ear a few times. She took of her shoes and and coat. He immediately guided her in the living room towards the couch.

"You want something to eat or drink?"

"Yes please! Can you order some pizza or maybe make some popcorn? I would like to watch a movie with you after I take a shower, only if you want to ofcourse."

"Okay, I'll make popcorn and order pizza. You go take a shower."

She made her way to the bedroom and Ethan headed to the kitchen to make popcorn

~15 minutes later ~

Ethan was on the couch ready with blankets and popcorn. Pizza had arrived a few minutes back. Everything was set up.

Adelaide walked out of the bedroom. She was wearing his black hoodie and she had her blonde hair braided. How does she manage to look beautiful in everything, he thought to himself. She smelled lilies and vanilla because of her body wash. He loved spending his nights with her in his arms.

She snuggled next to him on the couch, her head on his chest. His arm immediately went around her shoulders as if it was second nature. Everything felt right.

"So rom-com or horror?" she asked him

"What the hell is rom-com Rookie?"

"Oh my god, Ethan you are ancient. Rom-com means romantic comedy!" She started laughing and he swore it was one of his favourite sounds.

"You're not subjecting me to that kind of stuff. Let's watch horror."

"Okay! But fair warning, I scream a lot. Your ears may start to bleed. Also save me if in have a heart attack."

"Nothing will happen to you. I'll protect you." he said laughing.

"Okay Mr. Knight in shining Armor. I'm starting the movie now."

~Half-way into the movie~

Addie was practically sitting in Ethan's lap by now. Everytime she suspected a horror scene coming up she closed her eyes and buried her head in his shoulder. She was screaming at the actors to not go in that direction or to ignore the sounds and Ethan couldn't control his laughter. As much as he would've enjoyed to just sit in silence and cuddle he couldn't say he wasn't enjoying this.

"NO! NO! NO! DON'T GO THERE YOU FOOL! HE WILL KILL YOU! OH MY GOD, ETHAN HE IS GOING TO DIE!"

"Scream a little louder and maybe he'll listen to you Rookie. Don't worry as I said I'll protect you." Ethan said laughing loudly this time. The next thing that Ethan's mind registered was a bunch of popcorn hitting his face.

"First you protect yourself!" He was not the type of person to start food fights while watching movies, but she brought out a side of him that he didn't know he had. He also picked a few popcorn and threw them at her. She filled her hands with popcorn and got up from the couch. Ethan aslo took the bowl.

"You sir, have started a fight." She threw more popcorn at him. He reacted immediately throwing popcorn at her.

"Ethan stop! It'll get stuck in my hair!"

"You're the one who started it Rookie." He got up and wrapped his arms around her. They both were looking in each other's eyes. Blue and green met and both were filled with adoration.

"I love you, Addie"

"I love you too, Ethan"

Their lips met in a kiss. It was soft and gentle at first and then it grew passionate. Their mouths danced together. She put her hands on his chest and he put his and on the small of his back. They broke the kiss and looked into each other's eyes filled with desire.

"I think we have had enough of the movie. I have better ideas."

"Well I never say no to 'better ideas.' "

He lifted her and she started giggling. He carried her to the bedroom and shut the door.

~The next morning~

Ethan woke up when the sunshine entered the room. He moved his hand to the other side of the bed and it was cold. He groaned and got up. He started looking for Addie around the apartment.

When Ethan entered the kitchen he saw some pancakes and a cup of coffee on the table. It looked like it was freshly made. He smiled when he saw the sight. He moved towards the table he saw a note beside the plate. He picked it up and started reading.

Good morning,

I had to leave early for my shift. I made you breakfast. I'll come back in the evening. I'll have my break 10 a.m. Call me if you're free. Enjoy your day off. I'll miss you all day long. Love you.

Addie❤️

P.S. : I gave Jenner his food

Ethan was filled with love for this woman. He considered himself the luckiest man in the universe and promised to never let her go.

I know it was wierd 😂. Again I'm sorry for any mistakes.......

@openheartfanfics

[lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love]

hey! Do you think you could do a one shot with either chris evans or seb stan about their daughter becoming pregnant as a teen and how they deal with that? xx

Notes: I’d like to thank @lunaticbarnes for the request!! I hope you enjoy it.

I don’t know any of the gifs/pictures used.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, anxiety, confrontation (maybe), mentions of sex, abortion (mentioned), bad writing, spelling errors (probably), ambiguous ending???

Word Count: 1,866

Masterlist: Click Here & Here

Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive.

You look at the five pregnancy tests in front of you, at the double-lines confirming — shouting — that you’re pregnant. At fifteen.

You feel your stomach lurch and bile rise in your throat. Holding a hand firmly to your mouth, you stumble away from the counter, away from those tests, and hurry to the toilet. Even though the distance between the bathroom counter and the toilet isn’t very long, you barely make it to the toilet before you start vomiting. And it’s probably the most intense vomiting session you’ve ever had.

Once you finish, and you’re no longer dry heaving, you lean back on your knees. You’re trying to catch your breath, brushing sweaty hair from your face. You close your eyes for a moment, and that’s when it hits you, the reality of your situation. You’re fifteen and pregnant. You’re no longer with the baby’s father. If you decide to keep the baby, you’ll be a single mother. Is that something you want? Do you have what it takes to raise a child on your own? Do you even want the child? Not at fifteen. Maybe not ever. You don’t know. But you need to give yourself time to figure it out. You need to set up an appointment, you need to consider your options.

You need to make sure your parents don’t find out.

A knock on the bathroom door snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Y/N, you okay in there?” Sebastian, your father. You didn’t realize he’d come home. You didn’t hear anything, at least not over the sounds of you puking your guts out.

Another knock.

“I’m fine, dad,” you call, your voice dry and raspy. You can’t help but wince. “I’m not feeling too good.”

“You need anything?” You can hear the concern in his voice.

“I’ll be fine thanks.”

You listen to his retreating footsteps before letting out a soft groan. You’re so screwed.

——

In the days since you took the pregnancy tests, you tried to pretend everything was normal. School, homework, spending time with friends, splitting time between your mother’s home and your father’s — you really tried. You had to. Even half-assing your attempt at normalcy would be enough to stop your emotions from crushing you.

But you also knew keeping it a secret from everyone would be impossible. It’d be bound to slip eventually, and that’s what happened when you visited your mother’s one weekend. Your mother and stepfather had gone shopping earlier that afternoon, and that left you and your stepsister, Adelaide, alone in the house. You had a good relationship with Adelaide, the two of you viewing each other more as friends than stepsisters. It’s that friendship, that deep trust, that made you comfortable enough to tell her.

“Are you serious?” Adelaide exclaims. She looks genuinely shocked, eyes wide and face pale. “You can’t be serious.”

“I took five pregnancy tests, they all came back positive.” You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling exposed under Adelaide’s shocked gaze. “Look, you can’t tell my mom or Tyler about this, okay?” You look at her pleadingly. “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet, so if you could just... not say anything...”

“I won’t,” Adelaide says. “It’ll be our little secret.”

You run a hand through your hair. “I don’t know what to do,” you sigh. “This is all so confusing.”

Adelaide walks over and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “We’ll figure something out,” she says. “Don’t worry too much, okay?”

You nod. “Thanks, Addy.”

Adelaide removes her hand and gives a half-hearted shrug. “We’ve had each other’s backs since we were little,” she said. “This is nothing.”

“Except it’s not ‘nothing’,” you state. “I’m pregnant. If I have this baby, I’ll be a single mother, and everything will be complicated. If I have an abortion, then I’ll just...” You let out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” you murmur. “I’m overthinking aren’t I?”

Adelaide nods. “You are,” she says, “and that’s okay. Do you have an appointment set up?”

“An appointment?” you stammer.

“For an ultrasound.” Adelaide gives you a pointed look. “Maybe even a check up.”

“Right,” you sputter. “You’re right.”

——

Adelaide had scheduled an appointment with a local Planned Parenthood for the end of the week. She texted you all the information and where to meet her on the day of the appointment, and you sent about half a dozen texts expressing your gratitude and how you’ll forever be indebted to her.

From: Adelaide 👀

yeah yeah just focus on your cover story

Sent: May 9, 6:09

And you did. You worked on making a convincing cover story, and you prayed to God your father bought it. So far he hasn’t suspected anything, much to your relief. For the time being, that’s one less thing for you to worry about.

——

The day of your appointment couldn’t have come faster. While you were excited to go, you also felt nervous. What if something goes wrong? You can’t help but wonder — worry — that something will go horribly wrong and you’re not ready to deal with that.

But you need to stay calm, you can’t give yourself away. You’ve done such a good job at hiding your pregnancy, you can’t risk blowing your cover.

“So you and Adelaide are going out?” your father asks. There’s a tone in his voice that makes your skin crawl; it almost sounds like suspicion.

“Yeah.” You try for your most convincing smile. “Mom and Tyler said it’s okay, I was just running it by you.”

“Is this something I should be concerned about?”

A chill runs up your spine. “No, we’re just hanging out,” you reply. “She wanted to get some early birthday shopping done for Tyler, and then we’ll be heading back here.”

The response is convincing enough, and you can see the wheels turning in your father’s head. You can see him mulling over your words before nodding. Sebastian has a good relationship with your stepfather; he always has. Your parents split when you were three, the two of them agreeing they were better off as friends than a couple. They never married, so going to court over you — or anything else for that matter — was out of the question. They developed their own co-parenting technique, and it’s worked ever since. Once Tyler came into the equation, your father was more than supportive. Hell, your mother invited him (your father) to the wedding! Sebastian accepted Tyler, and when he found out about Adelaide, he accepted her too. All he wants is his family to be happy.

“You guys be careful, okay?” he presses. “Your mother said Adelaide got her license recently, I don’t want you guys being reckless.”

“We’ll be okay,” you say, a wave of relief washing over you. “If something goes wrong, I’ll let you know.”

While you knew that wasn’t necessarily a good response, it was the best you could come up with. And judging by the look of debatable acceptance on your father’s face, you took it as your que to leave.

——

You and Adelaide agreed to meet a block from your father’s home. The meeting point would be outside a small café, where you’d both walk to the Planned Parenthood facility.

Your heart is pounding painfully against your ribs and your nerves are going haywire. Even after all the time that’s passed, you still don’t know what to do. Do you keep the baby? Do you abort it? Maybe adoption is something you could try... but then you’d have to explain it to your parents and that would end in a disaster. You’re only fifteen for Christ’s sake. They still treat you like you’re little, like you’re incapable of doing anything except being their sweet little girl.

Now you’re they’re sweet little girl with a baby on the way.

Once you made it to the café, you let out a shaky breath. No sign of Adelaide, but she’ll show up soon. Hopefully.

You anxiously shift where you stand, nervously watching people come and go, bicyclists, cars, buses and trucks speed by. It’s a normal day for everyone else.

You swallow thickly, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to overflow. Tears were filling your eyes anyway, and you did everything in your power to wipe them away before they fell. But they just kept coming.

“Y/N!” It’s Adelaide, and you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes before she sees. Once she approaches you, she gives a small, somewhat embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” she exclaims, “dad wanted me to do some cleaning before I left, and...” Her smile drops when she sees your face. “Have you been crying?” she asks. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shake your head. “I’m just a little anxious,” you sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Adelaide’s brows furrow. She knows you’re feeling overwhelmed, but she didn’t think it’d be this bad. “Have you made a decision yet?” she asks, the two of you headed in the direction of the Planned Parenthood.

“No.” Your voice is thick with emotions, your eyes refilling with tears. “I don’t know what to do, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.”

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, Y/N,” Adelaide responds. “I’m here, and maybe whoever you see today can give you some advice on what to do.”

You nod.

——

The appointment went... decent. The ultrasound, the exam, you couldn’t complain. It flew by with no issues and you were grateful. But afterward, once everything was finished, you sit waiting for the doctor, waiting for the results of your exam. Adelaide stayed with you, holding your hand and supporting you the best she could.

“Do you think everything will be okay?” you ask.

Adelaide nods. “Everything will be fine,” she states. “If there’s an issue, I’m sure they’d tell you.”

You let out a trembling sigh. “Yeah you’re probably right.”

A gentle knock on the door makes you flinch, your eyes snapping to the door as you watch it open. An older woman, with graying dark hair and a kind face, comes in and looks at you and Adelaide.

“Hi,” she says. “Y/N?” You nod, she gives a warm smile, closes the door and sits across from you. “Ultrasound went well. Exam looks good.” She hands you a picture of the ultrasound, and you feel a whirlwind of emotions inside you. It made you feel even more conflicted. You give her a tight smile, but you don’t comment on what she’s said so far. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today,” she suggests, giving you an encouraging look.

“I... I don’t know what to do.” You look down, shame washing over you. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Would you like me to tell you your options?”

You nod. Of course you have an idea on what some of those options are, having a professional tell you in greater detail would help you significantly.

And maybe, after you’ve made your decision, and once you feel ready, you can tell the rest of your family.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

@treasure-that-is-what-you-are