#it is like half of the same playlist i would have made in high school about anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnajun · 2 years

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༻¨*:·. atlas cried | ljn

summary | they say your soulmate is your perfect other half—whatever you lack, they have, and whatever they lack, you have. when lee jeno, your academy’s golden boy, approaches you and says you’re his soulmate, you can’t begin to understand how he—rich, gorgeous, never had to work a day in his life—could be the perfect match for you—poor, exhausted, and barely hanging onto the scholarship covering what would be a 65 million won tuition.

genre | high school au (rich boarding school style), soulmate!au, prep!jeno x fem!reader, prep! jaemin & reader (platonic), angst, slow burn, enemies-ish to lovers, kind of academic rivals but in a way that the rivalry is created by other people, im ngl y/n and jeno just don’t like each other, fake dating? au

warnings | did someone say violent academic pressure, heavy isolation, abusive parenting, malicious rumors, everybody is so unhappy, a lot of miscommunication, internalized misogyny, suicide mention (in passing), arson

wc | 24.7k

a/n: hello and welcome to my first long piece ! i hope it's up to your standards :') i'm not sure how i feel about it, as i've never written anything this long so i'm scared there's continuity issues and whatnot. nonetheless, please send me your feedback !! p.s. here is a short playlist comprised of 10 songs i listened to while i wrote this :) p.p.s im sorry for any egregious typos/poorly worded sentences in the last ~9k words, i proofread all of them while i was really tired lol

ft. a few people i made up

i. during the titan war, atlas sided with his fellow titans in battle to defeat the olympians.

THE WIND HOWLED OUTSIDE YOUR DORM BUILDING, rattling the windows of your dorm room and nearly obscuring the study music coming from your speakers. The sky and the wind told of an incoming storm, which made you want to hurry to the cafeteria and get dinner before you were trapped inside. Your homework, however, drowned out the hunger pangs in your stomach and told you that the endless bags of chips hidden under your bed would make a fine dinner.

“You know, they say your soulmate shoulders the weight of the world with you,” your roommate, Suhyeon, sighed, capturing your attention and effectively destroying the deep focus you had on your homework.

“Ok. And?”

She turned over onto her side, a bored expression taking over her face. “Doesn’t that seem scary?”

“I guess?”

“Would you want to share all your problems with someone else? Like, every single one?”

You resisted the urge to strangle her, as well as the urge to remind her that she does not have to keep a top five spot in her class in order to continue going to school. Instead, you spun your desk chair to face her bed, where she lay, staring at your plain white ceiling.

“Want to go get dinner?”

“With this wind? That sounds dreadful,” she replied, looking at you with a bored face. Then, with a sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed and swung her legs over the edge. “I’m not in the mood for another three bags of honey chips.”

To that, you’d have to agree. For the past three-and-a-half days, you and Suhyeon had eaten three bags of chips for dinner, as you were trapped with your head in your textbooks and Suhyeon refused to go to the dining hall without you (according to her, it would look weird to eat alone, and you were her only friend on campus).

“If I had to guess, we’ll be getting a day off tomorrow,” Suhyeon said, swiping her set of keys off her mostly unused desk. You stood up, cringing at the sound of your back cracking as you stretched. Your legs ached from how long you’d been sitting, as well as your back, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the cramps you felt in your knees. Suhyeon grabbed her coat off the coat hook bolted to your door, slipping it over her uniform and zipping it up promptly.

You shuffled over and did the same, preemptively sliding the hood up so you could begin situating your hair under it. Suhyeon swung the door open and you obediently followed, emerging into the monotonous corridors of the dormitory.

“Are we due for blizzarding?”

“Yes ma’am.” Suhyeon nodded, swinging her arms back and forth as she half-skipped down the hall. “It’s not cold enough today, but, if it storms tonight, I bet we’ll wake up to a classes-have-been-canceled email.”

You sighed, wondering what that would mean for your math exam that you’d been slaving over for the past week and a half. It was the final midterm until you were granted a week off, which you and Suhyeon had excitedly planned to be spent entirely in your bedroom. If there was a snow day, you hoped your teacher would simply postpone it for Friday, rather than move it after the break altogether.

You opened the door to the stairwell, allowing Suhyeon to pass by you and get a head start on the stairs. You quickly followed, wishing you’d done your usual study-stretch schedule today. Your legs nearly gave out as you tried to stay caught up with your roommate, and you were shocked that you managed to make it to the first floor without falling down a flight of stairs.

Another strong gust of wind rattled the building, and you wondered if it was exactly a good idea to make a break for the dining hall.

Suhyeon let out a loud groan, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I hate the second year-dormitory,” she announced, slowing to a stop in front of the first pair of doors to the outside. “Why do the first years have the indoor path to the dining hall? If anything, they should be the ones in the old, rickety dorms.”

“There’s nothing happy about second year, though. If they put all the depressing stuff halfway in, it won’t be as easy to drop out,” you said, taking the chance to run outside the moment the wind let up a bit. Suhyeon followed close behind you, catching up enough to lace an arm around yours as you ran through the school courtyard.

You practically bulldozed into the dining hall as another burst of wind began, which ended up with you and Suhyeon having to push the door closed as if you were trying to move a broken-down car. The door shut with a satisfying lock, leaving you in the entryway room that consisted of four doors and absolutely nothing else.

Suhyeon sighed, pushing through the second set of doors. The moment they opened, you were hit with the strong smell of spaghetti, which made the hunger pangs worsen substantially. Despite the time, the dining hall was mostly empty, save for a few groups who’d opted to spend their after-school time in there and any third years or first years who’d decided they were hungry.

They didn’t have to make a mad dash across campus to arrive without being blown away. In fact, none of them were even wearing any sort of rain gear.

“Oh god,” Suhyeon mumbled as you approached the serving counter, picking up two trays from the stack they had at the edge.

“What?”

“Golden boys are here.”

You looked up from your tray, turning your head to scan the cafeteria. Sure enough, all six of the golden boys—as they were called—sat at a table in the corner of the room, books littered across the table alongside bowls of spaghetti and an enormous amount of garlic bread. They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and making up essentially all the noise that rattled the room. Suhyeon always told you that there were seven of them, but one had the misfortune of taking a transfer year to some “partner school” off in Shanghai this year, and last year he was still a middle schooler.

You thought the seventh boy might’ve been a ghost that you couldn’t see, though.

One of the cafeteria ladies put a hefty bowl of spaghetti on your plate, along with an oddly gourmet-looking piece of garlic bread. There was a self-serve salad bar and dessert bar further down, but you weren’t too interested in having any of it for right now.

“Awe, they’re sitting a few tables down from our usual spot,” Suhyeon mumbled, stopping to grab a bowl of salad. You waited behind her, staring at the distance between their table of madness and your quaint corner. They were sitting adjacent to the window, likely to survey the weather, and your two-person table was situated in a corner between a false wall that separated the eating area from the first-year entrance. There were about six tables, give or take, between you and them.

“We’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re right next to them,” you said, turning towards her. She was finishing up her salad, placing the bowl on her unbalanced tray, and attempting to get it stable with her now-free other hand. You took that as your chance to begin your stroll to the table, with Suhyeon nervously following behind.

For some reason, she did not like the oh-so-famous golden boys. Any time they entered the conversation, she went silent, and always ended up throwing off the momentum of the conversation with her anxiety; when you tried to ask her about it, she always got defensive, saying she has “nothing to do with them” and “doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

You allowed her to take the corner spot, frowning as she shoved herself into the corner and began picking at her food with her fork. You wondered if it was mean to do this when she so obviously had an issue with it, even if she insisted she didn’t.

“We can sit somewhere else…”

“No, you’re right,” Suhyeon cleared her throat, shaking her head. “It’s not like we’re right next to them. I’ll be fine.”

You took another look at her hidden in the corner, recognizing that she was not going to be fine, but you didn’t push any further. If you had to guess, the last thing she wanted to do was have you make a big deal about her discomfort.

You both ate quietly and quickly, hoping to finish before the oncoming storm hit. Due to the lack of conversation between you two, courtesy of the golden boys being twenty-ish feet away, it wasn’t hard to get through nearly the entire meal within a few seconds.

Your silence also made it quite easy to hear what the golden boys were talking about at their table, added to how easy it was to see them from the corner of your eye.

“I heard Nayeong say we’re getting tomorrow and Friday off,” Zhong Chenle reported, taking a long drink of his water. “They’re just waiting to make it look like it was a last-minute decision.”

“Wow, student council president certified? Must be true, then,” Na Jaemin replied, turning to Lee Donghyuck, who was dejectedly scrolling through his phone. If you had to guess, he’d struggled with the English exam that had taken place earlier that day, seeing as he was notoriously good at Japanese and nothing else. “What's gonna happen with the big math midterm tomorrow, then? I don’t want it to be after break, I’d seriously rather die.”

Donghyuck barely glanced up from his phone before answering. “Rumor has it they’re gonna proctor it in the dorm study rooms. Separate everyone into time slots and stuff. They’re doing it for the third and first years, too.”

Chenle groaned, letting his head dangle on the edge of his chair. Mark Lee, student council vice president and perhaps the second most adored student in the school, didn’t comment on their rumor-spreading. You expected him to be the one they relied on most for information, but

You raised your head slowly, looking over at their table. Mark Lee didn’t comment because he was staring straight at you.

Suhyeon noticed your staring, following your eyesight towards Mark, who was now staring lasers through your head. She dropped her chopsticks into the mostly empty bowl, standing up from her chair suddenly. The movement, along with the clattering of metal, scared you, causing you to snap your head back towards her.

“I don’t feel good.”

Her face was turning pale and her eyes began to water, which was considerably uncharacteristic for her. You looked up at her, glancing down at your half-finished spaghetti and garlic bread. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Can we go back to the dorms, now?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest. “I feel really nauseous.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, standing up. “We can just leave the plates. Let’s go.”

You glanced over at the golden boys’ table, which had gone quiet. Mark was whispering something to Lee Jeno, who was also staring at you now, arms crossed over his chest and blonde hair (when he showed up blonde at the beginning of the year, everybody lost it) wisped over his forehead.

Gently, you wrapped a hand around her shoulder, hugging her to your side as you made a swift departure from the cafeteria. You got odd looks from other students, but, for the most part, nobody got in the way of your exit. You emerged straight into the dangerous wind, not stopping despite how much it threatened to blow you away.

Being out of sight of the golden boys took a huge weight off your shoulders, one you didn’t know was there. Sometimes you garnered looks given your well-known scholarship student title, but that was mostly from first years who were shocked that could even happen. As far as you were aware, you had nothing to do with the golden boys—not even something as simple as a group project or anything.

Had you done something wrong? Were your grades slipping? Was there something going on concerning your scholarship? The wave of questions washing out your mind was causing you to feel nauseous; you didn’t want Mark Lee looking at you like that. You didn’t want any one of them looking at you like that.

You practically threw the dormitory’s doors open, dodging past anyone who might’ve been in your way. You couldn’t get Mark Lee’s stare out of your mind, because it was unexplainable, because it was unprompted, because it could mean you’d be kicked out of the academy and sent back to your terrible parents who would berate you for forever, telling you that you’re worthless and no better than your freeloading, addict siblings.

You skid to a stop in front of the dorm’s nursing office, knocking three times and not waiting for a response. You pushed Suhyeon inside, grabbing the dorm keys from her jacket pocket and giving the resident nurse an unnerved look.

“She’s not feeling well,” you explained, giving Suhyeon no time to protest you dropping her off in the nurse’s office. Instead, you practically slammed the door shut, staring at the monotonous wood for a moment more.

Your heart was pounding. Your mind was spinning. You could barely breathe.

Quietly, you turned towards the end of the hall, where the stairwell waited for you to climb it. Suddenly, it occurred to you that there was a slim chance you could be climbing it for the last few times beginning today.

As you approached, you wondered what your siblings would do if you lost the scholarship. They’d laugh at you, sneer, and say “I thought you were supposed to be the perfect child?” They’d watch as your parents struck you, yelled at you for being worthless and nothing better than the rest of them. They’d force you to kneel on rice while they “mourned” the loss of their shot at wealth, asking you why you didn’t sleep around with the student body to try and ensure a husband.

“You’ll never be this pretty again,” they would say. “Who cares about your soulmate? Will a soulmate bring you money? Comfort? Look at what happened to your father and I when we chose each other over wealth. Do you want to be like us?”

You slammed the door of your dorm shut behind you, falling onto your knees. You realized that you’d never turned your study music off, or your lights, or anything before you’d left for the dining hall.

You looked down at your arms, letting yourself hold up your right hand. There, in the very center of your palm, was a code that you’d memorized the moment you began to comprehend it: LJN.

You picked yourself off the floor, suppressing the panic tears that threatened to spill over. Instead, you approached your desk, dropping down onto the chair and shoving your math textbook out of the way. You instead chose to focus on the human biology book, long and heavy, that sat underneath it. Weakly, you flipped through the pages, stopping on the first page of a chapter entitled “Soulmates: Biology’s Biggest Mystery.”

The first paragraph read, “the concept of soulmates has long been a pillar of human society. The existence of a ‘soulmate marking’ has purportedly been around since the beginning of time, but the earliest recordings of it come from ancient Mesopotamian tomes depicting a ‘perfect other half’ that ‘completes the human body.’"

You must’ve tattooed these words on your brain when you were studying, but, even then, you couldn’t help but feel mystified every time you read through it. You never cared too much about the whole soulmate craze, considering you were still a teenager and didn’t need to care about “forever” yet, but there was always a sort of comfort that you found in it. The existence of your soulmate confirmed that you would not be chained to your parents for the rest of your life, and, one day, you’d be able to leave them behind for a better, happier life.

You read on, tracing the words of the chapter with your index finger.

“Around 97% of the population have a set of initials written somewhere on their body, one that they’re born with. Their soulmate will have a marking on the same part of their body with the coinciding set of initials. There have been no instances of these initials changing, even upon the death of one’s soulmate, meaning the connection is entirely permanent.”

There was someone out there who would pull you out of this. You were sure of it.

And, when that happened, your life would truly begin anew.

ii. the titans lost the war, and the olympians banished the titans to tartarus.

From beginning to end, your math midterm was a mess.

Sure enough, classes were canceled, but they proceeded with finishing things up before your week-long break began and all information previously learned left your mind. You’d been placed in a 3:30 time slot to take your exam, along with about 15 of your classmates, in the dormitory study room that you’d never once step foot into.

Upon arrival at 3:10, you were faced with the sad truth that both Huang Renjun and Lee Jeno were also in your time slot. Initially, you avoided their gaze, shrinking into the corner of the lounge and hiding behind your phone and wired earbuds. But, you were learning the world would never be kind to you because, the moment Lee Donghyuck emerged from the 1:30 time slot, he had a perfect view of you.

You subconsciously tried to hide once more, hunching down and allowing for your hair to fall over your face. You increased the volume of your music, a random, synthy song you’d fallen in love with some time last week, and tried to ignore how Lee Donghyuck’s gaze made you feel like an internationally wanted criminal.

Once they took note of you, the staring did not cease. Lee Donghyuck left for his dorm while you waited for your proctor to announce things were ready (which happened about a minute and a half after Donghyuck left).

You ripped your earbud out when you saw her appear out of the corner of your eye, jerking up to look at her and wishing your heart would stop beating so fast. “There’s assigned seating, which I will call out now. When you hear your name, please sit behind the person last called. If that person is sitting in the very back, please begin the next row in the front.”

Huang Renjun was called third, which took a small weight off your shoulders. That didn’t stop Jeno from looking at you, stealing glances and sometimes blatantly staring with those terrifyingly cold eyes of his.

“[First] [Last].”

You nearly tripped over your feet getting up, leaving your small bag along with your cell phone and earbuds on the chair you sat waiting on. You held your pen and pencil so tightly in your hand that your knuckles were pale, and you must’ve looked sick to the proctor, given the look she offered you as you passed beside her.

Your eyes narrowed in on the empty seat behind the last girl that was called—the student council secretary, Yeji—and you swiftly approached, half-returning the smile Yeji gave as you walked past.

Huang Renjun was one seat behind you and two rows over, meaning he would barely be able to see you. If you were lucky, Jeno would be the first to start his row, meaning he would be in front of you and therefore it would be impossible for him to look at you.

You weren’t sure why you still relied on luck when pretty much all of it was wasted when you got into this godforsaken school on a scholarship.

The proctor called an Osaki Shotaro, who came and took the seat behind you. Then, a Kim Juyeon who began the next row. Then, a Liu Yangyang who sat next to you.

“Lee Jeno.”

You could’ve shot yourself right then and there, especially as he sauntered over to the seat, dropping into it and immediately beginning to spin his pencil around his fingers. You could practically feel his stare like lasers being shot through the back of your head, unending and unwavering as the proctor called the final girl and shut the door behind her.

“Thank you for arriving smoothly and on time.”

You wished you would have skipped. Skipping might’ve cost you your scholarship and your future, but, if you got Suhyeon on your side and claimed you’d woken up severely ill but couldn’t make it to the nurse because Suhyeon had the 10:30 time slot and you woke up at 11, you might’ve been able to make it to the makeup date.

If only God had been kind enough to warn you about this one.

The proctor began to hand out your answer sheets and tests while droning on and on about rules, her words going in and out of your ears like the pointless documentaries your history teacher enjoyed showing. As if you hadn’t taken five of these exams already, she regurgitated these rules, causing your mind to spin more and your leg to bounce harder.

“You may begin.”

You barely began at all. For the entire test, your mind wasn’t focused on derivatives or any sort of equation you’d spent weeks memorizing—no, your mind was focused on Lee Jeno, Mark Lee, all the golden boys, and why they were suddenly so focused on you. You wrote down numbers and letters, plus signs and square roots, all while thinking about what they could want from you.

With every page flip, with every boxed answer and filled-in bubble, your mind fell deeper and deeper into your panicked trance. At some point, you began writing on autopilot with no mental capacity to tell whether or not what you wrote was correct. A part of you wondered why you cared so much when you were obviously about to become the first-ever scholarship student at the academy to lose their scholarship, to be the first investment that brought a net loss instead of a net gain.

Before you knew it, the test was over, and it was 5:15 pm on the dot. You felt like throwing up, a million spiders crawling up your stomach and throat as you stared at what you wholeheartedly believed to be a failed math test. Your mind spun—math had always been your worst subject, and you’d always teetered on the edge with it. As long as you excelled in other subjects, you’d be fine, but there was an absolute need to ensure you did not fall below rank five.

As long as you were never below five, you would be fine.

The proctor snatched your test up from your desk, taking a once over with a smile. “Congratulations on finishing, Ms. [Last],” she said, a formality she’d repeated to everyone but carried a special weight when she spoke to you.

You wanted to reach for it, take it back and run away with the paper. You couldn’t remember a single question you’d answered, let alone whether or not the answers were right. This would be the first (and last) time you’d drop below rank five in your exams, and you’d be packing up your bags when the grades dropped next week. This was the end of your paradise, all thanks to a few awry looks from the academy’s beloved golden boys.

“All papers have been collected. You are free to return to your dorms,” the proctor announced, placing the stack on her desk. You lingered on for a moment, staring at your hands and focusing on the pressure that weighed your shoulders down every waking moment of the day.

Once, Suhyeon was trying to get you to go shopping with her while you were studying. You refused vehemently, citing your grades as the reason why you couldn’t watch her spend thousands upon thousands on clothes she’d never wear while you cringed at every price tag you saw.

With one of her usual, airy sighs, she collapsed onto her bed, mumbling a hollow statement that stuck in your mind: “[First] [Last], forever crushed by the weight of the world.”

Your self wallowing was cut off by Lee Jeno stopping in front of your desk, looking down at you with his terrible cold stare. You returned his focus, fighting off the urge to curl into yourself and tell him to never speak to you again.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. “I’ll meet you in the library at 8.”

You gave him a look that could only be described as confusion, tilting your head at the notion.

“The library closes at 5 tonight.”

“Does that matter to me?”

He scoffed a bit, not paying you another second. Instead, he sauntered off with Huang Renjun, who gave him a steady slap on the shoulder as he walked out. Renjun followed behind, saying, “You’ve got guts now, huh?” while continuing to hammer on his shoulder and laugh at his “guts.” All you could do was slowly lift yourself from your desk chair, thinking about what you would do upon your return to Jinhae-gu. What your ex-classmates, who’d screamed and cried with you when you received your scholarship notice in the middle of the school day, would say when you walked in, a husk of your former self.

What you’d do when you saw your parents and siblings again.

“Ms. [Last], now that exams are over for second years, I suggest you stop by Miss Choi’s office as soon as possible. I know how much pressure you’re under to retain such perfect grades,” the proctor said, causing you to be torn away from your mind once again.

You smiled weakly at her, nodding. “I will, ma’am. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s no issue, sweetheart,” she said, dropping a hand onto your shoulder. “We all want to see you succeed.”

You bowed at her as a way to get her to stop touching you, rushing out of the classroom. You’d rather die than go see Miss Choi, who picked you apart too easily in your opinion. You didn’t like the way she seemed to know how you were feeling, how she tried to teach you how to carry the world, because Miss Choi—an alma mater of the academy by paid tuition and not by scholarship—would never know what this felt like, even if she followed you around for three months straight.

With your bag retrieved, you began your march up the stairwell, a new anger brewing in your heart. When you were gone, when there was a lack of honor student to bring up in the interviews and magazine features, when you worked up the nerve to post a forum piece on how the academy destroyed any bit of happiness you had, they’d understand that this wasn’t just academic pressure.

Suhyeon was right—you were forever crushed by the weight of the world because nobody else here wanted to carry their weight and believed there was no one better suited to pick it up other than you.

iii. tartarus was a deep abyss used as a prison for the titan gods,

“You can’t go out right now, the weather is too awful,” Suhyeon insisted, scrambling to reach for your keys. You grabbed them before her, dropping them in the pocket of the jacket you’d draped over your lounge clothes. “It’s dark and the snow is barreling down, [First]. Where could you possibly go right now?”

You bit your lip, staring down at her. She was dressed in her pajamas, practically ready for bed by this point, with a matching Hello Kitty pajama set and a headband pulling her hair away from her face. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose, sliding down further the more she tried to discourage you from leaving.

“I just want to take a walk. It stopped snowing a while ago, so there’s no barreling down happening, and I have my snow boots on. Everything should be fine,” you insisted, slipping your gloves on. Suhyeon went to stand in front of the door, blocking your exit to the outside and further delaying your meet-up with Mr. Perfect.

“Promise you’ll be back before room checks.”

You sighed. If whatever Lee Jeno needed to speak to you about was important, he must’ve put something in place to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble for missing room checks, but you couldn’t be sure. You nodded, waving her out of the way.

“I’ll be back before room checks. Swear on it.”

Uncomfortably, Suhyeon stepped away from the door, allowing you to pass without a word. You slipped out of your room, giving her one last glance before you shut the door behind you and isolated yourself in the dorm corridor. It was cold—everything was cold—and dark, with dim LEDs illuminating the hall floors and nothing else providing any sort of light. It was akin to that of a movie theater's stairs—just lit up enough that you could make it down the stairs without plunging to your doom.

You made your way to the stairwell, cringing as your shoes clicked against the wood of the stairs. You hoped that Jeno had done anything to protect you from the wrath of the late night staff, but you wondered if getting caught meant anything when you’d be gone in a week.

The dorm’s common area (or, more simply, the first floor) was completely devoid of everyone, as aligned with the school rules, which said no students should be out of their rooms past 7:30 on a weekday to avoid issues with student health or student safety. Room checks began at 9, which essentially meant you could be out and about until then, but nobody wanted their parents finding out they were screwing around instead of studying.

You took no time in crossing the common room, weaving through tables and couches in hopes that a teacher didn’t appear and tell you to get back to your room before this “hurt your future,” as they liked to tell you. When the doors to the dorm opened, you could’ve sworn you felt your heart drop into your feet—but, the doors opening did not yield a teacher or any staff member.

It yielded Na Jaemin.

Upon seeing you, he gave you a cordial smile and a nod. Jaemin was Lee Jeno’s second-in-command, his beginning and his end. From what you’d heard from classmates, they’d grown up together, being neighbors from the day they were born and being friends from the day they could speak. You barely saw one without the other, and you couldn’t lie when you said part of you was expecting Jaemin would be in the library along with Jeno tonight.

“Good evening, [First],” he greeted. You offered him an uncomfortable nod back, accompanied by an unsure smile and your shaking hands. “Library’s unlocked.”

You blinked a couple of times, suddenly clueless as to what he was talking about. Na Jaemin was blinding, from the way he smiled at you to the way he even looked at you.

“Ah, um, thanks,” you said, coming to your senses. “Sleep well, or something.”

Jaemin chuckled, nodding. “You too. Good luck!”

He passed by you without another glance, another word, disappearing into the men’s side of the second-year dorms. You watched his figure retreat for a moment, wondering if you’d run into any other golden boys on your way to the library. You hoped Jaemin was the only one.

As you emerged into the cold, night air, stepping onto the snow and sinking in almost immediately, you now found yourself focused on your brief interaction with Na Jaemin.

A while back, you’d heard that he didn’t have a soulmate.

You were just starting out, and, given the nature of your enrollment at the school, you’d had a slight amount of popularity. People hung around you with the idea that you’d somehow trick them into good study habits and unrivaled intelligence (to be honest, people still do), and that inevitably came with you hearing whatever gossip traveled around your class at the time.

“You know Na Jaemin? The boy who started this year and immediately made it in with Mark Lee’s crowd?” a girl asked you, sliding into your study table at the library. Instantly, she’d caught the attention of the other three students who asked to study with you, drawing them away from the math worksheet you were all working on. “Ah, [First], Mark Lee and his crew have been attending the academy since elementary school, so they kinda own the place. They never let anybody in with them until Na Jaemin.”

Upon hearing that, you’d mostly been impressed that somebody could afford that many years of tuition here, let alone send their child into academic hell from the moment they’d learned to read. Suhyeon hadn’t told you that she’d also lived the same life, yet, so this was your first exposure to what most students called the “originals” of the academy.

“He doesn’t have a soulmate.”

A sort of surprise settled in around the table, given how rare it was to be born soulmate-less. There was a “no way” thrown out, along with a couple of gasps of disbelief. You’d felt bad for him, wondering what it was like to live in a world where (mostly) everybody but you had a universally-fated life partner.

Your tablemates didn’t seem to think similarly to you.

“God, my mother would be overjoyed if I was soulmateless,” one of your classmates, Chaeyeon, hummed, leaning back on her chair and resting her elbow on the back of it. You turned to her, shocked that was her first reaction upon hearing about Na Jaemin’s soulmateless-ness. “He must be the golden child of his family.”

“He’s the youngest, too, so he was inevitably going to be the kid they married off. That’s one less person they’ll need to pay off.”

Na Jaemin, whether the rumor was true or not, was your way of finding out that rich people often trapped their younger children in loveless marriages, and paid off their soulmates to keep them from ever forming a relationship. They’d even had a saying for it: “An accomplished father’s best child is the child who can marry for money with no regrets.”

It horrified you because that was how your parents thought. You couldn’t imagine a life where everybody, not just your parents, thought that way.

As quietly as you could, you pushed the door to the library open, finding yourself in the sprawling lobby you were so acquainted with. Despite the academy being a lower grade school, the library was the kind that you’d find articles on and the kind where people would travel just to see it.

Usually, it was locked to the high heavens when it was closed due to its extensive collection of books no high schooler needed to read, but tonight was different. You wondered if Mark stole the keys from Nayeong and gave them to Jeno.

You shuffled towards the stairs, wondering if Lee Jeno was going to make you search for him. Your heart began pounding in your chest once again, thoughts of expulsion (losing your scholarship wasn’t technical expulsion, but it might as well have been) and disappointing everyone you know with a simple 89 on a math test.

The second floor was completely dark, which was creepier than you wanted it to be. Assuming Jeno wasn’t waiting for you in a pitch-black room, you continued up the stairwell, telling yourself Jeno wasn’t going to inform you of your impending doom despite the fact that he was a student, and that he wasn’t even on the student council.

You couldn’t imagine whatever else he wanted to talk to you about, though. You weren’t in the same sphere, hell, even in the same universe as each other—he hung around the golden boys and nobody else, breaking every rule the school had to offer and using his father’s name as an excuse. You hung out with the kids who lived closer to the bottom (whatever bottom meant at this god-forsaken school), the kids whose grades had a real impact on them rather than the ones who went to school to say they did.

The third floor was also completely dark but gave way to the dim lighting that lit up the fourth floor. For some reason, Lee Jeno had decided to taint your preferred study floor with whatever he had to tell you, but you supposed he had no clue that it was your usual study spot. After all, you were in different universes.

Taking the final few steps up to the fourth floor, you noticed that, while it was illuminated, there was no sign of Jeno anywhere. The lights were on and it was dead silent, with not a single movement or noise to even hint at another person being inside; but, from the way one of the tables had its chairs sprawled about and from the light smell of coffee, you could tell people had been in here recently.

If you had to guess who, it was the rest of the golden boys, given your run-in with Jaemin in the lobby of your dorm. You wondered where the rest of them went, particularly Donghyuck and Renjun, who hadn’t ventured through the lounge of the second-year dorm—hopefully, they weren’t still here, as the emptiness was somewhat calming.

You decided to venture further into the fourth floor, walking past the proof-of-life table and entering the rows upon rows of shelves. The fourth floor was the most academic, being the quietest at any given time. Nobody liked scaling four flights of stairs with the sole purpose of studying, so the only people who did were the ones who wanted to avoid the quiet yet prominent chatter on the lower floors.

And the golden boys apparently, but only past closing.

The silence of the room made your heart slow down to a calmer rate, as well as making any panic you were previously feeling dissipate. You were sure that, the moment you found Jeno, it would resume where it left off, but you were grateful for these few moments of calm before the storm you were about to step into.

You continued walking through the shelves, scanning the book’s spines and their titles as if you hadn’t seen them nearly every day for the past two years. You allowed the tips of your fingers to brush along the many different textures and indents of the well-loved books before you. If you were truly at the end of your time here, you ought to write a love letter to this library, thanking it for the countless hours you spent reading and learning in hopes that you, one day, would be a peer of the people around you and not just a spectacle.

At the edge of the shelves, there was another small clearing of desks and then a couple of couches that most students used to take naps during finals season, and that's where Lee Jeno waited for you. The moment you appeared from the woodwork, he noticed you, staring at you from the corner of his eye.

“I was thinking you weren’t going to come,” he said offhandedly. You furrowed your brows, pulling your phone out of your pocket—it was 8:17. You hadn’t even noticed how slowly you were traveling, seeing as you left your dorm at 8:03.

As you’d expected, your heart had begun beating out of its chest, and you, once again, began to prepare for the worst. You slowly approached the couch adjacent to him, sitting down as slowly as you could. You sat like a board, stiff and nervous, waiting for him to explain himself even in the slightest.

Instead, he leaned over to the coffee table in front of you, pushing a small coffee cup towards you. You stared at it for a second, confused and a bit freaked out, but you picked it up nonetheless, thankful he’d thought to get you something warm. He continued to sit in silence, leaving you with a couple of moments to study him thoroughly.

Before today, you’d never really looked at him. Sure, you’d given him a couple of nervous glances, but there was something about Lee Jeno that made you feel inferior. He was the son of a major CEO, one of the biggest conglomerates in all of Korea (and maybe even Asia), somebody you would’ve never even dreamed of meeting three years ago. He was above the rules of the school, above the rules everywhere, dangling his parents’ name and a wad of cash above anyone who tried to tell him no.

His hair was bleached blonde, but it seemed so healthy that you could’ve mistaken it for his natural hair color if you hadn’t known any better. He’d shed all his snow-protectant layers, which were sprawled out along the remainder of the couch next to him. Despite the lack of need for it today, he was dressed in his usual uniform—a black blazer, white turtleneck, and black and green plaid pants—which was a blatant violation of the dress code due to the lack of a polo shirt, but you’d never see him get in trouble for it. He sat with an aura of regality that you could only try and imitate, with his leg lazily crossed over the other and his arm resting on the back of the couch. In his other hand was a cup of coffee like yours, but his was so hot that it was steaming from the lid’s opening.

“I didn’t know your last name until Mark told me,” he finally said, taking a sip of his burning hot coffee. You mimicked his movements, taking a sip from your own, trying to fight off any physical reaction to the bitterness of it.

“What do you mean?”

Jeno sighed, holding up his hand. You stared for a moment, narrowing your eyes in an attempt to make out the small letters on his palm. Then, all too quickly, the truth flooded your mind—the initials on your hand, LJN, and the initials on his, your very own set.

It shocked you so bad that you nearly dropped the cup of coffee. The reveal did nothing to soothe your nerves and, instead, amped up the panic a lot more. Your head spun at the thought, and, while you hated to say it, all you could think about was the negatives.

What would your parents say when they found out your soulmate was Lee Jeno, of all people? The son of a CEO-and-politician, the son of a man who drowned in money, a person who was born rich and would die rich? They’d never leave you alone once finding out, demanding check after check to ensure they never said a word about their relation to the Lees. They’d torment you for the rest of your life, and you’d forever be stuck under their reign of terror, forever their child, forever their moneybag.

On top of that, you’d never have an accomplishment that was fully tied to you again. People would see you as a connection, and they’d give you opportunities based upon that connection rather than based on your natural ability. You’d be respected because of who your soulmate was, not because of who you were, and you’d end up like the women you saw on TV—lifeless dolls with the title of “wife” and nothing else.

You thought meeting your soulmate was supposed to be this fateful encounter under the stars, the moment where you met the one person who would love you most. You expected to be mystified, sent to a world of love and comfort, sent to a world where your problems were nonexistent and the sun was shining and the birds sang tales of love and togetherness. You wanted to feel as though you were being embraced by constellations, struck by Cupid’s arrow as you stared at the person the universe decided was your fateful match.

Instead, you stared at Lee Jeno, and all you could feel was an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

“Well,” you mumbled, unsure of what you should do now. “What now?”

He didn’t seem to have a direct answer, either, simply taking another sip of his coffee. You mentally questioned how he was able to consume something that hot without burning the hell out of his tongue, but that wasn’t something you needed to dwell on.

When he didn’t respond, you took it upon yourself to ask another question and drill until you got all the answers you wanted.

“How long have you known?”

This was something he seemed to know the answer to. Without skipping a beat, he replied, “Mark told me about eight months ago after he saw your name on the award listings.”

To that, you felt your heart dry out a little bit more than it already was. Eight months was a long time to wait after knowing who your soulmate might be, especially considering that, eight months ago, he could’ve easily contacted you before the break between school years began. Wanting more out of him, you stayed silent, still trying to figure out what exactly you were feeling at that moment.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure of it, but Suhyeon told me your initials about three months ago. That’s when my friends found out and started hounding me to tell you.”

Suhyeon? Last you checked, she was horrified by the thought of even being near the golden boys, let alone speaking to them. In what situation would she have been around them without you, especially given that she was talking to them? It seemed Lee Jeno was the sort of person who answered a question by creating more, which was something you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“So why now, then? You obviously weren’t in a hurry.”

He took another slow, awkward sip of his coffee, and, if you weren’t insane, it seemed like he was nervous to you. That ignited a sense of pride in you, and you wanted to assume most people would never stress Lee Jeno out in their lives. At the same time, you wanted to hurry things up and leave so that you wouldn’t have to think about him until you needed to.

“I have a family dinner next week, and my dad…my dad wants me to start talking to Lim Nayeong because he thinks I should marry her. No offense to Nayeong, but I’d rather die than marry her right out of high school, and you’re…the only way I can convince him otherwise.”

The room went dead silent. You were unsure how to respond to a declaration like that without being mean, and, with the quirk of your lips, you couldn’t help but allow the flood gates to open.

“I’m sorry, but how in the world am I supposed to help? In what world is marriage to me more advantageous? I'm a random hick from the countryside who got lucky and struck it big. If anything, I’d make your father more inclined to marry you off.” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous this was, a hand hovering over your mouth and your eyes filling with laughter-born tears. Jeno stared at you incredulously, not even reacting to your sudden outburst in the slightest.

“I’m sorry man, but you might be better off taking literally anybody else with the same initials as me. I’m not the help you need.”

“So you wouldn't care if your soulmate married someone else?”

The undertone of anger in his voice washed away your laughter in an instant, nearly making you jump. You dropped your hand to your lap, sighing—you wondered if you’d end up pouring out your whole life story to him tonight. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet my soulmate in hopes that they’d be some knight in shining armor. After these midterms, though, I’m thinking my scholarship is going to be revoked and I’ll be back to the land in the poor and underprivileged. Sorry, Jeno, but, once again, you’d be better off picking somebody else to bring along. I'm not going to let myself fall in love with something painfully unrealistic, even if that something is my universal other-half.”

Jeno seemed to be exasperated at every word that left your mouth, and you weren’t sure how you were meant to handle the increasing hostility that was starting to emanate from your supposed soulmate. The more things went south, the more you wanted to laugh and scream at yourself for thinking your soulmate would be some prince from a foreign land. You were so childish, thinking you’d get anything out of the whole ‘soulmate’ ruse—at least you’d be paid off after Nayeong got married to Jeno. Then, you might be able to emancipate yourself with a good lawyer and blackmail the Lees into more money for a nice, Seoul apartment to rent.

“Okay. Let’s make a bet, then. If you score over me in four out of the six subjects, you’ll be in my car on the way to my parents’ house next Friday. Deal?”

Even with your continued top-five status on the class leaderboards, you don’t think you’d ever managed to score above Lee Jeno in four subjects. The only things you consistently dominated in were English, Literature, and History—you’d achieved first place in all three during every single exam season you’d had at the academy—and the rest—sciences, math, anything STEM—you barely achieved the top five rankings that were required of you.

For some reason, you were antsy to receive your test scores, now. You’d never made a bet on whether or not you’d do worse than somebody, ever. It was nearly exhilarating, and you now felt there was a reward to the end of your scholarship: at the very, very least, you wouldn’t have to attend a Lee family dinner with Lee Jeno, who you were finding to be very unpleasant.

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, standing up from the couch and looking down at him. “Deal.”

With that, you approached the rows of books, leaving Jeno to consider what he thought he'd accomplish by bringing you along to anything.

iv. and most of the titans would spend eternity there.

Three days into break, and you haven’t done much of anything. Suhyeon was out with her other rich friends, her “very own posse” as she liked to call it, and had spent the past couple of days staying off campus—it left you with a lot of time to think.

For the most part, you wondered what would happen in the unlikely case Jeno won your bet. You’d never had to speak to someone like that, someone who wasn’t a wealthy teacher or classmate—his parents were the real, unbridled deal. People who spent thousands every day, not blinking an eye at four-digit totals or the state of their bank account.

It scared you. A lot.

You could dish out a big word now and then, offer a cordial smile, or impress with your general knowledge of the world, but there was nothing about you that would impress a multi-billionaire. Not even a party trick or a joke you’d spent a million years formulating.

That fear, rivaling the fear of expulsion, was what brought you to your current position in the corner of the campus on a rarely-cleaned picnic table, your head in your arms and your eyes trained towards a rose bush. According to the clock on your phone, class rankings had been posted eleven minutes ago, and you had no intention of checking any time soon.

Win or lose, there was no positive for you, and you didn't like that. In any other circumstance, retaining the ability to attend classes here and gaining letters of recommendation was the best possibility for you, as it would be for anyone else. However, the world had to curse you with an old-money, top-elite soulmate rather than an honest, just-rich-enough-to-afford-tuition soulmate—you seriously had run out of luck when you procured the scholarship.

“Oh? What are you doing out here, Miss Honor Student?” Na Jaemin asked, scaring you at the suddenness of his appearance. You jerked up, looking towards him flustered and a bit embarrassed. He looked at you questioningly, his hands cupped and held near his chest.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I suppose you asking makes more sense,” he laughed, approaching one of the rose bushes you’d been staring at. “I found a bee crawling on the ground. Poor thing has a broken wing,” he hummed, reaching his hands out to a flower. You didn’t try and second guess his words, believing his alibi without needing any proof. Instead, you looked away, your stomach crawling at the thought of carrying a bee across campus like that. “Although, haven’t rankings been posted? Anyone would expect you to be first in line.”

“I’m not worked up over it or anything,” you mumbled, resisting the urge to put your head back down and block him out of your world. “Going now would just yield a bunch of crowding around a tiny bulletin board. It’s too difficult.”

“If you started walking now, I’d bet the crowd’s mostly dissipated,” he suggested, coming back around to where he could be in your line of sight. “Want to walk together?”

Feeling cornered, you stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off the bottom of your bag. Jaemin smiled satisfyingly, offering an arm for you to take. In the most non-discreet way possible, you pretended to not see the offer, brushing past him quickly. He didn’t let the act bruise his ego, though, following behind you in earnest. You wondered if, due to your relationship with his best friend, he felt the need to ensure that you had no ill feelings towards him; or, maybe, he resonated with you, as both of you started at the academy much later than most of your classmates.

“I heard the big reveal didn’t go as nicely as it could have,” he began, keeping pace with you almost perfectly. Your steps were completely in sync, and you couldn’t help but notice how he’d done it on purpose rather than coincidentally. Another thing you’d heard about Na Jaemin was that he was a robot, but most people were joking when they said that—maybe, they could’ve been right.

“Well, we’re not exactly the most chemical pair.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Jaemin said, lightly elbowing you in the arm. “He just doesn’t know how romance works. He’s all antsy right now because he told his dad to not invite Nayeong and her family to their very rare family dinners and used you as the excuse. I told him—I said, ‘Jeno, you can’t use your soulmate to get out of marriage unless you actually know your soulmate.’ And he got all pissy at me. I tried to make him make it the least bit romantic, but it sounds like he didn’t try at all.”

“He got me coffee.”

“Coffee is bitter and unromantic, though. I’d know.” Jaemin giggled, putting his arms behind his head. You approached the entrance to a corridor, which would effectively put you on the path to the bulletin. But, Jaemin took a sharp turn, leading you through the long way to get you there.

“Are you a ladies’ man? Romance-expert, or something?” you asked jokingly, not expecting any sort of genuine response. The closer you got to the truth made you start to get nervous again, words getting stuck at the top of your throat, impossible to speak yet impossible to swallow back down.

“Maybe I am.”

Jaemin looked towards you, giving you a look that you were half sure was him reading your mind and learning everything he possibly could about you. He was incredibly good at blending into you, even if you hadn’t talked much; everything he said coaxed more out of you, and every movement created a new line of conversation.

Every rumor you’d heard about him—so good at befriending people that it’s scary, a perfect speaker, the most eloquent student at the school—was proving to be true. He was monstrous, somebody you surely wouldn’t want to have on your bad side.

“You and I are similar, you know,” he said, tearing his away from you to look towards the door to the main school building. He opened it for you, waiting for you to enter before he did himself.

“How so?”

“My family’s new to this whole ‘rich and famous’ thing,” he began. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as he looked up to the ceiling. His eyes glittered like stars, reflecting everything they saw to a T. “We’re, like, the ultimate definition of new money. My dad hit it big with Jeno’s dad, got on his good side, and became the chair of a subsidiary…so I’m in a limbo of sorts.”

“God, I wish my dad hit it big with Jeno’s,” you snorted, picking at the nail polish coating your fingers. “Is that why you came in at the beginning of high school rather than earlier?”

“My dad wanted me to experience a little bit of what he did, at the very least. Both my mom and dad thought it’d be too much if they moved me from here to a normal high school, though…thus, the order.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of fear as you turned a corner and a crowd of whispering teenagers came into view. Your conversation with Jaemin ended the moment they did, instead making way for what, no matter what, would be the worst moments of your life so far.

The moment you reached the crowd, people began to stare at you, whispering under their breaths as they passed. It was like being the center exhibit at an expensive art show, being a piece made entirely for public reaction. The more you walked, the more the red sea parted, giving you a clear path to the bulletin board. Within seconds, you’d reached it, scanning from the bottom up.

Number two was Jeno, to no one’s surprise. In order, his rankings had been second for English, second for history, second for literature, first for math, second for science, and second in his elective.

One above him was you.

First in English. First in history. First in literature. Second for math. First for science. First for your elective.

At that moment, you could’ve passed out. You stared at the line of ones (and a single two) in front of you, wondering how in the world you achieve something like that. For the past two years, you’d battled against private tutors and possible instances of cheating, always barely being able to hit the mark for every single subject. You never struggled in any of the humanities, but…second in math after your catastrophe of a test and first in science—physics specifically—felt like an absolute lie to you.

It felt unreal. It felt like you’d become the kids whose parents paid for their grades, who spent hours with private tutors that cost hundreds of thousands of won per hour. It felt like, somehow, you’d hit a peak even though you were only seventeen.

Your ears seemed to open, hearing everything the students around you said. “She’s never let Lee Jeno pass her once,” someone said, whispering to their friend.

“Do you think she gave him math as a pity grade? I heard they were in the same time slot last Thursday.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to figure things out amongst the chatter. Every word that came out of your peers' mouths was a word that clouded your mind, creating new ideas that you’d never once considered.

“She’s a commoner and she’s beating Lee Jeno. That ought to hurt the Lee name, right?”

Since when have you become Jeno’s rival? For a simple stroke of luck on a few tests? You felt like you were going insane, your feet cemented to the floor and your hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline, mixed with an intense and sudden wave of relief, that came with reading your scholarship was intact.

“Protip,” Jaemin said, grabbing your attention with ease. He seemed to drag you back down to Earth, returning you to the pedestal on which you were expected to carry the world. “There’s only one thing that’ll put you above the title of student council president and daughter of a filthy rich tech couple, and that’s this.”

“Nayeong ranks first every year, too. This’ll barely help.”

“I don’t think so,” Jaemin chuckled. You looked at him, raising an accusatory brow; he mirrored your expression, looking down at you with eyes that sparkled with mischief and utter madness. “Miss Nayeong ranked seventh this time around.”

v. unlike his fellow titans, atlas had a different punishment.

There wasn’t a single word to be shared between you and Jeno, and you couldn’t ever see yourself getting to a point where there was.

After he’d sent you a text—where he got your number, you’re unsure—asking for your general clothing measurements, then dropping off a dress with a price tag you never, ever wanted to face again, you hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

Even as you climbed into the sleek, black car that waited for you about a couple of blocks away from campus, he didn’t so much as greet you, deciding that telling the driver to get going was a much better use of his time. For the man who got so upset when you showed little to no care about your soulmate status, you were quite surprised at his unwillingness to speak to you.

A part of you wanted to keep up the silence, to ignore the slight tug in your heart and the fact that you needed to know at least something about him so his parents didn’t get suspicious, but you weren’t going to embarrass yourself with him. Especially not in front of the moneybags that he called parents.

So, when you reached about ten minutes before your estimated time of arrival at a fancy hotel (rather than his house, which was the former location of this family dinner), you began to fiddle with your handbag, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper.

“This is my transcript thus far,” you said, breaking the silence between you two. He looked away from the window, staring down at the hand that carried the paper. “Someone told me your dad was big on grades. Thought it’d be useful for your argument.”

He pulled it from your fingertips, much gentler than you’d assume from Lee Jeno, and his eyes lingered on your hands. You’d painted your nails for the occasion, wiping off the half-chipped coat you previously had on in favor of a nicer, more sophisticated color. It matched the dress well, along with the makeup you’d begged Suhyeon to help you put on without telling her the occasion for it.

“Nice job on the nails,” he commented, looking away from them and putting the folded piece of paper in his pocket. “You look expensive.”

“Is that not the goal?”

“That’s precisely the goal. I need you to look like I dote on you,” Jeno mumbled, dropping his hands into his lap. “Sorry, but I’m going to really play up the scholarship student thing.”

“No worries. I understand not wanting to marry someone you don’t know.”

The more you thought about it, the more you began to pity him. Worrying about a money-based arranged marriage was a very first-world-problems-esque issue to be having, you could respect that it was something he didn’t want. You just wished he was asking you to be his scapegoat as a lie rather than as a reality—you’d feel much better if you were pretending to be his soulmate.

“I don’t think my father will be too interested in the details of our relationship, he’ll just want proof you’ll be able to measure up to Nayeong,” Jeno said, ignoring your earlier comment. “Activities, grades, I don’t care what, play up everything about yourself. He doesn’t care about in-laws, he cares about the money you can bring in.”

“Wow, sounds like a lovely man.”

Jeno cleared his throat, made uncomfortable by your short quip. “He is when he’s not talking about his paycheck.”

To you, it sounded like Jeno was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you, but you weren’t in the mood to pry. Instead, you looked out the window once again, cringing at how snowy and cold it looked outside. You were going to freeze in this dress, even when you were wearing insulated tights underneath, even when it was long-sleeved and pretty thick.

When the hotel came into view, you embarrassingly recognized it as a place many social media celebrities enjoyed coming to. In your few moments of off time, you were sure you’d seen the outside in a few lifestyle vlogs or food review videos. It was fairly trendy; you had to give Jeno’s parents props for that.

Opposite to your reaction, Jeno scoffed at the sight of the luxury inn, evidently unsatisfied with it. “Of course she’d pick here,” he murmured to himself. You wondered if his siblings—who were going to be attending as you’d learned this morning—had been in charge of picking the restaurant, which would make more sense given its online reputation. He shared that he had two younger sisters and a younger brother, all of whom weren’t in high school yet, so you’d never met them or seen them before.

The driver pulled up to the extravagant porte-cochere—the fancy driveway outside of a hotel, which Suhyeon had taught you the name of—and slowed to a stop, but neither you nor Jeno moved.

“Remember,” he said, putting on the coaching voice he used to relay this to you earlier. “My mom will be the weak spot, so focus on her more than my dad. We both need to fight when my father grows argumentative, but you need to be more tactical and logical. My siblings will be on our side so don’t try to make a case to them.”

“What are their names again?”

“In order, Yeojin, Soeun, and Sunwoo.”

You recited their names, wondering why Jeno had received such an odd name compared to the rest of them. Nevertheless, you made the first move to exit the stationary car, regretting it the moment the night air hit your skin. A deep chill cemented itself in your stomach, and you began to wonder how it managed to be so unimaginably cold at all. Jeno followed behind you, mumbling something else as he joined you outside.

You briefly considered how this was going to go, given you’d never tried to act like you were in love with someone before. You were sure Jeno was a pro at fabricating things, plastering on disingenuous smiles and acting interested in the monetary, arrogant talk of wealthy adults. The most you’d done was work at your local convenience store for a summer.

The moment he joined up next to you, he linked his arm with yours, and you were off. You were thankful for the warmth you received from him, even if it was slightly uncomfortable given your situation. You preferred being warm over being comfortable in most situations.

The doors slid open automatically, leading you into a world entirely separate from your own. You tried to suppress the urge to ogle at everything, to approach the plants that lined the lobby and check if they were real, to run for the sole purpose of hearing your heels clack against the marble floor. You kept your jaw screwed shut and your eyes forward, even if all you wanted to do was “ooh” at the chandeliers on the ceiling.

You’d never forget this moment. Being a customer at a place you’d exclusively seen through rich influencers’ and celebrities’ social media felt ridiculous.

One glance up was all you allowed yourself—a simple, lingering stare—but it put you in last place anyway. When you looked back down, there was a girl, no older than 15, sprinting towards you, a big smile on her face. Jeno dropped your arm and pulled the girl into a hug, a smile blooming on his face as he did. You’d never seen him smile so genuinely in your life.

Another girl came forward as well, but she came slower, more timidly. She was certainly younger than the other girl, maybe around 11 or 12, with her hair done much simpler and her clothes much more juvenile. She passed by Jeno and (who you assumed to be) his sister, stopping in front of you. “Um, hello,” she said. You smiled, assuming this was when your grand performance was to begin.

“Hello there,” you replied, feeling a surge of confidence run through you. “Soeun, right?”

Her eyes practically doubled in size for a moment, and you hoped that meant your leap-in-the-dark guess had been correct. “Um, yeah. You’re [First], right?”

“That would be me, yes.”

Soeun opened her mouth to speak, but Yeojin quickly cut her off by dragging you into a highly unwelcome hug. You ignored the discomfort, reaching your arms around her and giving her a few awkward pats. “It’s so fun to meet you!” Yeojin squealed, and you briefly wondered how long Jeno had been telling his family about you before he directly told you.

“Yeojin,” Jeno said, a warning-esque tone in his voice. “Lay off a bit.”

You felt her freeze and then she immediately let go of you, practically pushing her off. A hand covered her mouth—her nails were perfectly manicured, done much better than your self-painted ones—and she gasped, and now you felt a bit overwhelmed by her. Soeun, to Yeojin’s side, looked away, her eyes shiny and a bit saddened; while she certainly wasn’t living a life anything similar to yours, you could see yourself in her, a bit.

“Sorry, I forget we’ve never met. You’re, like, big news on the lower grade campus,” Yeojin said. “Among the second years, you’re like a superhero or something. First place without a tutor! Rare, one-in-a-million scholarship student! I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.”

Well, that was certainly something you didn’t want to hear. Yeojin was already the type of person you couldn’t handle well, if the past few minutes were anything to go off of, and she’d shared mildly upsetting information with you already. You didn’t want to be popular among middle schoolers at all.

“That’s nice, I suppose. Maybe a bit worrying,” you joked, and Yeojin seemed to think you were a comedian by the way she laughed. Jeno looked at you both, obviously sensing your lack of social capability. and chose that moment to switch the attention to Soeun.

“Do you want to lead us to our table, Soeun?” he asked, taking your arm into his once again. Now that you were in the warm, heated hotel, the gesture only made you feel uncomfortable rather than warmed. If you were eating outside, maybe you’d be able to handle any skinship he initiated to make your relationship seem more believable—you supposed that either way, you signed up for this.

Yeojin squealed at you two, though, which made everything about this so much less worth it. After being surrounded by high schoolers and adults for two entire years, you’d forgotten how insufferable 14-year-olds were, and, somehow, Yeojin had managed to assume the worst form of 14-year-old possible. You felt bad for her older self, who would, inevitably, look back on this period of her life with misery rather than fondness.

Soeun took the lead as she was asked to do, shuffling her feet across the marble flooring. It didn’t take long for Yeojin to take the lead, beginning to chatter on about something you managed to tune out pretty quickly. You took the time to gaze at the beauty around you, from intricate flower pots to huge pieces of art that lined the walls. This felt fake, almost, and you wondered how you’d managed to get this lucky with the game of fate. If only a future between you and Jeno felt plausible.

Soeun (more so Yeojin) led you up a set of marble stairs, and then, into a long, dimly lit corridor. It was filled with paintings and lined with the most beautifully-installed marble you’d ever seen. Then, you reached the door at the end, which was made of glass and had insanely intricate carvings on it. Along with that, it had the words “The Aviary” engraved onto the one empty spot among the carvings.

You felt faint. For a moment, you wondered how much Jeno’s parents’ bill would be for this meal, and then you decided to mentally scold yourself for even wondering that in the first place. Yeojin pushed the door open, letting both you and Soeun pass.

The Aviary was, quite possibly, the fanciest restaurant you’d ever been in. It had chandeliers everywhere and thin, walkable carpet on the floors, along with more art that lined every inch of the wall it possibly could. Every table had a pure white table cloth and velvet chairs, each one already perfectly set with a million different utensils and candles that lined the span of it. Soeun continued to lead you deeper into the restaurant. past waiters and tables and windows that showed a more elevated view of Seoul than you were expecting.

You must’ve missed scaling such a massive hill when you were on your way here, mostly due to the internal panic you were fighting off the entire time. You tried to suppress your ogling again, looking towards the floor and hoping you didn’t look like an absolute idiot.

Soeun then led you through a door and into another hallway, this one lined with several doors. She approached the one at the edge once again, and Yeojin beat her to the door again, opening it and waiting for you to enter.

You were instantly hit with the view of Lee Jeno’s father, who looked like your biggest fear. Next to him was his wife, Jeno’s mother, and a few chairs down was a boy who seemed to be about 15 as well, absorbed in his phone and dead to the world.

It kind of felt like you were about to undergo the reckoning, and your final opponents were every relevant religious figure. Every breath that escaped Jeno’s parents’ lips was revered and every blink was well documented, every lost eyelash and every slight movement was taken note of. It’d be accurate to say that Jeno’s parents were more important than the prime minister—they brought in the money and held up the economy, while all the prime minister did was sit and twiddle his fingers.

“You must be [First],” Jeno’s mother said, standing. A small smile graced her features, one that looked and felt apologetic. One glance at the man next to her told you all you needed to know about why she might’ve been apologetic.

“Yes,” you nodded, smiling back. You pulled your arm from Jeno’s, giving her a deep bow; most of the time, you’d learned those wealthier (and older) than you enjoyed the robotic, hardly-genuine signs of respect that most other adults in your life had abandoned. When you stood up straight again, you were pleased to see the impressed glint in her eyes.

“I’m Jeno’s mother,” she introduced, although you found it to be a bit redundant.

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard much about you.”

You hoped she didn’t inquire about any knowledge of their family, as, other than basic facts and events, you knew next to nothing about their personal lives. Jeno’s mother took a seat, motioning to the chairs in front of her and her husband. You allowed Jeno to pull your chair out, internally questioning whether or not anyone had ever pulled your chair out for you.

The velvet seats were more comfortable than any seat you’d ever owned, from your desk chair at school to the lousy, old couch back at your parents' house. You couldn’t imagine how much they’d cost the restaurant, given that every single table had a set of at least four. Even if Jeno’s dad stared at you like you were the grossest, most disgusting thing you’d ever seen, at least you’d get to sit in this chair and eat the restaurant’s food.

“It’s lovely to see you again too, dear,” Mrs. Lee said, giving Jeno a new type of smile. This one was much different than the one she’d offered you—everything about this one carried a mother’s warmth, a mother’s love, drenched in such intense care that nothing could shake it. Jeno could’ve entered this restaurant in his unwashed gym clothes and she would’ve offered the same smile, unchanged and unshaken.

“Mother,” Jeno greeted with a nod. Then, he turned to his father and extended a steady glare. His father glared back, and, as Yeojin and Soeun took their seats next to Sunwoo, a subtle air of war settled over the table. There would be nothing pleasant about this dinner, even if the food was perfect and the view was delightful.

You took the moment of silence to remind yourself that this was not much of a dinner, rather, it was a challenge. A test to see if you were worthy to wed to Jeno one day, and a challenge to see if you could keep up the perfect-soulmate act to void any sort of marriage contract to Nayeong.

“Mr. Lee,” you said, taking the initiative to speak to your strongest opponent. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, as well. Jeno speaks of you very highly.”

When he looked toward you, your blood ran cold. His stare, now protruding into your eyes rather than the side of your head, was icy and unwelcoming like you’d just beat him in a lawsuit or nothing. He was an unbreakable wall, and you told yourself that you only needed to find the single crack that was caused by love for his eldest son as if it would be easy.

“You’re the academy’s charity case for Jeno’s year, correct?”

Ouch. What an obvious insult, among the many he could’ve thrown at you—you were almost impressed that he didn’t even try to hide his hostility. You’d thought that, at the very least, he’d try to maintain his usual TV persona, but maybe you overestimated your worthiness of receiving that sort of respect. Before you could smile and tell him, yes, you are the charity case, Jeno flared up, ready to spit false fire at his father.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn't call my girlfriend a charity case, Father,” Jeno spat, eyes narrowed. You instinctively put a hand on his shoulder, figuring this would be a good, caring gesture given the situation. Being called somebody’s girlfriend felt foreign, but you supposed it wouldn’t be the best idea to disclose that. After all, this would likely be your one chance to impress him, if you had to guess. You were well acquainted with the idea of being a charity case, hell, you agreed.

“No, he’s right. If they didn’t have to maintain their image, they wouldn’t have the scholarship exams at all,” you said, keeping your eyes on Jeno’s father. Slowly, you dropped your hand from his shoulder, leaning back on the chair and ignoring the pounding of your heart. “Nevertheless, I am fully confident in my abilities. I deserve to be at a school like the academy. Even if I must endure a title like ‘charity case.’”

Jeno’s father turned his eyes towards Jeno and then back at you, the glare never faltering. You wondered how a single man harbored so much malice, and how Jeno saw his father in a good light. He seemed bitter and controlling, angry that his son—his next-of-kin, the boy who would one day be the king of his corporate kingdom—refused to marry a woman he did not know, right out of high school.

He did not say anything in return to your response, rather, picking up his delicately folded, fabric napkin and unraveling it to place on his lap. You mimicked his actions, remembering how Suhyeon once mentioned that you shouldn’t do something until the lead of the table has (among many other things she decided to recite to you one late night, so you could’ve been completely off the mark with that one). However, judging by the way everyone else seemed to do the same shortly after you, you assumed you guessed right.

“Jeno shared that you’re quite the prodigy, though, [First]. I mean, to be able to hold your own amongst children who have top-notch private tutors and spend all their time studying…I couldn’t imagine doing something like that,” Jeno’s mom said, trying to salvage what her husband destroyed. “If you weren’t so busy with your own schoolwork, I’d hire you to tutor the girls.”

“I’m honored you’d entrust me with furthering your children’s education,” you smiled, picking up the glass of water that was filled before you came in. You attempted to hold it as daintily as possible, taking the shortest, most sophisticated sip you could muster.

“Is that not what’s expected of her, though?” Jeno’s father was apparently determined to ruin your day, likely to destroy what little confidence you had and remove you from the academy (and Jeno’s life) completely. “It’s not impressive when she is merely fulfilling what is asked of her.”

You pondered what might’ve put his father on edge so quickly. You’d barely spoken to this man at all, let alone been in the same room as him, and he was already determined to get rid of you. Perhaps that was why he moved the dinner location from his home to here—he didn’t want this to be an official “meet-the-parents” event. He wanted it to be a family dinner without your presence at all.

You figured he would be thrilled to hear that you and his son likely had no future together.

“Is she not going above and beyond? If she was just meeting the scholarship requirements, why is she first place instead of fifth?” Jeno questioned, leaning back in his chair. You looked over, and, from the expression on his face, Jeno seemed actually upset. His ears were tinged red and his face was tight, and, with a quick once over, you could see that his fists were clenched and his shoulders were fairly tight.

To be honest, you couldn’t blame him. If you had to listen to your father reject your soulmate in favor of a random girl you barely knew, you’d be pretty pissed off too, no matter your relationship with your soulmate.

“Because she spends every second of the day with her head in a book, Jeno. Not because she has natural talent, or because she’s the prodigy your school claims she is,” he fired back. If you held any respect for Jeno’s father, you’d be utterly destroyed; luckily, you had no respect for any man that ran a company that was hinged on the work of underpaid laypeople, so you were unscathed by his words. “Nayeong is student council president, holds herself in the top five, does service whenever she can…and your little soulmate is relying on her connection to you to make anything of herself.”

You audibly snorted at that, raising an eyebrow. “I am?” you questioned, crossing your legs. A sick sense of amusement filled your chest, along with a burst of confidence. “With all due respect, sir, I did not aim for my scholarship with the intent of striking gold with my soulmate or significant other. I aimed for it because the only way I can make anything of myself is with my grades, because my mother didn’t give birth to me on a bed of cash.”

Jeno began to speak right after you, not granting any time for his father to reply to you. “Besides,” he said, slamming two pieces of paper—unfolded and crinkled—onto the table. “Nayeong got seventh this year.”

His father scanned over the papers, which you realized were both yours and Lim Nayeong’s transcripts. Yours, from where you sat, had nothing but ones, twos, and the occasional three or four, while hers had fours, fives, and even nines, without a single one in sight. Nayeong’s grades were nothing to be ashamed of given how busy she was with everything else, but next to yours, they didn’t measure up in the slightest.

It made you feel embarrassed. It made you want to say, “there is still not much of a difference between Nayeong and me, I just scored a few points more.”

“So compared to a girl with sevens, a student council position, and a respectable family,” Jeno’s father said slowly, returning to his complete ignorance of you. “You’d rather spend the rest of your life with a poor, unsightly girl who has slightly impressive grades, alcoholic parents, and a drug-addicted brother in prison?”

Your blood ran cold. Jeno’s jaw clenched, and his mother gasped, turning towards her husband and slapping his shoulder. “You promised me you wouldn’t bring that up—” she began but was quickly cut off by Jeno standing so suddenly that his chair fell over, banging against the ground and causing everybody to flinch. You looked up at him, an emptiness spreading through your chest.

“Talk to my girlfriend like that again,” he began, clenching his fists so hard that his hands began to shake. “And I will end you.”

He didn’t waste a moment turning towards the door, throwing it open, and marching out. You stood up quickly, albeit much more gracefully, draping the fabric napkin over the back of your chair and racing out of the room without another word. You didn’t look back, keeping your eyes on Jeno’s shrinking figure and walking as fast as you could without speeding up to a run. You sped through the restaurant, out into the lobby and past all the glitz and glamor of the hotel. By the time you caught up to him, Jeno was standing outside in the empty entry area, typing furiously on his phone.

“You—you didn’t have to blow up like that. I mean, we were just acting, and I can’t say I wasn’t expecting him to know.”

Jeno turned towards you, scoffing. “I just don’t get it.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head, wondering why he sounded so…mean. Angry, even.

“You’re perfect,” he said, looking up at the darkened sky. The lighting from the hotel entrance lit up his face, every feature and every imperfection (although scarce) perfectly on display, but you could’ve sworn the stars were what lit up his eyes. They sparkled like fireworks, the kind that was loud and Earth-shaking. “Everything about you. You’re pretty, you’re perfectly intelligent, you know how to speak to people and you know how to get your point across. You know when to smile and when to not. You know how to meet new people and try new things.”

You were confused. He launched compliment after compliment at you, but he sounded almost…bitter about it. Like he was unhappy you were all those things.

‘Um…” you mumbled, but couldn’t find the words to respond. You just stared, waiting for him to say anything, feeling the cold dive deeper into your skin—under your skin—and each shiver become more intense.

“There’s not a single thing you don’t beat me in but money. So what if you have terrible parents and an awful family, because you’re the picture-perfect poster girl—hell, you’re more than that. You have the perfect underdog story too, and he still hates you. He still prefers that—that witch,” he rambled, looking down and kicking a pebble that was next to his feet. “What does that mean for me? If you’re so terrible, so average despite your grades and your reputation, does that not mean I’m a failure of a son?”

“What? Jeno, I think you’re overreacting—”

“Oh, am I?” he turned, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. “You’ve been ahead of me from the moment you stepped onto that god-forsaken campus, and you’ve given me, what, math as reparations? Every year, I have to use the excuse that I have the scholarship student to compete with, and that’s why I’m not the perfect top of the class, but he views you as obsolete. Doesn’t that mean I’m worse than obsolete? Huh?”

“Well, other than the fact that you’re agreeing with him,” you said, crossing your arms. “What does it matter what he thinks? Even if he gives his business to one of your siblings, you’ll still be drowning in cash. So what if you get married to Nayeong? Just cheat on her, or something, because, if she’s such a witch,” you paused, emphasizing your distaste with his nickname for her, “won’t she do the same?”

“How are you so okay with this?” he asked, raising his voice in the slightest. “You found out I was your soulmate and you didn’t even try to make a connection. You were okay with me using you to sidestep my father’s plans for me, you were okay with him relentlessly insulting you until it had something to do with your private life—why?”

“Why? Would you like it if a man you’d never met brought up your terrible at-home life and decided to equate it to you being terrible? I know my strengths, I know who I am, but it’s not very nice to be compared to 4 siblings who didn’t even attempt university and parents who barely work,” you replied, wondering why he was getting so upset. Minutes ago, he was spewing lines straight out of a drama, but now he was mobilizing against you, too. The worst part was that you couldn’t match his energy at all—maybe it was reactionary to the fact that you no longer had to sit through a dinner with his parents, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel angry.

You were realizing that Jeno viewed you as a rival, while you never had. Before the past week, he was just another golden boy, one of the boys Suhyeon hated, one of the fancy popular boys you’d never talk to. It seemed as though he’d viewed you as an opponent from your first round of exams.

You felt bad, for some reason—guilty even. As if this was something you were meant to feel guilty for. You couldn’t imagine Jeno had been exactly thrilled when he found out you were his soulmate—judging by how long it took him to tell you, he wasn’t thrilled at all—and yet he was acting like you’d ruined his life.

You didn’t get it.

“You’re ridiculous.” Jeno laughed breathily, pacing around a bit. All you could do was watch, even when a car pulled up in front of you, likely for him to make his grand escape. “Jaemin was wrong. This was never going to work.”

“Did you ever think it was?” you rose a brow, suppressing a shiver that was beginning to creep down your back. “Sorry, Jeno, but we were destined for destruction. Even if we tried to foster something, that wouldn’t stop my parents from approaching the tabloids, and it wouldn’t stop the tabloids from painting me as a money-grabbing asshole. Count your blessings, okay? You’ll have everything and more. A loveless marriage is the least you need to deal with.”

He spun towards you, narrowing his eyes. “Just because I have money or a fancy house does not mean my life will be easy.”

You widened your eyes, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

“Just—just get in the car. Leave, please.”

You turned towards the sleek, black car that was parked beside you. Without another word, you walked towards it, throwing the door open and basking in the heat that emanated out of it. You got in, slamming the door behind you, and watched Jeno get smaller and smaller as the driver drove you farther and farther away.

vi. instead of being banished to tartarus,

Suhyeon knows.

You can tell by the way she interacts with you, by the way she avoids you in the halls and stays out of the dorm until she absolutely can’t anymore. You can tell by the way she doesn’t interrupt your incessant studying, reignited by the end of break and the beginning of a new term, with mindless hypotheticals and useless facts. You can tell by the way she slips into her fight-or-flight persona when she speaks to you, the same person when she’s near the golden boys.

Reasonably, you’ve also begun to believe she’s not telling you something. Maybe you’ve always believed that, but it’s to a much larger extent now; there’s something important she’s not telling you. You’ve also concluded she was aware Jeno was your soulmate, but, for whatever reason, she chose not to tell you.

You can’t bring yourself to feel angry, no matter what you do, no matter how much you think about it. It stresses you out, how numb you feel in regards to your situation, how numb you’ve felt for the past two years or so. All your energy, and, by extension, all your emotions, have been poured into your grades and your social standing among professors and academic greats. There’s nothing left over to feel something for your own misgivings, unless it’s about school or your future.

It’s miserable here. Everything is miserable. But, if you give up, if you stop going, you’ll be trapped under the thumb of your parents forever, and you cannot live like that. No matter what, you cannot live like that.

“I see what you’re saying, [First],” Dr. Choi hummed, writing a few things down on her clipboard. “If you want me to be entirely honest with you, there’s not a single student on this campus that’s gone through anything as tough as you’re going through. Even if they’re being forced into an arranged marriage, even if they’re underestimated and outcasted by their parents. At the end of the day, unless they’re kicked out—which they won’t be—nobody here will ever know ‘struggle’ like you do.”

You want to feel vindicated by Dr. Choi’s words, but you simply can’t. You feel tired, overworked and underappreciated, and want nothing more than to return to your dorm room and go to bed.

“But, this ‘numbness’ you’re feeling…you say you’ve felt like this for a while?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not one to deny things—it’s not my job to deny things—but I can safely say that’s likely not the case. Before last week, you had a good work-life balance…mostly…and you were happy. You never came to my office because you didn’t need to,” Dr. Choi said, causing you to look up at her from the coffee table between you. Her gaze was distressing, halfway implying she knew something you didn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“It feels similar, sure, because the only thing stressing you out then was school. Now, there’s two things, but only one is stressing you out…and you say you can’t feel anything else. It’s because you’re rejecting your soulmate.”

“Excuse me?”

“As far-fetched as it sounds, it’s true. Biologists like to say the concept of soulmates is nigh useless, and that the only thing denoting it is the little marking on your body, but…cognitive science says otherwise. Think of Jeno as half of your brain—the feeling part of your brain—and you’re the functioning part. He’s feeling too many emotions right now, and you’re feeling none, while he’s likely having trouble finding the motivation to do much of anything,” she explained. “It’s certainly not impossible to live without your soulmate, but rejecting them is a bit different. You’ll get over it one day, or you won’t, but for now it’ll be awful.”

You stayed silent, looking back down at the coffee table. You supposed it made sense, and she was right, you hadn’t worried about much other than your grades for the past two years. Your parents and family were always buzzing in the background, heightening your school stress by proxy, especially right now.

You didn’t like seeing Dr. Choi because it felt like she could never understand you, but perhaps she was making a solid point right now.

“So I just have to wait?”

“Yes. But, if you want my honest opinion, I don’t think anyone should attempt to reject their soulmate at 17,” she sighed, writing something else down on her clipboard. “You don’t know what love is, or what this is supposed to feel like. You feel like the world is ending because you’re not having the ‘love at first sight’ situation the TV tells you about. Try to form a relationship with him, even if it’s just a friendship, and don’t cut him out entirely. You’ll probably regret it later on.”

You doubted that, but you nodded like you were agreeing with her. She put her clipboard down on the table, allowing you to see your printed name and then tons of incomprehensible scribbles that only Dr. Choi could read. “Time’s up for today, unfortunately, as I have another student coming in. Don’t tell her I said she doesn’t know what struggle is, okay?”

You smiled hollowly, nodding. You stood up from the couch, picking up a hard candy from the bowl she kept on the table, considering that to be your reward for coming into the counselor’s office in the first place.

It was too bad you’d disregard all of her advice. At the end of the day, you were a teenager, and anything an adult said felt like an utter lie. You approached the office door, sliding it open and emerging into the hall. You wished the counselor’s office hadn’t been so far across campus, because now you had a far walk through the cold courtyard back to the dorm.

If they’d just put it in one of the class buildings rather than in the faculty building, your life would be much easier.

“Oh, [First]?”

You froze, turning your head to see the one-and-only Na Jaemin behind you. He sped up a bit, stopping as he reached your side. “Long time no see, genius. How are you?”

“Fine.”

You proceeded walking, as did he, keeping himself in step next to you. “Out of the counselor’s office? I heard once that they require you to go at least once a month for, y’know, academic stress. Rumor has it a scholarship student once offed himself because everything got too difficult.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumor. It’s not required but every teacher encourages it more than I’d like them to,” you explained, unwrapping the pink hard candy and popping it in your mouth. Behind you, you heard the telling squeak of the counselor’s office door, and, out of curiosity, you turned to see who was going in after you.

Lim Nayeong. The coincidence could’ve made you laugh.

“It’s required for the student council, though. I guess being the quasi-leaders of the school is a bit harder than being the public reputation,” you joked, feeling the slightest bit relieved hearing Jaemin laugh in response.

“I guess so,” he replied, stopping you both at the elevator rather than the stairs. You sighed, suppressing the urge to say the stairs were always faster as he’d already pressed the shiny ‘down’ button. You could’ve walked off without him, but you weren’t an asshole, and if he wanted to walk with you, he could. The doors opened quickly, letting off a monotonous ‘ding’ as a result. Jaemin held his arm out, waiting for you to step inside before he did.

He was very gentlemanly, and you briefly considered that he was showing you his TV persona as an apology for not getting to receive Jeno’s father’s. Or, maybe, he was extending an apology from his own father, who somehow heard about how terribly you were treated.

“Look, Jeno didn’t mean it. He’s stressed about the thought of being tied down the moment he graduates, and he’s looking for every single way out. He thought you were a fool-proof plan, but he underestimated how far his father could go, and…well…”

It was more reasonable for Jaemin to be apologizing for Jeno. You weren’t very surprised that this was his main reason for talking to you, but you’d wished it would’ve been something more fulfilling than a secondary apology from Jeno.

“I don’t care. He can do what he wants, I’m not going to tell him how he can and can’t feel.”

“Okay, I’m gonna cut straight to the point,” Jaemin said, turning so that his whole body could face you. You gave him a judgmental look, wholly uninterested in whatever he was going to say to you. “Don’t reject Jeno now, all right? Wait until summer or something. For you, you just feel a little off, or, rather, you feel nothing at all, but this is practically overhauling everything in Jeno’s life. He nearly unfriended Donghyuck earlier because of a simple quip, and he can barely do anything without getting upset over it.”

“Do you think I can just…stop? I don’t feel any connection to him,” you said, hoping the elevator would hurry up. You cursed it for being so slow and old. “I don’t know what to tell you. I…I just don’t know.”

The lights on the elevator went off, and it jerked to a stop. You looked up, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re kidding me. Holy shit. You’re kidding me.”

You pressed your back to the wall of the elevator, sliding down to the floor. Jaemin didn’t say anything, but he pulled his phone out pretty quickly, typing frantically. You slid yours out as well, shocked to see a couple of texts from Suhyeon.

“hey where are you rn? we were just called down into the lounge,” read the first text. “god are you at the counselor’s office still? they’re not telling us what’s going on.”

You typed a quick response, saying you were still in the faculty building but the power went out as you were in the elevator. You hoped she didn’t question your elevator usage, putting your phone back into your pocket and ignoring the buzzing that ensued.

Jaemin was typing furiously from what you could see, the light from his phone being the only thing illuminating the elevator. He furrowed his brows, turning to look down at you. “Have you heard anything about what’s happening from anyone? None of my friends know, but they’ve all been gathered together for a while.”

“All I heard was that nobody was saying what’s happening.”

The moment you stopped talking, the lights flicked on, and the elevator began moving. You stood up, furrowing your brows as the floor counter turned from a “2” to a “1.”

When the doors opened, you were hit with a wave of heat and pure, black smoke. You began choking on the air, but Jaemin was fast acting and began to jam the “close door” button, along with the third floor button—where you’d just come from. The doors didn’t close fast enough, and the smoke began to spread into the elevator, making your eyes water and your lungs hurt. By the time the doors finally closed, there was enough smoke to keep you coughing, even if your shirt was haphazardly thrown over your mouth and nose.

The elevator began moving up, and a wave of panic blew through you. It broke through whatever invisible filter that had been causing you to feel numb for the past week or so, and a self-composed prayer fell past your lips, between coughs, over and over again: “please, go up, please, go up.”

The elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace, but, as long as it was moving, you didn't care. Given how you’d just been up on the third floor, there was absolutely no way the fire had spread that far—the only issue was that there wasn’t exactly a staircase leading from the third floor down to the ground of the snowy outdoors.

“Someone’s setting the school on fire,” Jaemin said between coughs. “Some guy. Most everybody’s evacuated, but they apparently forgot us.”

“Maybe because they couldn’t get inside?” you shot back, feeling a wave of relief—not nearly strong enough to overpower the panic—when the “4” appeared on the screen. “Why the fuck didn’t the fire alarm go off?”

“Because this building is ancient and they’ve never thought to replace it,” Jaemin half-hissed. The doors opened to reveal a smokeless third floor, but, upon walking out, you learned the heat had reached the floor along with the scent of smoke.

“The counselor’s door is still closed,” you pointed out, not wasting a moment to begin walking that way. “They’re either still in there, or they found a way out.”

You refused to consider that they’d left and closed the door behind them, not wanting to believe you were stuck in a burning building with no way out. Suddenly, Jaemin slipped in a way that he slid, falling straight onto his back. You looked down at the floor, realizing it had been completely doused in what you could only assume was oil.

“No time to wait!” you exclaimed, bending down and grabbing Jaemin’s arm. You practically yanked him up from the floor, dragging him along with you while he stumbled trying to keep his footing. You made it to the counselor room’s door, throwing it open and rejoicing to the heavens that there was an open window.

You rushed towards it, letting go of Jaemin, who went back and slammed the door shut. You looked out of it, noticing Dr. Choi on the roof below it, helping Lim Nayeong get down to the ground. “Doctor!” you screeched, grabbing her attention. She looked up the moment Nayeong had made it to the ground, standing and turning towards you.

“Come on!” she yelled, waving her hands at you. Jaemin came up behind you, beginning to help you shove yourself through the small window in front of you. You mentally thanked him for lifting you up, allowing for you to go feet first rather than head first. You let yourself fall down to the rooftop, cringing at the pain in your ankle as you landed. You

Dr. Choi rushed towards you, looking up at Jaemin, who began to extract himself from the building as well.

“What’s going on?” you asked, coughing out more of the smoke you inhaled earlier.

“Someone’s trying to burn down the school and they started with the faculty building first,” she said, a little too calm for the situation at hand. Jaemin landed in front of her, also wincing at the pressure it put on his legs. “We need to keep going. Come on.”

Nayeong was waiting at the bottom, standing next to a teacher you’d never seen before. The ground seemed far, too far for you to be happy about it, but you were assuming the way Nayeong made it down was thanks to the bushes that would’ve cushioned her fall.

“You’re just coming down from the second story!” Nayeong yelled, reaching up at you. Dr. Choi gave you a slight push on the shoulder, to which you looked back at her like she was crazy. Jaemin didn’t wait, lowering himself to the roof. You watched as he, facing towards you, slid himself off, hanging onto the edge for a second. Nayeong rushed over, reaching up to help him safely get down to the ground.

“Kill me,” you mumbled, walking over to the edge. Slowly, you repeated Jaemin’s steps, feeling like you could barely move.

“You can do it, [First]!” Nayeong yelled, and you hoped she was holding her hands up like she had been before. You pushed yourself off, feeling the edge of the roof dig into your fingers as you began to hang off the edge. As fast as you’d begun hanging, though, two hands were on your calves, beckoning for you to let go.

So, you did. You hit the ground with a quiet crunch thanks to the snow, but an unexpected shooting pain traveled up your ankle and calf, causing you to nearly fall over into the snow. Jaemin caught you, but Nayeong looked at you, furrowing her brows.

“Are you okay?”

“I think my ankle is sprained,” you mumbled hoarsely, steadying yourself and pushing yourself away from Jaemin. You took your phone out of your pocket, staring at a wave of texts you’d received from Suhyeon, begging you to tell her you were okay and that you’d made it out. You shakily typed a short “I’m fine” before shoving your phone back into your coat.

Dr. Choi made it down from the roof, and both her and the teacher began walking in the direction of the parking lot. “Come on!” Dr. Choi yelled, leading you all away from the building that was still going up in flames. Your legs shook as the panic began to subside, and a mere glance back held an aura of complete death. The first two floors of the faculty building were covered in flames, likely not an ounce left of what once was in there.

The three students—you, Nayeong, and Jaemin—were led into Dr. Choi’s car, while the other teacher went and found his own. Jaemin sat in the front while you awkwardly sat next to Nayeong, trying to process what you had just gone through.

“I cannot believe,” Dr. Choi began, starting her car and wasting no time in flooring it out of the parking lot. As you drove out onto the street next to the school, you caught sight of a fire truck in the distance, speeding towards the school. “They didn’t even try to tell us. I thought you were gone for good, [First]. Oh my god.”

Nayeong didn’t say anything, keeping her hands in her lap and her eyes out the window. You wondered what would happen to your belongings, but you weren’t nervous about it reaching the second year building when it was on the farthest edge of campus.

Dr. Choi asked Jaemin to dial a number on her phone, to which he politely obliged. You took your phone out again, which yielded several texts from Suhyeon once again and a single text from someone else.

The moment the recipient of Dr. Choi’s call picked up, she began to scream at them, but you were easily able to drown out the yelling with your focus on the text on your phone.

“Are you okay?”

You wondered, briefly, where Jeno got your number.

“I’m fine.”

vii. zeus enslaved atlas

It took a total of two hours to arrive at the hotel in which the school evacuated all the students too, and you wondered why they had to pick a fancy hotel rather than one of the respectable ones that were actually near campus. You were met with a personal greeting from the principal, who was trying to save his ass after essentially leaving the four of you (and more, most likely) for dead.

Dr. Choi didn’t waste a second to begin screaming at him some more, but you blew past her with Nayeong, who still hadn’t spoken to you but was sticking to your side practically. There was a sort of trauma-bonding between you two now, apparently, which was a bit ironic given both of your situations.

You’d been placed in a hotel room with Suhyeon, as according to your current rooming arrangements, and were told to wait in your rooms until there was more information to be distributed amongst the students. Nayeong parted from you when this happened, taking her key and disappearing off into a corridor. You chose to take the other one, walking past several students who had disregarded the plea to stay in the rooms and were now gossiping in the halls.

“I heard they might have to close the school down for a year,” somebody whispered, causing you to pause and nearly stop walking. Instead of stopping in the middle of the hall, you slipped your phone from your pocket, leaning against a wall and scrolling through random apps.

“Seriously? I guess that won’t be an issue, most of us can just transfer to another private school, but what about international and scholarship students?”

“I’m sure international students will be fine, but rumor has it the school might drop scholarship students—partial and entire. They’re scrambling to make sure their library is still intact, and, if it isn’t, they’ll need hundreds of thousands of won to restore it. They’ll never keep some upper middle class loser if it means they can keep their pride and joy safe and sound.”

There was a certain ache in your heart at that, but you were tired, and you felt like collapsing. It was funny how, just a couple weeks ago, you were panicking over your finals and doing anything to hang onto your 65-million scholarship, but, now, you didn’t feel anything. At least if you got dropped, it wouldn’t be a quasi-expulsion. You’d still have kept your pride, and your parents could complain to the school about how they had to actually pay for you, now.

You continued through the corridor, skipping the elevator for the stairs. You’d halfway forgotten what floor you were on—you’d either been told room 314 or room 414—but you weren’t too opposed to simply checking both. Holding your key up to the scanner would be enough to know, and it was unlikely the occupants of the other room would even know you tried.

Upon your ascent up the stairs, you were forced to remember the slight pain in your ankle, which had subsided greatly over the past few hours, and part of you wished you had used the elevator. The other part of you said you’d never take an elevator again, even if a gun was to your head. Each step was a testament to what you’d experienced over the past couple of years, culminating in these fleeting moments in which you had nothing left.

In a week, you supposed your dorm would be cleaned out, and you’d be hugging Suhyeon goodbye for the last time. Maybe a reporter would approach you, ask why the closing seemed so sudden, and you would tell them you almost burnt to death because they were too lazy to fix their smoke alarms. You’d tell them that the conditions to meet your scholarship were ridiculous, not because their students were too smart, but because their student’s parents had a million personal tutors at their beck and call.

You emerged onto the third floor, hit in the face with a strong scent of detergent and cleaning supplies, and began trudging through the halls. Given the couple of familiar faces—classmates you’d never spoken to before—standing next to a decorative table, you hoped the 300s were the second year floor and you didn’t have to walk up another flight.

The space between rooms was insane, and you couldn’t imagine what might be inside. A kitchen, a couch, and an entire fireplace, anything that a rich person required in their hotel room. They were much bigger than the dorms that people paid millions to live in, and this was all paid for by the school. For a brief moment, you considered your fancy, rich-person academy to be a scam—it was, you always knew it was—and wondered why they couldn’t build dorms like this. As you walked through the corridor, you realized how you barely had made it past five rooms, and wished they had picked a normal hotel for you to temporarily live in as they figured out how to break the news of your removal from the school.

You turned a corner, admiring a pretty bouquet in a terrible intricate vase that brought a smile to your face. You stopped, reaching your hands out to feel whether or not they were real and letting out a gasp of surprise when they actually were. The flowers were vibrant, yellows and purples and pinks all tied together with a wisp of baby’s breath, and perfectly taken care of; they couldn’t have been cut more than a day ago. The hotel must’ve had some sort of private gardens, as there was no way these were bought from a random flower shop down the street.

“[First]?”

The flowers lost their color, all at once. You stood up straight, looking towards Lee Jeno, who’d just so happened to find you right now.

“Jeno.”

He stared at you for a moment, his hair messy and his roots just beginning to show. He was dressed in lounge clothes, a t-shirt and black, baggy pants that looked about three sizes too big. If he didn’t say anything soon, you’d continue your trek to room 314, brushing past him and leaving him to stare at the blank wall behind you.

“Can we talk?”

“Okay.”

You turned towards him completely, crossing your arms over your chest. He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor for a moment. “Like, not in the hallway. My room…is just down the hall.”

“All right then.”

He stared at you for a moment more, halfway shocked you agreed. Maybe it was a side effect of the events of today—for a brief moment, you realized you didn’t know what time it was—from your counseling to the hours-long car ride you endured after what was likely the most traumatic moment of your life. You wanted to disappear, fall into a rabbit hole and wake up in Wonderland, where nobody would know who you were.

When he began to walk down the hall, turning his back to you, you followed, bidding your pretty bouquet goodbye. You walked deeper into the corridor, stopping at a room labeled “309.” It was at the edge of the corridor, with another hall connecting to it. You assumed 314 was down there, so it would at least be a short trip to your assumed hotel room.

Jeno tapped his keycard on the lock, a loud click accompanied by a green light resounding through your ears. He pushed the door open, heading inside and holding it open for you. As you walked in, you noticed an unfamiliar presence on the couch—Lee Donghyuck, the only golden boy you’d met before. During your first year, you’d done a group project together, you’d let him off for not doing any of his work, and you ended up vouching for him in front of the teacher; as a result, he’d gifted you a couple of candy bars and a swift thank you. “I’ll return the favor at some point,” he’d said, walking off without another word.

“Out,” Jeno said, keeping eye contact with Donghyuck. He stared up at his friend, eyebrow raised, before glancing at you.

“‘Sup, fire girl,” he said, standing from the couch. Donghyuck turned his attention to Jeno, giving him a stern, very-unlike-him glare. “You promised me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“Do you?”

With that, Donghyuck brushed past Jeno and you, emerging out into the corridor. The door slammed behind him, causing you to flinch somewhat. Jeno took a seat on the couch, right where Donghyuck was sitting, and motioned to the seat next to him. You obliged, sitting as far away from him as you possibly could and staring at him until he spoke.

“Are you doing okay?”

“No.”

“I’m…sorry you got left behind. I won’t lie, Suhyeon started crying so hard she needed to take her own car, and that worried me. A lot. I thought about things.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, looking down at his hands. “I wasn’t nice. I overreacted and was overly jealous. It’s my fault, so I apologize.”

“I understand,” you nodded. “If it’s any consolation, I’m jealous of you too.”

You leaned back into the couch, sighing. “Your family is so…picture perfect,” you began, trying to find the words to articulate your thoughts. “Sure, you have altercations, peculiar ones at that, but I could tell you were close. From the way you hugged Yeojin, to the way your mother looked at you…you’re living a dream I could only hope to have one day.”

He stayed silent, letting you talk. You figured you deserved as much, given how your day has been. “My parents are awful. I was the kid they didn’t want, and all my siblings are a lot older than me. As your dad said, one of them ended up in jail. I depend on this school to keep me away from them, so I can have a better life now rather than when I move out. Even then, I know they’ll harass me forever if I end up with a nice job with good money. You’ll never experience that.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, but you shook your head, rejecting it.

“No reason to be. I can’t change who my family is, but I can change the direction my life goes. That’s all that matters.”

You felt Jeno’s eyes on you, and, when you looked over, you found him looking at you. He was pretty, as he’d always been, even when he was dressed for bed. His hair fell into his eyes, and you mentally visualized him with black hair—he looked nice no matter what.

“You’re a very beautiful person, [First].” The comment brought heat to your cheeks and caused your heart to skip a beat, and you contemplated whether or not this was what Dr. Choi meant by not rejecting him. “If…if there’s any way, I’d like to make this work. I’d like to make us work.”

You sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “I suppose that would be nice. I was unreasonable before, mostly because I don’t want people lessening my achievements because of who my soulmate is. Sorry.”

“I get it. My mom always told me that would happen if my soulmate ended up to be somebody ‘fiery,’ but I guess you aren’t really that,” he hummed. “You’re nice. Warm. I see why people speak so kindly about you.”

“Well…thanks. I guess.”

You looked forward, and a thought crossed your mind. Your heart dropped slightly as you deliberated whether or not it would be smart to tell him what you heard in the halls. Realizing that you’d likely be very far away from him if it ended up to be true, you knew that you absolutely had to if you wanted to create a relationship with your soulmate.

“Rumor has it the school’s gonna be canceling scholarships to bring more money in for repairs and reconstruction.”

“What? They wouldn’t cancel yours, right? I mean, you’re the only full-scholarship on campus—they can’t just kick you, can they?” he asked, scooting a bit closer to you unconsciously.

“Rumor says they’re going to cancel everybody’s scholarships,” you whispered, suddenly realizing the weight of that statement. “I’ll probably try to move in with my aunt in Seoul, go to fancy-yet-free prep school…if they do cancel it. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”

Jeno went quiet, and you desperately held back the tears that were now pooling in your eyes. “I worked so hard for this, and it’ll all go to waste. Every bit of it.”

You hated how choked up you got at the thought of it, how pathetic you felt. But, Jeno didn’t seem to mind, as he hesitantly pulled you into a hug. For a moment, you both stayed there, basking in the fulfillment that came with being with your soulmate. You wondered if this is how your parents were before they grew into the monsters they were today—a couple of teenagers in love, happy with just being with one another.

“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing your back softly. “We’ll get through it together. I’ll spend any amount of money to see you frequently, I’ll get out of class, whatever we need to build. I’d pay for your tuition, but…I don’t think you’d like that.”

“Not really, no,” you mumbled, shoving your head into the crook of his neck. “I just want to feel stable, for once in my life.”

“And you will, one day. I promise you will.”

You pulled away from him, staring at him for a moment. With a heavy sigh, you stood up, with him following close behind you. “I need to go see Suhyeon,” you said. The moment you said that, there was a sudden change in the air of the room—Jeno looked nervous, almost, as if you’d caught him in the act of something. “Go do that. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

You walked towards the door, giving Jeno one last look before emerging into the hall. You made sure to stop the door from slamming behind you, cushioning it with your hands. As you did, though, Lee Donghyuck appeared back in the hall, stopping when he saw you. The door clicked closed, and you both stared at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

He was wearing his uniform, but it was half taken apart, with a couple of his buttons unbuttoned and his tie loosened around his neck. His shirt was untucked and his blazer was nowhere to be found, and you assumed he’d done it pretty recently, given the lack of wrinkling. He held a bag of M&Ms that he likely got from a vending machine somewhere in the hotel.

“Did he tell you?”

“You mean apologize? Yeah.”

Donghyuck sighed, popping a couple M&Ms in his mouth. “Okay, don’t get mad at me for being the bearer of bad news. Jaemin was convinced Jeno shouldn’t tell you, but this might be the one time Jaemin is in the wrong. I know you’ve had the worst day of all worst days, but you cannot go any farther without knowing this. ‘Kay?”

You furrowed your brows, a sudden feeling of anxiety overtaking you. “What? What are you talking about?”

Even Donghyuck looked nervous, from how he fiddled with the hem of his shirt with his open hand to the way he shifted his weight between his feet.

“Until about six months ago, Suhyeon and Jeno were a thing.”

All the air was sucked out of your lungs at once, and your brain shut down immediately.

“She found out you two were soulmates about a year ago, but didn’t back down until Jeno’s dad shut it down because of his new deal with Nayeong’s family.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “They still talked until a month-and-a-half ago, when Jeno decided to shut it down himself. Chenle knocked some sense into him, and Suhyeon was essentially taken out of our circle. She did everything in her power to not let you know about her friendship with us, and avoided the shit out of us whenever you were around. When pale in the face and all that shit.”

You stayed quiet. A feeling of betrayal began to bubble in your stomach.

“Don’t…blame her or anything, though. Even if she was being an asshole, even if what she did was the worst possible thing she could’ve done, she and Jeno had been fostering it for nearly three years. Love—if you could even call it that—makes people stupid. She wasn’t thinking, and neither was Jeno, until Chenle snapped at him.”

Were you a rebound, or a way for him to stay close to Suhyeon without his dad knowing? Were you his way of getting over what you had stolen from him? How could Suhyeon do this to you, after forcing her fixation with soulmates on you for so long?

You turned away from the corner that you assume led to yours and Suhyeon’s room, walking past Donghyuck with a newfound speed. You wracked your mind for her room number, assuming that she must’ve been in 414 given the likely year-separation of the floors.

You heard Donghyuck’s voice echo through the halls, a quiet “what the fuck is wrong with you, man?” and the loud slamming of his hotel door. You followed it up by yanking the door to the stairs open, letting it fly shut behind you as you began a rapid ascent. You ignored the pain in your ankle, the way your legs wanted to shut down, and practically burst onto the fourth floor.

You followed the same path you had before, and, sure enough, the corridors followed the same pattern. You took turn after turn, saw identical-bouquet after identical-bouquet, before stopping in front of room 414.

Three swift knocks, and a step back.

The door opened.

“[First]?” Nayeong said, furrowing her brows. Traces of crying were left on her face, from mascara-lined tear stains to red cheeks and puffy eyes. Seeing her ignited something in you, an intense sort of emotion that you hadn’t felt in so, so long.

And, as you burst out into tears, Nayeong dragged you into a hug and began sobbing with you.

viii. to hold up the earth on his shoulders for all eternity.

The dress you were wearing was absolutely, irrevocably uncomfortable.

Several hidden wires dug into your torso, a product of the bodice of the thing, and you swore you were bleeding in an area where the fabric rubbed against you wrong. Nevertheless, you wore it proudly, hair done up and makeup perfectly complimenting your features. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to attend the wedding of your soulmate—to someone other than you, that is.

Lee Donghyuck sat next to you, dressed in a matching suit to your dress and his leg crossed over the other. A toothpick hung out of his mouth, and he anxiously chewed on it, tapping his fingers against his knee as he waited. You’d both come in support of the couple and to try and masquerade as a couple to Jeno’s father, who was apparently very displeased when he saw your name on the invite list.

“Nayeong told me she’s considering eloping with her girlfriend,” you hummed, once again adjusting your sitting position so that your dress stopped trying to kill you. “Disappearing into a small, European country. Changing her name and getting married. Apparently, her girlfriend has the tickets bought and everything.”

“And why doesn’t she?”

“She doesn’t want to force the marriage-of-convenience role onto her sister,” you sighed, shaking your head. “What a superhero she is.”

“You know, if you’d had another year at the academy, you probably would be the bride here,” Donghyuck suggested, turning towards you. You received a glare from the woman sitting a couple seats to your left, who then whispered something to her husband.

“Not so loud. We’re gonna get kicked out.”

“I’m not lying, though. Since Jaemin nearly beat me up, I’ve never been yelled at more in my life—I had to help Jeno with his comeback plan. We got it done and then we went to Suhyeon’s room and you weren’t there and she looked at Jeno like he was satan’s incarnate.”

“Suhyeon and I weren’t going to last as friends anyway. Too different. We clung to each other too much, too. Recipe for disaster.”

“Right? Anyway, if the school hadn’t been so quick to decide to cut you off, you’d be the bride. Hundred percent.”

“Where is Jaemin, anyway?” you asked, cutting the conversation topic short. According to Nayeong’s perfectly curated seating chart, he was meant to be sitting next to you right now, blabbing away about how Donghyuck ruined Jeno’s one chance at happiness by telling you about Suhyeon rather than letting Jeno do it.

“Jaemin is right here,” he said, taking the seat next to you. You and Donghyuck looked over at him, instantly picking up on the panickedness he seemed to be exuding. “And nobody can find the bride and groom. Jeno’s dad is on a warpath right now, along with Nayeong’s mother.”

“Ooh, Europe worked out,” you joked, holding up your fist. Donghyuck bumped yours against his, chuckling as well.

“Made me call him a million times, and he didn’t pick up. I suggested getting you to call Nayeong, but they looked so appalled at the suggestion that I could’ve told them I was in love with Jeno and we got married in Vegas last night.”

“That was descriptive. Did you?”

Jaemin scoffed, not getting a straight answer. Instead, he tucked his phone in his blazer pocket, focusing on you. “Nayeong’s probably on the plane by now, but we don’t know where Jeno is.”

“Okay. And?”

“He’s suggesting you should go find him, dumbshit,” Donghyuck clarified, flicking your shoulder. You put your hand on it, pretending like he’d just stabbed you in the arm, but Jaemin quickly slapped your shoulder to avoid you causing a bit of a scene.

“I don’t even know his number. Deleted it from my phone about twenty minutes after Donghyuck broke the Jesu news to me.”

Donghyuck snorted, leaning back into his chair. In passing, he said, “No way you gave them a ship name,” but Jaemin ignored his comment pretty readily.

“Good news! I have it memorized. Give me your phone.”

Jaemin didn’t wait for you to hand it to him, simply snatching it up off your lap and unlocking it (you weren’t sure where he got the password, but you wouldn’t question it). He began typing what you assumed to be his phone number without even thinking about it.

“You sure you didn’t get married in Vegas?”

“Positive,” Jaemin said, handing the phone back to you. He scooped up your purse from the ground, shoving it into your arms and proceeding to point towards a set of doors off to the side of the banquet hall. “Go out there and down the hall. Door at the end goes to the back parking lot, where Jeno parked earlier. He’s either out there or waiting for someone worth it to call him, and someone worth it would be you.”

“And what am I gonna say?”

“I don’t know,” Jaemin said, acting like you’d asked him the most insane question in the world. “Figure it out yourself. Update me. Hyuck and I will hold down the fort until we hear from you.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to focus on you for a moment. A part of you wished you’d faded into oblivion after high school; being who you were, your merit reached about every end of the world. You lived in an academic spotlight, gaining the attention of universities both near and far. Jeno never came to visit you at your aunt’s house like he had shallowly promised, right before he missed his one chance to tell you the truth.

You stood up, and began your power walk to the door. Now that his fiancé was on her way to a small, European country and likely had all the assets she needed to become untraceable, Jeno would have to deal with the wrath of his father, who would feed him the same “I’m not mad, just disappointed” spiel.

You pushed the door open, hanging your bag off your shoulder and wishing your dress wasn’t so uncomfortable. Sure enough, a text came in from Nayeong—a selfie of her and her girlfriend, whom you had never met, in a plane. She was still fully prepared for marriage, only missing the wedding dress; her hair was perfectly done, the tiara was still there, and her makeup was untouched. Her girlfriend looked much more relaxed, makeupless and hair spread about.

They looked happy. So, as a result, you were happy, and could only hope she would tell you which small, European country she was living in so you could visit. Another text came in, this one from your mother, but you ignored it and continued out into the parking lot.

There was only one car that was running, and it was parked in a corner. It was black and the windows were tinted to high heaven, and you could only assume that would be where the missing groom was. You marched through the parking lot, repeating a mantra of self-support in your mind. This was one of those situations where you should’ve been anxious, but you couldn’t feel a thing; you’d grown used to not feeling anything over the years, but, in situations like these, it always felt uncomfortable.

You stopped a little bit before the car, making sure you were out of sight. You stared for a moment, blinking a couple of times and trying to muster up any sort of anxiety, but you could only manage a small kick in the bottom of your stomach. With a sigh, you approached.

You opened the car door, which was shockingly unlocked, and got into the passenger’s seat. Jeno didn’t turn to look at you, just drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and staring forward. “Can you take me to my apartment? If the wedding isn’t happening, I don’t want to sit in this dress any longer.”

He didn’t waste a moment to put the car in reverse, backing out of the spot with ease. He put a hand on the back of your seat, turning his whole body to look out of the back window even though he had one of those backup cameras. You wondered if he was trying to impress you, but found it unlikely given how unhappy he seemed.

When he managed to back out completely and was forced to turn his focus to the road, you took the chance to give him a once-over. You hadn’t seen Jeno since a banquet two years ago, where you’d been invited after one of your professors insisted you had to share your paper. You’d mingled with people in much higher places than you, smiling and discussing things you didn't care about, barely speaking about your academic ventures. Jeno had been there, too, hanging off Nayeong’s arm like he’d once done to you. They spent the whole night gossiping, sitting together and whispering about things you couldn’t imagine. Back then, when he was 20 years old, his hair had still been blonde and he had still carried that gold boy demeanor he loved so much. Now, his hair was pitch black, and he gave off the energy of someone who was completely and utterly in control of his life.

Judging by the way he blatantly ignored the people who’d begun running after his car, you assumed the energy mirrored the truth. He turned out onto the street, speeding away from the banquet hall that had a million cars around it. “Lots of presents oughta be returned tonight, huh,” you mused, adjusting your sit once again. “I bet it’s annoying and relieving all at once.”

“My dad’s gonna blame this all on me,” he sighed, continuing to drum his fingers on the steering wheel. “Where do you live?”

“Trimage Towers. Anyway, he can’t blame it all on you if Nayeong’s a lesbian. I mean, it’s not like you had any jurisdiction over that.”

Jeno hesitated for a moment, slowing down for a red light. Thanks to the location of the fancy banquet hall, the towers were already in sight, and you could practically feel the relief of taking this awful dress off.

“You really can’t feel anything, huh.”

“I can feel things, just not a lot. I’d be able to feel things if you would’ve gotten over me,” you hummed, looking out the passenger window. “I’m serious, Jeno. Find a new girl. Pick her over me. We will both be happier that way.”

“So you’re rejecting me over a relationship that started when I was in middle school?” he asked, and, at that moment, you understood it was a bit ridiculous. You were sure you’d see it in a more intuitive way had you retained your emotions, but such was the price of rejecting one’s other half.

“I don’t know. I haven’t felt anything since then. I’m content with it now, so I don’t really feel like I can love anyone. Make a decision based on love. Who knows,” you replied, feeling your phone buzz. You picked it up—another text from your mom. This time, though, she called you a couple of names for ignoring her texts and not sending her any money.

Jeno suddenly took a sharp turn, pulling into an empty parking lot next to an office building, which you assumed to be empty because it was Saturday. He pulled around to the back, parking in a spot next to a few trees. It was well hidden, likely a tactic for avoiding anyone chasing him.

“What can I do to fix it?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’m serious. I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

The slightest bit of sympathy graced your heart, but not enough to change anything. You sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the car. “Not sure.”

“What, should I confess my love to you?” he asked, which caught your attention. You looked over, biting the edge of your lip. “I barely know you, [First], yet I am deeply in love with you. Every time I hear something about you from Nayeong, or from Donghyuck, or from Jaemin, I feel the most intense regret that I decided to ignore Donghyuck’s advice and trust Jaemin more. All I could tell you about yourself are things everyone else knows and whatever my friends have told me, yet I’d still pick you over anybody else.”

Your heart sped up, but you still felt numb to the world. Maybe Dr. Choi had been right—maybe it wasn’t worth it to lose all feeling when you were 17. Maybe, if things had gone better, you would have been the bride today.

“Okay.”

“Is there any way? Any way at all that we could try? I know I’ve asked before, and I was disingenuous then, but I’m not a kid anymore. Neither are you. Things could be different.”

“Could they?” you finally bit into the conversation, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “I just—I can’t comprehend it. I’m a work machine. I walk into the office and stay for hours, reviewing my coworker’s pieces and writing my own based on what I’m given. I’m told that one day, I’ll be one of the greats of journalism thanks to my ability to work until I give out. Will that go away if I let this happen? Will I lose opportunity if I let myself love? I’m not really sure.”

“What makes you think that?” Jeno shot back. “What makes you think a little emotion would destroy your career?”

“Most, if not all of my superiors are soulmate-less or have purposefully gone out of their way to reject their soulmates. It’s standard.”

“You can break the standard, then.”

A bit of anger began to bubble in your stomach. “Could I? I already have it worse by having absolutely no nepotism to back me up, and I’ve got a world of expectation on me based on how I graduated at the top of everything, in every year of schooling I’ve ever had. I have a bad family to keep under wraps, and I have to pay them off to keep them quiet. I can’t afford to be pushing any stereotypes when I’ve got a million other things to work through.”

“I can be your credible, important connection, then. How easy is that?”

“I’d rather die than be a nepotism baby.”

“Then what are you looking for?” “Nothing, Jeno! I’m looking for nothing!” you finally exclaimed, the anger bubbling over the top. “I’m looking to leave this behind us and separate ourselves from each other! I’d rather die than keep living a life that orbits around you! I just—I just want to be myself.”

“Then I’ll orbit around you. I’ll stay out of it and I’ll treat your every beck and call—”

“Shut up, Jeno.”

“I’ll be the one who’s connected to you. I won’t be Lee Jeno, son of that one guy who got to live easy because of his grandfather’s work—”

“Jeno, please.”

“And I’ll dedicate my everything to you, master journalist, the most goddamn successful person in the world, all thanks to herself—”

You’re unsure what came over you at that moment. In your fit of anger, wanting Jeno to just shut up, you grabbed the sides of his face, and you kissed him. There was a moment where you couldn’t believe yourself, where you truly thought you’d open your eyes and be back in the banquet hall, discussing where Jaemin was with Donghyuck. In that moment, Jeno would walk out, make his way to the altar, and Nayeong would follow.

They would look miserable. You would know they were miserable. You would know you could’ve prevented their misery. You’d feel nothing. You’d go home, Donghyuck driving you, and you’d go to bed, ready to go into work the next day.

One opening of your eyes revealed to you that you were, in fact, kissing Lee Jeno. He didn’t seem to mind the suddenness of it—obviously—reaching over the center console to lace his fingers into your perfectly wavy hair. He smiled into the kiss, as if he was the most satisfied man in the world, as if he was the only man in the world.

You closed them again, and felt fireworks burst within you. Although they hadn’t returned like you thought they would, you felt a mixture of very mellow emotions pooling in your stomach, and you realized maybe Jeno, Jaemin, and Donghyuck had a plot.

You pulled away from him, dropping your hands from his face. He did not try to separate himself from you, though, waiting for you to recite the words he’d be wanting you to recite. “An academic article by psychologist Kim Sowol. The best way to incite emotion in someone who’s rejected their soulmate is to anger them.”

He dropped his hands now, too, laying them on top of yours. “Nayeong sent it to me.”

You stayed quiet, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you. Never speak to me again.”

Jeno put his hands back on the wheel, reversing the car once more and taking you back out onto the road. “Yeah, okay. Next stop, your apartment. Text Jaemin that it worked for me, would you?”

You scoffed. “No. Shut up.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear.”

thank you for reading!

tags:

@dziewoja07 @pewpewpwe00 @mings-cafe @yutensoul @iioyous @shepeelsoranges @loeycity @misakiise @000rpheus @eunbi4eva @jenonoon @travelleratheart101 @hesbambi @minchoco @swagzombiefart @eunbi4eva @wonluvrbot

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joshsjipple · 2 months

Text

Second Chances

JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER

A/N: I’m so sorry for all the Josh fics but he seems the be the only one who fits my ideas atm. I promise to get another Jake and Sam one out there eventually. Bear with me!

Word Count: 8.3k

WARNINGS: 18+ mature content, graphic sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f & m rec), fingering, praise kink, spitting, hair pulling, a bit of a mustache kink, language, FLUFF! this is a more gentle, sweet fic:)

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

Your hand shakes so vigorously as you sign your name on the papers at the car rental counter that you’re shocked when the receptionist hands you the keys. Your phone vibrates in your jean pocket and you give the clerk an apologetic smile as your pen scrapes across one last form. With a bag in your hand, you head for the doors. Your rental car isn’t exactly ideal, with rust infecting the edges and dents along the passenger side door, it looks like it survived a zombie apocalypse. But it will get you to Frankenmuth, so you cram yourself in and prepare for the hour and a half drive.

To say you were surprised to receive a call from your high school bestie Robin, would be an understatement. In fact, when you heard her voice on the other line, you nearly dropped your coffee in the middle of downtown Manhattan. It had only been five years or so since you’d walked across that stage, cap and gown on and diploma in hand, but it felt like a lifetime ago. It was strange for your class to already be arranging a reunion, but you weren’t complaining. You knew your boss–Sara– wouldn’t mind giving you a few days off to return home, as you had only taken two sick days this year. You felt like you deserved a bit of a break–even if that “break” included spending time in your childhood prison cell.

It’s around 4pm when you arrive at your parent’s house just 15 miles out of town. You’ve been home plenty of times before to attend family gatherings, holidays, and occasionally some birthdays. But you haven’t entered the town itself since you left it. It’s silly, but you could never bring yourself to do it, so you’d take the back roads, windows down, blasting music from your specially made playlist with a smile on your face.

As you tug your bag out of the back seat, you already hear the front door opening. As you turn around, you’re greeted by two overly-excited parents. It takes only a few seconds before your mother has you wrapped in a bear-hug, her body gently rocking yours as she strokes your hair. When she finally releases you, your dad scoops you up. It’s brief, but it does the job.

Your parents leave you to get situated in your room, and when you enter, a wave of deja vu sweeps your body. It’s always the same as you leave it, a time capsule you get to revisit when you’re lucky. You posters still hang on the walls surrounding your bed, neither you or your parents having the guts to remove them. Books still line your shelf, all sorted neatly by genre categories. Your box of vinyls are placed under a desk, dust creeping over the covers. Your window sills still have the same flower-patterned curtains that they did when you were just a girl. Despite your friends making fun of them as you grew up, you were too sentimental to just tear them down and throw them away.

You’re examining the room, your eyes occasionally stopping on something that brings back a fond memory. When they scan over your night stand, time seems to freeze. A framed picture is set up on the wooden surface, slightly facing towards your bed. Two kids, a girl and a boy, are waist deep in the water, their skin dotted with water droplets as more fly through the air. Their mouths are open, screaming and giggling as the water hits their faces. Suddenly, you’re transported back six years to when that was taken. You can recognize those damp curls anywhere, even if the sun is blinding the camera and blocking half of him out. You can remember that day like it was just last week, and the fact it still feels so recent, sends shivers up your arm.

After you pick your jaw up off the floor, you cross the room and immediately bring the picture to your face. It’s clean, like it was just recently set there. The tip of your finger traces the frames, the corner of your lips tugging into a smile. You had to have been only 16 or 17 at the time, making Josh the same age. That summer was the best of your life, a forever memory engraved in your brain. You and him spent those whole two and a half months together, basking in the sunlight in his backyard, listening to him complain about his twin brother. You had watched nearly every movie out there, staying up till 2 am every night before lazily dragging yourself back to your house only to join him for breakfast the following morning.

It’s a bittersweet moment for you as you stare at the boy you once knew and now know nothing about.

Placing it back in its original position, you run your fingers through your hair a few times before sitting on your bed. The window is open, a fresh breeze spilling into your all-the-sudden claustrophobic room. Needing to get your mind off things, you pull out your phone and answer a text from Robin.

Robin: In town yet?

You: Yep! Everything’s the same.

Robin: Pretty close. We’re all meeting at the bar downtown at 7pm.

You: Got it. Who’s all coming?

Robin: Everyone except Evan and Lily; something about sick kids and a tight work schedule.

Your thumbs pause momentarily before dancing on the screen. You don’t want to ask, but at the same time you do, so you type the message a few times before ultimately deleting it. Falling back, you groan slightly, rubbing your tired eyes. Your phone buzzes by your thigh again, alerting you of another text.

Robin: I know you were contemplating on asking, but yes, Josh will be there.

–

At 5pm, you eat a small snack with your parents. Your mother made bagel dip for you–an all time classic– so you munch on it as you catch up with your family. As suspected, nothing’s really changed around town, unless you count new tourists pouring in every year. You tell them about your job and what it’s like living in a big city, a fascinated daze over both their faces as you speak. You’re just about to head upstairs to shower when your mother calls from over her shoulder.

“Are you still in contact with Josh?” she asks, causing a pause in your chewing. Your eyes find your father’s, but all he does is shrug and place his folded hands on the table before you.

“Not really.” you manage to say, praying that will be enough to end the conversation. But of course, you’re not lucky enough.

“That’s too bad. Did you know his band got huge?” she returns to the dining room, a towel in her hands.

“No. I didn’t.” you lie. Of course you knew it did.

“I always knew they would, they were very talented, even as kids.” you dad chimes in. You sink deeper into your seat, feeling a slight ping of guilt prick your stomach.

“Is he coming tonight?” your mom asks in a knowing tone. You smile warmly, eyes darting across her face to try and decide what she’s trying to do.

“Yes, him and Jake.”

“That’ll be fun, just like old times.” she replies, the last few words sticking out slightly more than the rest.

“Sweetie��” your father attempts to speak, but you cut him off.

“Did you put that photo on my nightstand?” you question. She only shrugs, which is fine because it gives you your answer. “It’s not ever going to happen, mom.” you put your foot down, eyes slightly piercing into hers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found it in storage and didn’t want it to break.”

Although her answer seems to make sense, it’s not like her to not have a motive. Following your better judgment, you just nod in agreement. That last thing you want to do is spend your few days here fighting with your mom.

–

By 6:30, your hair is washed, curled, and neatly displayed across your shoulders. A small ribbon ties a few strands back, keeping them out of your eyes. Going for a more simple look, you skip the major makeup steps in your routine and settle on some mascara and lipgloss. With two dainty gold necklaces hanging across your neck-line, you settle on a tight black dress. You slip on a pair of white heels before standing in front of your whole-body mirror to look yourself over. You decide it’s good enough, grab a handbag, and head out the door.

Driving through Frankenmuth made you feel like a teenager again. You mom let you take her car once she examined the state of your rental. It moved smoothly across the roads as you admired the scenery. When you passed the school grounds, you nearly lost it. You hated it at the time, but now that you’re grown, you miss it like hell. Correction: you miss him like hell.

Every spot in this town holds a different memory, each containing Josh. The big hill that the two of you would ride your bikes down; he was always braver than you were. The parking lot of the hometown grocer where the two of you pushed each other around in grocery carts. That park where you smoked your first joint (with Josh’s supervision, expertise, and guidance). And finally, the downtown road that would lead you to your final destination tonight. It was one of your fondest memories of Josh, it made you see how much he cared for you. You were wandering around town when he took your hand and dragged you into the street, a sly smile on his face. He set a hand on your waist and hummed a soft song, recreating that scene from The Notebook because he knew how much you loved that movie.

It didn’t occur to you until now that you would be seeing him tonight. You sat parked, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to imagine what he looks like now. Of course you could have just looked it up, but you thought that would be cheating so you pushed that urge out of your head. Once you gather up all your courage, you remove yourself from the car and make your way to the door.

The committee must have rented out the whole building, because when you step in, there’s only a few handfuls of people in your presence. The place is cleaned up nice, the floors redone and the walls decorated with patterned paintings. For once, it doesn’t smell like fried onions and beer which you’re coming to appreciate.

Once you’ve scanned the room thoroughly and don’t find either Josh or Jake, you say hello to your former classmates. You all make small talk for a while, smiles filling the room as everyone talks about their success. You even find one of your ex-situationships, Mark, and fling your arms around him. The two of you talk for a while, even giggling over how dramatic your ‘relationship’ was. He’s explaining his fiance when you catch a chestnut brown haired man talking to someone. Begrudgingly, you finish your conversation with Mark before approaching him. Your heart beats quickly in your chest as you join his small group nonchalantly.

The boy turns his head, giant chocolate eyes staring straight back at you. Your heart skips a beat while your brain tries to comprehend. Tilting your head, it clicks together. It’s not Josh, it’s Jake.

“Jacob?” you finally ask, knowing 100% it’s him.

“Miss me?” he smirks before pulling you into his arms.

You were never as close with Jake, but you still knew him better than your other classmates. He smells of alcohol and musky spice, making your head spin. Once he pulls away, he keeps a hand firmly planted on your upper arm.

“How have you been?” you ask quickly, not wanting the interaction to end just yet.

“I’m good, very busy. And you?” his eyes shine.

“I’m great, actually. Thanks.” you reply, exhaling deeply. “You look great. I love the mustache.”

“We just got back from Europe. I’ll probably shave it off within the next few weeks.” he admits in an awfully comfortable tone. He looks rather relaxed right now, and you take note of it. You probably look like a constipated cow right now, nervous and shaking.

When you open your mouth to speak, Robin shouts your name. You turn towards the sound, finding her already trotting towards you with open arms. The two of you embrace, rocking back and forth on your heels. When she pulls away, she looks the exact same as she did in highschool. Her bright blonde hair is tied up, blue eyes glimmering, smile lines showing. She was always one of the most radiant humans you had ever met.

Appearing from behind her is no other than Josh Kiszka. Your moves falter, but Robin offers you a quick squeeze and a smile of encouragement. You barely notice her, or anything around you other than him.

“We’ll catch up later, hm?” she says before leaving to talk to another person across the room.

Time seems to pause for a brief moment, the world allowing you to stare at him without feeling awkward or rude. The once shaved sides of his head are now filled in completely, messy curls atop his head like a mop. He had been clean shaved his whole life, but now, hair grows above his lip and down his chin. He looks more mature, and kissed by the sun, but nonetheless, it’s Josh.

You both seem to have the same idea, because you meet each other halfway. He wraps you up in his arms, his arms gripping your waist. Your hand rests on his back, the other briefly toying with the curls on the back of his head. As always, he radiates warmth and affection, making you want to break down in his arms. You can feel his heart against your chest and you shut your eyes to soak up the feeling. He rests his chin in the cavern between your shoulder and neck, his nose moving some of your curls out of the way. When he breathes, the warm air ignites sparks of electricity, flowing through your blood. He smells like love and wine and you begin to feel drunk off of him.

He pulls away first, a beaming expression on his face. His hands grab your forearms, unwilling to let go. He clutches onto you like you might disappear if he lets go, making your heart skip a beat.

“How are you?” he starts off.

“I’m great, Josh. And what about you? How’s the rockstar life treating you?” you speak rapidly, unable to control anything.

“Ah, so you have been stalking.” he chirps joyfully, teeth showing. “It’s okay, me too.” You’re so taken back by his words that your brain doesn’t think of a response. But just like when you were a teenager, Josh has that under control. “Come sit. We’ll have a drink.” he announces after a pause, leading you to the bar.

He pulls the chair out for you before pushing you in, your knees brushing against the table top. Taking his place next to you, he takes a hand to call the waiter over.

“I’ll do a Salty Dog and she’ll have some red wine.” he speaks confidently for you as if you haven’t spoken for five years. The man behind the counter leaves and Josh turns to you. “What?” he asks once he notices your confusion.

“You remembered?” you say with a laugh.

“Remember what? That you can’t drink hard liquor? I had a permanent reminder in my car for a few years.” he quips, earning a giggle from you.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, which is why I’m nice about it.” he grins. The bartender arrives with your drinks and you quickly bring your glass to your lips, desperate to consume anything that will help calm your nerves.

“So,” you say once you’ve both swallowed the liquid. “How was Europe?”

“Doing a little more stalking than I thought, eh?” he jokes again.

“Funny. I talked to Jake before this.” you tell him. Folding your hands in your lap, you struggle to look him in the eyes.

“Figured. He does get all the ladies nowadays.” he sighs dramatically. “Europe was awesome, it’s so lovely. You’d love it.” he insists, hand rubbing his chin. “And what about you? Did you become that world-selling author you always wanted to be?”

“Josh, don’t you think you would have heard about me if that were so?”

He takes a second to think as he purses his lips. “I don’t read much anymore, so no.”

“You don’t read anymore?” you ask in disbelief.

“I only liked your stuff. It just felt weird…” he pauses briefly, taking another sip of his beverage. “So if you’re not an author, what do you do?”

“It’s similar, but I edit other people’s work.”

“Really? Do you write at all?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Not much.” you admit.

It makes you sad to finally say it aloud. You haven’t written since you and Josh went separate ways as he was your inspiration. You loved the idea of describing people you thought he would like or relate to just to see his face when he reaches the plot twist.

“That’s too bad. You were very talented.” he compliments. “I’d like to talk to some other people before they leave, but would you want to meet up in a couple hours and head back to my place?”

Your heart rate spikes. “Your place? Or your parent’s place?”

“Tomato tomato.” he shrugs, accentuating the words differently.

“I’d love to.” you say, standing to your feet.

Josh follows your lead, but as you begin to walk away, his fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you to a stop. Your face is inches from his and you can feel every breath he takes. With his fingers tightly placed on your wrist, you know he can feel how fast your heart is beating. Feeling confident from your drink, you hold eye contact and only break it to watch his tongue run over his bottom lip.

“Don’t slip away again, okay?” he swallows, his brows pulled down into a knotted expression.

You don’t even understand what he means until he’s walking away. By then, it’s too late to answer, so you shake it off and begin your search for Robin.

–

After an hour or so of meaningful conversations, you manage to slip away and find Robin. She’s tucked away in the kitchen, digging through her purse for something. When you approach her from behind, she jumps slightly with her hand over her heart.

“Jeez you’re sneaky.” she relaxes again, a smile resting on her lips. “How’s it going?”

You move next to her and shrug absently. “It’s good. Everything’s changed so much, don’t ya think?”

“Some things haven’t.” she says in a simple tone. You quirk your head to the side, trying to decipher her words as she continues to dig through her purse. Her lips are molded into a mostly flat line, the only action being the smallest of grins only you could recognize.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and Josh, I mean.” she states, her eyes failing to meet yours.

You scoff and mess with a strand of hair that has fallen into your eyes. “Yeah right. I think he’s changed the most.”

“Maybe, but did you ever sit and think that he’s always been that kind of front man? I mean, he was the main character in the school plays for four years straight.” she adds.

“I suppose. But it’s still different.” you frown slightly.

Robin huffs loudly before turning her body to face yours. “The only thing that has changed, is the shift of platonic love into romantical love.”

Her words make your blood run cold, goosebumps pricking on your skin. You swallow loudly, eyes locked with hers, searching for some sort of clue to let you know she’s just joking. It never comes so you’re forced to think of an answer.

“It’s not–no!” you squint at her. She only shrugs and juts out her chest a bit. “It’s not like that between us. It never has been and never will be.”

“It’s obvious. I’ve known you since we were just girls playing barbies, and you’ve never once looked at someone the way you look at Josh. Not even Mark, and he was the hottest guy in school.” she pauses to shove at your shoulder. “I mean, even after five years of no contact for whatever reason, he’s still the one.”

You stand in front of her gobsmacked and motionless. With a flat gaze, you watch her eyes curiously dance over yours. Not once has anyone ever pinned the tail on the donkey so well, so the fact she did had your jaw on the floor. After a few more seconds, she rolls her eyes and combs through her hair.

“Okay.” you say. “Maybe you’re right. But it hasn’t always been like that. High school was platonic, completely. Nothing ever happened.”

“I know.” she says quickly. “Except for that one time when–”

“It was a kiss and we were wasted. You dared us to!” you point at her with furrowed brows. She laughs, the sound filling the room and relaxing your shoulders. “Don’t tell him. We’ve both changed over these five years, I don’t want him to find a reason to be with me when he has so much ahead of him. So just keep it between us, okay?”

“I don’t have to.” she says cooly, just as a knock appears on the door.

“Hey guys.” someone says, and you turn around quickly to see Josh perched at the door frame. “Still gossiping I see. Some things never change.”

“You know it.” Robin smiles, going in for a hug. They share a brief moment before she does the same to you.

“Trust your gut.” she whispers just loud enough for you to hear. You smile at her and watch her mingle out into the party.

“Are you ready to go?” he questions, motioning to the doors. You nod and follow behind him, a weird feeling sitting in the pit of your gut.

Your goodbyes to everyone are short, but you spend an extra minute in Jake’s arms. He tells Josh he won’t be home till later because he’s having a few more drinks with a friend. You and Josh split off a few moments later, him holding the door open for you as you step out into the street.

“Remember what happened here?” he asks as he falls into pace with your steps.

“Your Ryan Gosling moment?” you joke.

“He wishes he could do as well as I.” he boasts, giving you a playful shrug. “My cars here.”

The drive to his house is short. The two of you sit in silence, music filling the void between you both. You watch the road wind in its familiar pattern, twisting and turning until he turns into his driveway. The house looks the same as it did the night before graduation, its walls still giving off a welcoming aura. You’ve barely fathomed the fact that you’re here until Josh’s at your door, holding it open. You smile warmly and thank him under your breath as you get out.

“Home sweet home.” he says, leading you to the front door as if you didn’t basically grow up here.

“Are your parents not home?” you ask, noticing the lights shut off.

“Not till later. Just us for now if that’s okay.”

You nod and enter the house. Immediately, your knees begin to feel weak. It feels like you’ve been running away your entire life and finally reached home. It still smells like cinnamon and freshly cooked waffles. The air is warm and inviting, and you fight every urge not to crawl on the couch and drift off to sleep. You must be ogled, because Josh stands beside you, watching your face cover so many emotions in a record amount of timing. He doesn’t say a word, but his hand brushes yours and brings you back to reality.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” he offers, moving towards the fridge.

“Water is fine.” you tell him, leaning over the counter to watch him. The house is silent, but Josh fixes that by humming a song to himself. He fills the cup with ice and cold water, his eyes focused on your drink.

“Three ice cubes?” you ask when he hands the glass to you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asks in a fake offensive voice.

“Do you want me to answer that?” you joke. He gives you a scolding look before giving into the laugh that’s creeping up his throat.

“Wanna go upstairs?” he asks. “I’ve got something for you.”

“What?”

“Just come on.” he encourages, already at the staircase.

You follow behind him, taking note of his movements up the stairs. The hallway is pitch black, but neither of you have an issue because you know the path like the back of your hands. When you enter his room, you’re engulfed by the familiarity. His bed is made neatly, bed sheets still the same maroon as they were throughout highschool. Everything looks the exact same besides a duffle back on the floor by the wall. Almost immediately, Josh wanders to his vinyl collection. He digs through it and places his choice on his player.

You take your seat on the edge of his bed, watching him kneel to set the volume just how he likes it. When he’s finished, he stands and brushes his hands across his khaki pants. That simple motion makes your heart pump a wave of sadness through you. As kids, Josh never put any effort into looking presentable when it came to you. Although he always somehow managed to smell like peaches and flowers, he never cared what he looked like to you, and neither did you.

“You’ve grown up.” you say in a flat tone, emotionless.

He pauses on your face and reads you like an open book. “You too. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

Josh just nods and sits on the bed, his weight causing it to sink slightly. He pulls his legs up and sits criss-cross applesauce, just as he always used to do. The simple action makes you relax a bit, a small token of a reminder that he is still him, and you’re still you. Now, you remember back to sitting on Josh’s bed, knees tucked under your chin as you fiddled with a string in your denim shorts. He was across from you, his hands working skillfully on his acoustic guitar. You two sat there the whole day, saying very little to each other. You could do that with him–sit in silence and enjoy each other’s company. Now if you had to do that with someone, you’d be in for one hell of a panic attack.

“You look beautiful tonight.” he tears you away from your thoughts. “You are beautiful.”

You feel a hot shade of pink dust on your cheeks and you giggle like a teenage girl. “You too Josh.”

“I try.” he sighs. The air is silent between the two of you, and you struggle to not break down and tell him how much he means to you and how sorry you are for everything. Josh always had a way of making you feel sentimental, especially now.

The silence seems to weigh you both down, and when neither of you can take it, you open your mouth to speak first. “Did you ever think of me?”

Josh is quiet in front of you, but you’re too embarrassed to look at him right now, so you stare at his blankets below you.

“What do you mean-”

“Just tell me I meant something.” you say, opening a part of your heart to him no one has seen before. You feel stupid, this isn’t a book, but the love you two shared as kids, felt like it could be one.

“You did.” he says immediately. “Of course you did. You were my best friend.”

His voice wavers as he speaks, making your heart fall. You’d imagined this conversation for so long, what you would say and how he would react. Would he take you in his arms and allow you to cry into his shoulder? Or would he cup your cheeks and kiss your lips? You had so many things to say to him, most of them coming to you on nights you couldn’t sleep. But now that your opportunity is here, your mind is blank.

He scoots closer to you, his knee brushing against yours. You still can’t bear to look at him, especially since your face is as red as a beet and tears well in your eyes. His fingers push a strand of hair behind your ear before gracing your cheek. You shutter at the touch, a long breath drawing from your lips. One hand cups your face, the other rests softly on your knee. He lifts your eyes so they meet his, and you find he too is feeling the same way you do.

“Maybe we should let this go.” your lip quivers, but you try to keep your voice steady and convincing.

“I don’t think I can handle letting this go–letting you go.” he shuts his eyes.

“Josh, don’t. Please don’t.” you beg pathetically, standing to your feet to escape his grasp. “I can’t let you do this.”

“What?”

His tone makes you feel like you’ve misread the whole moment, but Robin’s words reply themselves in your mind. “Look at you! You have a mustache and a full head of hair. You wear khaki pants and long white t-shirts with beaded necklaces hanging across your chest. You’re a popular rock band that tours around the world. You’ve won a Grammy for crying out loud!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

“We’ve changed, Josh. It’s all too different.” your voice shakes and you wrap your arms around your body to help comfort yourself. Josh runs a hand over the back of his neck, breathing out of his mouth loud enough for you to hear.

“We have changed. That’s how things work. It’s been five years since we’ve last interacted-”

“That wasn’t my fault!” you raise your voice, a tear spiraling down your cheek.

Josh pauses and stares for a moment. “I know. I know. We were dumb and didn’t know what the world would hold for us. But we do now.” he stands to his feet. “I’ve been with others, I’ve tried to move on but I physically can’t when you’re in my blood. I see a leaf the color of your hair and my heart sinks. I thrift sweaters and immediately think of you because in a perfect life, they’d be our sweaters.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you’re stunned and at a loss for words. Not ever did you imagine Josh would think about you this way. It wasn’t an insecurity, it was a fact. He was a rockstar, traveling the world, anyone he wanted at his fingertips. Josh’s face is red and he rubs his face a few times, gathering himself. This was clearly not the way either of you expected tonight to go. You take a step back, feeling like he deserves some space.

“I never knew.” is all you are able to say.

“Never knew?” he asks, confusion and hurt coating his voice. “I watched you study for hours. I cooked for you every chance I got. We had matching keychains. I spent every day with you. I wrote songs about you and now sing them on stage for thousands of people.” he informs you. Your heart is beating inside your chest at an insane pace as you imagine Josh writing and singing songs about you. You search for the words to tell him how you feel, but he beats you to it. “Y/N. Remember the 4th of July our junior year? We sat in the lawn with nail polish and I watched you paint your nails. You asked me if I wanted mine done–which I didn’t– but I was looking for any excuse to feel your hand in mine, so I let you.”

Still standing away from him, you lick your lips. He did let you do that, but you never thought anything of it until now. It all makes sense now. “When you’d ask me to rub your back or put sunscreen on you, I’d write you messages.” you admit, his eyes watching you. “I spelled that I loved you.”

A second later, Josh’s hands cup your cheeks and his lips connect to yours. He sucks the breath out of you, and you step backwards. He pushes you until you’re sandwiched between him and the wall. Your lips work at his, passionately taking him in. His hands wrap around your head, cradling it as yours work at his curls. His tongue traces your bottom lip, and you moan into him and allow him access. Your tongues dance together like they’ve done it a million times. It all seems natural, the way his body feels warmly pressed against yours and the sounds of your mouths working together. When his hands trace down the sides of your dress and he squeezes at the back of your thigh, you jump into him. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you can barely feel his length against your heat. It’s enough to make you tug on his hair a bit tighter.

With his hands still stationed on your thighs, he stumbles to his bed, laying you down carefully. Your lips pull apart just long enough that he’s able to remove his necklaces and his shirt. You watch him above you, his cheeks pink and his skin smooth. The tip of his tongue rests on his lip as he tosses his shirt to the side and averts his attention back to you. You’re both smiling when your lips connect, your teeth gently knocking against each other. He places gentle kisses across your nose and forehead before trailing down to your ears and neck. He sucks gently on your skin as your hands rub the skin of his torso. He’s smoother than ever, and you feel safe under his touch. His hands work the necklaces around your neck and he sets them next to his before kissing the straps to your black dress. Your hands are tucked away in his hair as he drags both straps down, his eyes never leaving yours. Once they’re off, he pauses before continuing. You nod to him, using your own hand to help him remove the rest of the fabric. With a wink, he continues.

Once your breasts are exposed completely, he sits up slightly, taking you in. You feel like an angel as his eyes sweep over you. “You’re the prettiest human I’ve ever met.” he says softly as he places his lips on your hardened nipple. You suck in a breath as his wet lips take you into his mouth. One hand is gripping your hip while the other plays with your uncovered breast. He laps at the skin, his tongue swirling in every direction. He switches, the hand on your waist now massaging your tit that once had his mouth on it. With a pop and a pathetic whine from you, he lets go. You instantly try and shimmy out of the rest of the dress, but his hands grab your wrists and pin them above your head.

“I’ve waited so long for this, let me do it.” he says in a silky voice.

His fingers pull the whole thing off your body, leaving you in nothing but a skimpy thong that hides nothing. He’s hard and pressed against your leg, his teeth gritted as he notices the patch of wetness in your panties. Cursing to himself, he kisses your lips again while his hands travel down your navel. His fingers are a fire, igniting a forest as he trails them along your sticky skin. As you swallow his lips, his fingers tug on the waistband of your panties. Unknowingly, your hips grind into him and he hisses. His middle finger dances across your heat, the thin line of fabric keeping you from his skin. His lips are still on yours and he swallows every whimper you give him.

“Please, Josh.” you manage to pull away long enough to speak. He smirks before sliding his hand into your panties. As a finger gathers your arousal, you wrap your hands around Josh’s neck and pull him back into your lips. The single pad of his finger runs quick circles over your aching bundle of nerves a few times before he slides it in. You’re too lost in his touch to feel embarrassed of the whine that escaped your mouth, but he seems to enjoy it.

“More.” you ask, and he delivers, slamming a second finger in with the first. Your body jumps and he giggles. You smack his arm once before latching onto it to keep you steady.

“Can I go down on you?” he breathes in your ear.

“You don’t have to.” you squeak.

“I didn’t ask that, did I? I asked if I could.” he grunts, nipping at the skin of your neck.

“Yes. Fuck, please.”

He removes his fingers and makes quick work of your panties, tossing them into the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Placing one last kiss on your nose, he trails down your body. You spread your legs for him, eyes shining at the view of him between them. He coolly blows on your cunt and you shiver as he does. When his finger drags itself through your wetness and his lips connect with your bud, your hands grip the sheets. He licks a long stripe from top to bottom, sucking on your clit for a few seconds.

“You taste like honey, mama.” he coos, the vibrations adding to the pleasure.

He tenderly eats you out, paying close attention to what your body does and doesn’t like. His eyes watch you as he works, noting your facial expressions and your breathing. No one you’d ever been with has paid such attention to you like this, but the fact Josh does, doesn’t surprise you.

He laps at your cunt, fingers buried inside of you. When he finds your specific spot, he curls roughly into you and your hands shoot to his hair. He giggles gently again, working fast circles into your pussy as your fingers grip his head. The feeling of his mustache against your folds makes for a delightful experience. The pit in your stomach grows quickly and before you know it, you’re catapulted over the edge. With your hips bucking into Josh’s face, you unravel below him, stars shooting through the black of your eyelids.

Once you’ve come down from your high, you release his hair and throw your arms behind your head. He kisses along the insides of your thighs, cleaning up all of your release. Sliding his fingers into his mouth, he sucks them dry with a shit eating grin. With arms on either side of your head, he lowers himself back onto you, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair.

“How am I expected to eat anything else ever again?” he quips, earning an exhausted laugh from you. “You don’t have to do anything for me. I’m happy with this.” he tells you softly.

“No, I want to.” you tell him.

He nods and rolls onto his back. You straddle him first, kissing his face. Then, you slide down, your tits dragging across his bare skin. You bite your lip at the friction, and he watches you through hooded eyelids. When you palm him through his pants, he lays his head back, mouth open. You unbutton him and slide both his pants and boxers down at the same time. You toss the material on to the floor before giving him your full attention. His cock sits against his stomach and you drool at the vein running across the length of him.

He hisses as you take him into your hand, gently wrapping your fingers around him. You drag your tongue across the tip of him, cleaning up the precum that glistens before you. He perches on his elbows and watches you–ass in the air– take him into your mouth. His eyes roll back and he grunts when he reaches the back of your throat. You toy with him for a few seconds, letting your tongue and fingers mess with his length. When his hands grip your hair and pull you away from him, you frown.

“I love this so much, but I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

“Maybe I want you to cum.” you dare, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Fuck, you little shit.” he groans, moving away from you. “How do you want it?”

“However you want it.” you smile. He shakes his head, a wide grin on his lips.

“Lay on your back for me baby.” he directs and you listen embarrassingly fast.

“I’m on the pill.” you quickly tell him, marveling at the idea of him finishing inside of you. He pulls his lip between his teeth and kisses you gently, situating himself between your legs.

When his tip runs through your folds, you open your mouth and lay your head back, leaving your neck open. He sucks on it as he sits at your entrance. You feel as if you may explode if you have to wait one more minute to feel him inside of you.

“You’re so wet. Fuck.” he whimpers, finally slipping himself into you.

In unison, you both moan. When he’s buried deep inside of you, you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him in place. He kisses your cheek and then finds your lips, his hands on your hips. Once you tell him to move, he pulls out before slamming back into you until his pubic hair meets yours. His hips continue to snap into yours, the sound of skin filling the room. You cry his name and he buries himself into your neck. His mouth opens and his teeth latch onto your skin. He doesn’t bite, but you can feel his top set marking your shoulder. The whole idea makes you clench around him. He removes his teeth and rests his forehead on yours, a hand on your cheek. He mumbles above you, his sweaty curls in your eyes.

“You feel so good.” you say and his eyebrow knit together closely. “So big, baby.”

“Jesus.” he cries, his thrusts getting a bit sloppier.

“Gonna cum, Josh?” you pant, trying to tip him over the edge. “Do it.”

With a groan, he removes himself from you and grabs your waist to move you to your stomach. When he taps your side, you raise yourself on all fours, sticking your ass up. He slides himself through you again, a trail of spit leaving his mouth and falling onto your pussy. He slides in again but doesn’t stop to allow you to adjust. His hips snap furiously into your ass, pornographic noises clouding your judgment. He unties the ribbon in your hair and uses his hand to mess it up a bit. Grabbing a handful, he pulls you up to him and kisses your cheek. You whine at the position, mouth hanging open as you fall apart. In one swift motion, he shoves you down into his pillow, your cries being silenced. Screaming his name, he holds your head in the pillow. You can hear him grunting above you, painting an image in your mind you’ll never be able to shake away from.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re gripping me so tight. You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he taunts.

“Nope.” you say, your voice in shambles along with the rest of your body.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, this time, snaking a hand between your legs to work circles into your clit. You cry at the contact, trying to fight the feeling approaching in your stomach. “Fuck, mama. Cum for me, baby. Let it all go. Soak my cock.”

Doing as you’re told, you cum all over him. Your body is shaking rapidly as he still pounds into you. He’s chanting your name like it’s his religion as he lays his sweaty chest across your back. You’re still coming down from your high as he reaches his, lashing above you. You feel him paint the inside of you, all warm and wet. He falls onto you, both of your body’s exhausted.

After a few moments of being pancaked in between the bed and him, he lifts himself off of you and pulls himself out. Your body feels cold without him tucked away inside of you, but you’re thankful to get out of the position and breath. You stand and disappear into the bathroom while Josh changes the sheets. When you return, he’s under the covers waiting for you. You smile and so does he as you walk back to him–still completely naked.

“I’m hard again just watching you walk back here.” he says, pulling back the covers for you. You smack his arm playfully and take a sip of your water.

Setting it down, he grabs your waist and pulls you down on top of him. You laugh as you fall on him, crushing him. Instead of pushing you off of him, he holds you tighter on top of him. You let him have his moment, his love language has always been physical touch. Enjoying the moment, you hold his head in your arms, your nose buried into the damp curls on his head.

Eventually, you slide down so your head is resting on his chest. You both lay there in silence. You listen to his heart and breathing, your eyes beginning to shut. You’re not per say, tired, but being in Josh’s arm in his room at this exact moment, makes you want to forget the outside world around you. But of course, you’re not lucky enough for that.

“Can we talk about this?” he says quietly, his lips pressed against the crown of your head.

“I just want to enjoy this, Josh.” you say.

“Me too. But I can’t enjoy this until I know how you’re feeling.” You rotate yourself so your chin is on Josh’s chest, the fronts of your bodies pressed together. He looks exhausted, but somehow more beautiful than ever. His face is still red with a sheen of sweat over it. His curls are frizzy and lay lifelessly atop his head, casting a shadow over his eyes. “So will you talk to me?”

You nod. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what? Us?” when all you offer is silence, he gets the drift. “Is this because of what happened on graduation night?” Once again, your eyes fail to meet his so they stare at the soft skin you’re resting on. “You know I meant nothing of what I said that night.”

“You mean when you told me I’m holding you back from your dreams?” Your voice is hoarse and cold.

“Is that why you didn’t want anything to happen between us? Because I said that so long ago?” he asks. His tone isn’t snippy or rude, it’s curious and a bit hurtful. His breathing hitches below you, letting you know he’s nervous for what comes next.

“No, Josh. I’m afraid if you realize your feelings for me, I really will hold you back from your dreams.” you admit in a low tone.

“I realized years ago.”

“And you succeeded after I let you go.” your voice is raspy and you can feel your bottom lip quiver.

“I succeeded because I was able to leave here. It had nothing to do with you. How many times did I want to quit growing up? You never let me. You pushed me just as hard as Jake did.”

You cover your face with your hands, trying to hide your expressions. He pulls them into his hands and gives you a blank expression. “Josh, I can’t–”

“I don’t care if my career is ruined, that’s not what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid I’m going to love you more than I’ll ever be allowed to.” he says firmly. Your heart burns as your eyes meet his. They’re glossed over and filled with emotion, so much, you can hardly stare at him any longer.

“I love you.” you sputter out. “I want to be with you–”

“See? So let’s be together.” he says, a smile engulfing his face. He cups your cheeks, dragging you in for another kiss.

“Okay.” you melt into his touch. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Really?” he asks. “I won’t ask you to give up anything. We’ll work around your life.”

Your cheeks are a bright red as you drop your head onto Josh’s chest. His arms cover your back, holding you tightly into his body. Skin to skin, you feel more seen than ever before. He’s your home, you realize that now. After being apart from him for so long, you got used to the pain in the corner of your heart. But after tonight, you know the pain will never subside.

“I’m sorry I never answered your calls or texts.”

“Shh. I want to enjoy the moment.” he mocks your words from earlier. All you’re able to do is laugh at him and tuck yourself back into his arms.

You lay awake, listening to his breathing. The sound consoles you, lulling you to sleep. Your mind wanders about your future with him, the years wasted pushed behind you. You’re surprised it took you so long to realize who was the one for you.

It had been him all along afterall.

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jake kiszka smut #josh kiszka #josh kiszka smut #sam kiszka #greta van fleet smut #josh gvf #josh kiszka fic #sam kiszka gvf #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiskza smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #gvf

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lostloveletters · 2 months

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Little Wing (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward and John Brady have it bad for each other, except Woody's convinced he doesn't care for her and Brady's convinced he messed up his shot with her. They prove each other wrong.

Note: Woody and Brady’s first kiss fic yay🤭 Title comes from the Jimi Hendrix song (which is on Woody’s playlist). I know I keep saying this, but I’m so overwhelmed with the response to Woody/Brady, I didn’t expect it at all, and it means so much to me🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Suggestive to a point, but not explicit. Light miscommunication plotline.

Darla had been the one who pointed it out. The Texan wasn’t one for biting her tongue, and expressed earlier that day while they were eating lunch with Meg that John Brady wasn’t making himself scarce around the hardstand, or the hangar. Wherever that downed plane of his was while they were working on it, he’d inevitably show up at some point.

“‘S like he don’t think we can fix a damn plane,” Darla said through a mouthful of toast, stale from that morning’s breakfast. The guys in the kitchen knew the three of them weren’t ones to pass up food just because it was a few hours old.

“I got the same thing at my pop’s shop back home. These fellas would bring in their cars and tell ‘im they didn’t want me workin’ on them. Half of ‘em didn’t even know how to change a tire,” Meg agreed, her thick Boston accent making Woody have to strain to understand what she was saying sometimes.

Darla shook her head. “Some ‘a these flyboys, I swear to god they got more swagger than sense.”

Woody didn’t want to tell them that Brady’s frequenting their work area might have coincided with the one day he showed up to check on how things were going, and she apparently struck a nerve by trying to be nice—something she was rusty at despite her best efforts. So he’d hang around and watch, sometimes not saying very much at all while puffing away at his pipe. Made her feel tantalizingly scrutinized beneath his stormy gaze.

His crew were all nice enough guys. A little rowdy sometimes, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Still, their pilot’s recent behavior made it tough for her to shake the feeling that he wasn’t all that fond of her. A damn shame, because she had it bad for him. Figured it was the first time she was into a guy who was decent.

Earlier that week, Hambone waited out the English rain in the hangar with her, telling her what he and the rest of them did before the war. Mostly recent high school graduates or everyday working guys. She didn’t find it surprising that the pilot had a degree, but almost couldn’t believe her ears when Hambone told her that Brady was a musician before the war. If anyone deserved to walk around with the swagger most of the pilots did, it was Brady, in her opinion, yet to her, he seemed level-headed and reserved.

She had left lunch with Darla and Meg that afternoon with a newfound resolve to win Brady over somehow. If not for her own sake, then to at least not make her own faux pas the other girls’ problem.

Her quip to Holly about John Brady and his cockpit was mostly for her best friend’s amusement. Anything in her past she’d remotely consider a relationship boiled down to little more than sex. Never exclusive, and never all that satisfying, either.

Woody nearly scoffed at herself. As if he’d want anything to do with a woman like her.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” she said as he walked up.

He sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You don’t have to be so formal, Woody. It’s just us out here.”

“Bucky and Holly are listening to the Yankees at the Nationals.” She nodded in the direction of the jeep in the distance. “They made some bet on it.”

“I hardly think that counts considering how far they are.”

She hesitated. “If you say so.” Stopped herself from adding ‘sir’ at the end.

The following ten or so minutes were all hers. Pointed out every inch of the plane that’d been worked on since he last came by. Had an answer for all of his questions or concerns. She didn’t miss a single detail, wanting him to know yes, she was serious, and yes, she could fix a damn plane. Got the same thrill she did when she’d tell people how she souped up their cars to race, watching the appreciation and at times disbelief for her work on their face.

“Still got some kinks to work out, but it should be coming along a lot quicker now,” she said.

“You did all of that since yesterday?”

“I can’t take all the credit. Darla and Meg helped out, too.”

He cracked a grin, his pipe between his teeth. “You’re pretty damn good, Woody.”

She smiled. Her heart might’ve skipped a beat or two. “Thank you.”

“You must’ve been a mechanic before this, huh?”

“Here and there,” she said. Eager to steer the conversation away from herself, she quickly added, “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“I am. I got my degree in music, too.”

“Let me guess what you play…” She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t strike me as a tuba man.”

The slightest smile worked its way onto his face. “No, I’m not.”

“Way too smart to be playing the triangle.”

“Hey, don’t count out the triangle.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” She laughed, silently proud of herself for not saying 'You're fucking with me' which otherwise would've been her reflexive response. “Alright, I’m gonna make my real guess now.” She pursed her lips as she considered her options. “Clarinet?”

He nodded. “And saxophone.”

“Both? Oh, I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said. “Either. Whichever one you like best.”

“I play with the band in the officer’s club once in a while. You should come by. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

“I’m not an officer.”

“I’ll make sure no one kicks you out.”

“Are you offering to be my personal muscle?” she half-joked.

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think you need it, but sure.”

“Thanks, John,” she said. “Unless you prefer Jack? Or just John?”

“What do you think suits me?” he asked.

“Well, I like Johnny, if you’re really asking.” She smiled like she was letting him in on a secret, like she knew all along he’d be Johnny to her.

It was her eyes that got him, though. The same green he saw when someone else made her laugh or how just about everyone seemed to have some anecdote about Woody—how she helped them out or told a joke that was just the thing to lift their spirits. But for all of the stories about Woody, the undertones of admiration or outright expressions of desire within them, nobody had one like his. Kissed his cheek without hesitation. Looked at him with those forest green eyes he could lose a hundred years in. Just when he was sure he had his chance and missed it, he was Johnny, and instead of getting lost in that forest, he knew exactly where he was going, how to push his way through and find her.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, staring above them and shaking her head.

Woody grabbed a screwdriver and kicked over a wooden milk crate that had seen better days. She tentatively placed her boot on it, pressing down a moment before stepping up.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t reach otherwise.”

“That thing’s about as flimsy as cardboard,” he said, setting his pipe aside. “You’ll break your neck.” His strong hands were on her hips before he finished speaking. Held her steady as she stood on top of the crate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She worked in silence until she stood on her toes, and the crate wobbled ominously beneath her. “I can’t see. Can you get me a flashlight and—”

He squeezed her hips in frustration. “Woody, just do it tomorrow. It’s not worth getting hurt over.”

“Help me down, Johnny?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, her eyes flashed an unmistakable desire that nearly sent him to his knees.

He kept one hand on her waist, the other holding her free hand as she stepped down from the crate. A flash of red spread across her cheeks, and he was drawn in closer like a moth to flame, following her to the nearby toolbox where she put the screwdriver back in place, double-checking the contents before locking it up for the night.

“You got something…” His thumb brushed just below her lip. They stared at each other in silence, voice caught in his throat before he closed the gap between them, cradling her chin in his hand as he kissed her.

A shock to her system, there was something uniquely vulgar in his tenderness. Past lips on her own had been rough and selfish, part of a song and dance she grew tired of by the time she was nineteen. To be kissed with such care at twenty-three made her skin burn for more.

She grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. Threatened to lose herself in the embrace, almost unsure of where Woody ended and John began.

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. She shuddered when he released it and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips, her want betraying her with a soft whimper.

She felt him pulling away and thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “Johnny, don’t go. Not yet,” she whispered pleadingly, raking her fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take much else for him to give in, losing himself in that forest in her eyes. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Being good,” she answered, “and I was getting better at that until you got here not even an hour ago.”

He smiled, eyes glistening almost mischievously. “Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Am I your sweetheart?”

“If you want to be.”

She smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else’s,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Me either.”

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #masters of the air #john brady #mota #mota x oc #mota fanfic #ch: woody

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hergrandplan · 1 month

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Wille's Month 2024 Day 4 ( @youngroyals-events) : Revolution

In cleaning up their home, Simon and Wille find something from their past.

Read below the cut or on ao3 (warning: tooth-rotting fluff. You may want to call your dentist)(1.4k, T)

Their living room is filled with half-empty boxes. Soft pop music plays in the background as they work through the piles of stuff they gathered, both softly humming along, sometimes singing. Sometimes, they chuck something in them without asking the other for a second opinion. Other times, Simon holds something up to get Wille’s approval to throw it out – or (less often) vice versa, when they’re not sure if it should go or not.

In packing for their trip to visit Simon’s family they realized they had a lot of stuff. Like, a lot.

Though their suitcases are barely packed, they decided that now, a few days before their trip, was the perfect time to start decluttering their home (they have a few days left anyways). It turns out two people can accumulate a lot of stuff in five years of living together.

The do realize quickly that Wille is the culprit of why they have so much – Simon has long ago learned to live with the fact that his boyfriend likes to keep everything, like the receipt from the first time they went to the movies together).

It’s a slow but steady process. They have a rhythm, they crack jokes and laugh. They remember too. Now and then they find something that makes them drop everything, letting another 10 or 15 minutes slip by as they flip through another photo album, or they find a notebook from their high school years.

It doesn’t matter that they’re going slow though. They’re happy to reminisce. `

“Oh my god,” Simon suddenly exclaims loudly.

Wille looks up from an old book he’s found to see him holding up a cassette tape.

He thinks he recognizes it instantly, but he still asks to be sure, “is that…?”

Simon nods, giggling almost. “I think so.”

They scramble to find cassette player – another thing they maybe should have got rid of earlier, but now Wille’s all the more glad that they still have it. Maybe, an hour from now when Simon insists on throwing something out Wille wants to keep, he’ll use this as leverage. You never know when we might need it.

Simon puts the cassette in the player. It’s old, it crackles a bit, which is unsurprising. It was already old when Wille gave it to him for his birthday, years ago.

Most people would have made a Spotify playlist, but Wille finds there’s something more romantic about giving an actual physical copy. And so, for his boyfriend’s 17th birthday, he’d given him a mix tape, filled with songs that reminded him of him, but most importantly of them. Of Wille and Simon.

The first song plays – Aaliyah, “At Your Best (You Are Love)”, smooth R&B filling their messy living room, the notes falling and landing and staying in between the boxes.

Wille, filled with the need to take in every little detail of Simon’s being, turns to look at Simon only to find that Simon is already giving all of his attention to him. His gaze so full of love it’s almost overwhelming. Wille doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, the way Simon just looks at him. Giving Wille his full attention, his utter devotion.

Then again, he looks at Simon, the exact same way. Even after all these years.

Wille is no longer afraid he’s going to lose any of this, he refuses for that to ever happen, not again, but he still savors every single moment with him, his beautiful boy. He looks and touches and feels, he knows the map of Simon’s body even better than the back of his own hand. The phantom memory of Simon is always at his fingertips when they’re apart, always quick to get back home as soon as possible.

And once again, Wille is filled with the need to take in every little detail of Simon’s being, with the need to never take his eyes off of Simon again.

Wille stands up, offers his hand out to Simon, who takes it without hesitation.

Wille pulls him to his feet, slowly, eyes never leaving Simon’s face. He sees the same question that’s been spinning around his mind reflected in Simon’s eyes – how did they ever get this lucky?

He places his hands on Simon’s hips, pulling him just a bit closer. Simon wraps his arms around Wille’s shoulders and gazes up at him, so lovingly, and Wille stares right back. This, he realizes with a flash, is it. This is the man he’s going to marry.

As Aaliyah sings that there’s no need for make-believe (and Wille, in this moment couldn’t agree more), Simon decides that they are not close enough. He pulls himself closer to Wille, burying his face in the crook of his neck, nosing at the soft skin there. Wille hums, moves his arms up, finds a home for them on Simon’s back, holding him tight.

Their dance turns into a shuffle, both men too tangled in each other to be able to move any more. There, between the boxes and the suitcases and all the evidence of a lifetime spent together, the promise of many more years to come, they hold each other.

The song finishes, the music softly fading away. Wille tilts Simon’s chin up, stares into those dark eyes that he will never get enough of. His heart so full of love that he can’t do anything but catch his lips with his, to feel his body flush against him, ever part touching and connecting, souls intertwined. Right now, he’s sure that their hearts even beat in the same rhythm.

There’s a moment of rest in between songs, as the cassette rolls until it lands on the next one. Wille has forgotten what songs he put on there – it’s been, after all, 10 years since he’s made it.

Then the tape hits the next song. A soft piano sounds. Wille feels Simon go still in his arms, as he too tries to figure out what song is playing. Then, all of a sudden, it’s Simon’s voice that fills up their living room. But the sound doesn’t come from the man standing in his arms – it’s coming from the cassette player.

They look at each other for one, long second as realization sinks in. Then, they break out into a fit of giggles, Simon burying his head again in the crook of Wille’s neck.

The song that’s playing is one very near and dear to Wille’s heart – after all, it’s literally named after him. Well, Simon actually never gave it a name, but he’d titled the file Wille. ‘Wille’s song’ is as close to a title as it gets.

Neither of them has heard this song in years – there was a time when Wille played it to death. When he first received it, and he thought this was the final piece of Simon he’d ever get, the only way he would be able to hear his voice.

Simon’s shoulders shake with laughter as the first chorus start, and Wille only pulls him tighter against him.

“I still can’t believe you put this on there,” Simon groans into his shoulder, his voice muffled. Wille’s sure that if he were to look at him now, he’d see Simon’s cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“I think it’s sweet,” Wille says, barely able to contain his laughter, which only makes Simon groan more.

“It’s so cringe.”

“You were sixteen, of course it’s cringe.” Wille brushes a soft hand through Simon’s curls. “And it convinced me to abdicate so…”

Simon finally looks up at him, indeed with cheeks flushing, but he’s grinning too.

“I guess I did spark a little revolution, huh?”

“At least in my heart.”

Wille leans down to press his forehead against Simon’s. His lips find Simon’s again, soft and warm and right. He smiles with Simon’s lips still on his. Simon moves his hands up to the nape of Wille’s neck, fingers buried in the soft hairs there.

Then Wille says the words he’s said a million times already, words he never tires of saying. That he never tires of hearing either. Because no matter how many times he says them, he never feels like it’s enough to convey what he feels for Simon.

“I love you,” he says softly in the space between them. They stay there, linger there, as Simon’s eyes open to gaze at him.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, and pulls him into another kiss.

#willemonth2024 #young royals #yr fanfic #yr fic #yr fanfiction #young royals fanfiction #young royals fanfic #young royals fic #young royals archive #wilmon #wilmon fanfiction #prince wilhelm #wilhelm eriksson now?#simon eriksson #wille eriksson #wilmon fanfic #yr ficlet #yr drabble #wmday4

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rainnmaybank · 2 years

Text

Maybe We’re Not So Different (part 2)

[part 1] [part 3]

vance hopper x fem! reader

characters aged up, high school, please see pinned for explanation/reasoning

playlist || master list

reader dynamic change for plot, i was listening to deftones well writing this and it shows

DETAILS DETAILS DETAILS

S L O W B U R N I N G

words: 2060

warnings: strong language, drug use(cigarettes), vance being vance, ooc vance, “mean” reader, injuries, mentions of bruises, a n g s t, OC’s for drama purposes

That night in the park stuck like glue to both of their minds, she was different then what Vance had heard. y/n had the same thoughts in her mind, she was right, he wasn’t as scary as he thought, though she’d never tell him that.

y/n skin was still painted in colourful bruises by mondays time, having spent her weekend alone in her room she held no desire for seeing anyone that day. She was no longer seen as the harmless quiet girl, the world around her changed their thoughts of her demeanour, i guess that’s what happens when you break a girls nose.

Pushing the heavy metal doors open, people watched her every step. Once flying under the radar of everyone to being in the spotlight wasn’t something y/n was fond of.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hours felt like decades sitting through her classes, eyes burning holes through her skin. God all the fucking eyes, watching her, looking at her like she was some kind of display drove her mind crazy. Her skin burned hot like it would melt off at any given moment.

Her pace was quicker walking from one class to the next, sure she liked attention but not like this. Dirty looks and side eyes followed her everywhere she went, her veins pumped ice cold rage through her body, feeling like she could explode any minute.

y/n walked with her head down, colliding with another body. “fucking watch out dipshit” clenching her jaw as she looked up ‘fucking great’ she thought.

Bruce Yamada, she hated him right now. there he was standing directly infront of her. “watch out, might run into the wrong person” Bruce’s eyes shifted to Vance and his goons at the end of the hall, god he made her insides boil.

“At least he doesn’t get his dreams and reality confused” y/n intended to play her favourite game, gathering ever last calm nerve in her body, her lips dropped into an innocent smile. Bruce looked at the girl confused.

Lifting a piece of her hair, twirling it between her fingers. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for you, having to constantly come up with lies to keep yourself interesting to others” her voice was steady and soft, fake pout resting on her lips hand dropping back down to her books “poor boy, must be so exhausting being that boring” slightly shrugging her shoulders offering up a half smile and a small wave, y/n turned away leaving him there.

Bruce was bewildered over the words spoken to him, was she right? Did he lie to people about what he did? Well yeah, but didn’t everyone? y/n words slowly sunk deeper into him the more he recalled them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

y/n wore an entertained smirk the remainder of that day, mind tricks where her favourite way of getting back at people. Sure it didn’t have an immediate impact like fighting did, but it lasted longer.

Making people question themselves, overthink the way they did things was just how she got revenge. Nobody expects the sweet girl from their math class to mentally fuck them with a few sentences.

She took pride in the way she challenged peoples thoughts, maybe it wasn’t something she should have been so proud of, but then again if people could physically attack each other, why couldn’t she psychologically do it?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Like any other night the girl found herself sitting in the park again, alone in the dark was when her mind spoke the most. Toxic air filling and leaving her lungs, whisked away by gentle winds.

Vance found himself drawn to walk the paths though the park again, he wanted to see her again. Never would he admit that, not to himself let alone speak it out loud. Without second thoughts that’s where he headed.

There she was, sat in a different place this time. the swings. Her back was turned to him but he knew it was her. It could have been her hair, it often fell messy down her back. Maybe it was the shoes, laces stretched and tightened endless times they reached the ground even when tied. Perhaps it was the steady steam of smoke that came from her hand.

she lived in solitary, he found that captivating.

Vance carried himself soundlessly towards the long haired girl, placing himself left of her. y/n sensed his presence before he was visible to her.

he was fervent, she found it admiring.

Without a word y/n reached in her pocket holding a now slightly squished pack of camels towards the boy. Vance’s fingertips brushed her cold fingers, pulling a dart and her lighter offered to him.

Eyes lingering to the left, y/n observed. Small sparks flickering off the flame, lighting the end of his cigarette. Fire illuminated his features.

He felt her gaze, he didn’t mind her eyes watching him. Vance didn’t smoke much but enjoyed how it felt with her. He felt at ease, silence was comforting when she sat next to him.

The world moved slower, both could breath.

“You could say hi you know” y/n spoke in a hushed tone rocking on her swing. He smiled whispering out a hello.

Smiles where strange, nobody smiled at him and he certainly didn’t smile at anyone.

y/n hummed, his fingers fiddled with the chains. Soon y/n finished her smoke standing from her seat, turning facing the blonded boy. Fingers shuffling through her pocket pulling out a crunched up piece of paper, Vance watched her confused when it was placed in his hand.

Without another word, y/n was off. vance watched her walk away till she was no longer in his sight.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Vance didn’t unfold that note right away, he waited till he was home. Sat in his bed watching his ceiling, humming coming from the stereo across the room.

His fingers once again fiddled, only this time unfolding the paper. He sat up smoothing out the crinkles the best he could.

He was confused why she gave him a note instead of just talking. Sure he understood why most people didn’t talk to him, but you were different. It was like you challenged him.

Vance sighed, his hair fell when he looked down at the piece of paper. She has pretty writing.

“words loud, actions louder, but feelings loudest. i feel sane with you”

Infatuated over simple words that held deeper meanings Vance read the lines over and over. He didn’t fully understand what y/n had meant but something inside his mind told him he felt the same.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Emily was back the next day meaning everyone was now focused on her and her bandaged nose. y/n really didn’t know how much damage she did that day. Emily’s face was bruised pretty bad.

She deserved it.

The brown haired girl often blew things out of proportion. Expanding the truth to the point it was almost a lie.

y/n was just grateful all the attention was finally off her.

y/n stood at her locker changing her books and gathering her homework.

Her body was shoved by strong shoulders into her locker, she turned to say something stopping herself seeing it was Vance.

He looked down at something on the floor then back to her as he kept walking. y/n looked down spotting a crinkled up paper of his own.

She picked up the ball unraveling it as she stood back up.

“you’re not that bad. park tonight.”

y/n smiled folding the note up neatly placing it in her pocket. She was always at that park, he just didn’t know that yet.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She got to the park at her usual time, Vance a few minutes later. They took place on the swings again. “Hey” y/n smiled softly at the curly haired boy “Weather man said it’s gonna rain soon”

Vance nodded “Yeah i saw that” y/n shrugged handing him one of the two cigarettes left in her pack, he took it waiting his turn with the lighter.

y/n watched the cloud rolling in above, Vance watched her. Oblivious to his stare she smiled “I love the rain” he’d remember that. who liked the rain? “Why? It makes everything wet and gross”

She looked at him questioningly “I find it lovely, rain makes me happy” y/n took a deep breath “It’s like the world is washing away all the bad things.” He never thought like that.

“I guess that makes sense” he shrugged, both of them falling silent. It stayed like that till it was time for them to part. y/n stood first. “I like the silence” she smiled down to him “Until next time” and with that she left and the rain came.

Vance walked home, recalling how she thought of the rain. Maybe it really wasn’t that bad, maybe he liked the rain too.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Vance became a staple in her nightly routine.

Often times the pair sat in silence, listening to how the earth talked at night. Glancing at one another through the few minutes they shared each night. Eyes fell into eyes, like souls spoke to each other. Small innocent touches, pinkies linked with one another. The time they spent together started getting longer and longer and yet only a hello was spoken each time.

Vance dropped a note into y/n’s palm one night before he left. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do that, it was their way of speaking to each other.

“let’s talk”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

y/n braced herself for that night, not having spoken but a few sentences to each other over the past few weeks they’d know one another. She sometimes wondered how he’d speak to her. his notes where often short, she kept each one in the top drawer of her bed side table.

She wouldn’t expect it but he too kept each one of her notes, safely hidden away in his closet.

y/n made him feel warm, Vance made her feel understood. Things neither of them had felt before.

Vance was there in his usual spot, the left swing, when she arrived that night. y/n took her place, following their routine offering him a stick from her pack in which he took.

y/n noticed his knuckles bruised and split, she looked at her own hand, hers where scared from when she’d used violence.

Over the weeks they noticed the ways the other dealt with those who pissed them off.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

y/n wasn’t always quiet, matter of fact she really wasn’t. If you knew her well she could talk for hours. she also wasn’t as nice as people believed. Like Vance she had things that sent her into a spiral. Only well vance physical hurt, y/n did it mentally. She stuck more, biting at peoples souls rather then making them bleed.

Vance didn’t understand why she chose words over pounding someone’s face in, while y/n didn’t understand why he chose momentary pain over a lasting mark.

The two of them where the same but so different, Vance made people panic, y/n made fear slowly creep into their minds.

Though not understand why one another chose different poisons, they admired eachothers effects on others.

Slowly Vance realized words would cut deeper and y/n found force would work faster.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Your bruises are pretty” her voice hummed smoothly with sounds of the night, he turned looking at her then his hand. He found it odd to complement the result of his violent tendencies, he appreciated it.

Reaching out he linked his pinky with hers, hands falling between two swings was comforting. “There for you” y/n looked at him brows knitting together. “How so?” Vance shrugged, eyes lifting off his hand meeting with hers “I didn’t like the way someone was talking about you”

y/n gave him eyes of awe, she’d never look at him like that. “Vance ‘pinball’ Hopper” he liked the way his name left her lips “That is the most romantic thing i’ve ever heard”

The way she admired his violence made him feel better, it wasn’t something he always had control over.

“I saw some make that girl cry earlier, what was that about?” he asked, she squeezed her pinky around his dropping her gaze. “A similar situation”

She didn’t see the way his eyes sparked. Someone speaking up for him? Vance never expected that, definitely not from you at that.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

part 3

tag list

@scarlets-phases @sheer-nuisance @dudinhahoff @tyelikesbees

#vance hopper angst #vance hopper x fem!reader #vance hopper x you #vance hopper x reader #vance hopper #the black phone angst #the black phone x reader #the black phone #finney blake #robin arellano #the black phone x you #robin arellano x reader #finney blake x reader #bruce yamada #bruce yamada x reader #angst #black phone x reader #tbp x reader

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wolfiemcwolferson · 8 days

Note

5 for your spotify playlist fic pls ❤️

This is one of my favorite KoL songs. The lore is that Caleb wrote this whole thing rather intoxicated and so it was done in one recording initially. There’s this shiny, hopeless quality to the song which led me to…vampires.

Pierre drinks at the same bar.

It doesn’t matter that there’s only the one.

He’s here every Friday night, seated in the corner, nursing a half dozen beers until they kick him out.

It’s a habit he doesn’t particularly enjoy, but one he’ll continue until - well, he doesn’t like to consider just how long he might be doing this.

But, he supposes, this is the madness of a lovesick man. One who has seen all that life has to offer and still chooses this. Still chooses to wait.

Because Pierre had been all over. He’d photographed sunsets over mountains in countries that forced the FBI to detain and question him. He had photographs in magazines and exhibits and coffee table books.

Pierre was well traveled.

- is well traveled.

But somehow he’s always back here at this bar on a Friday night, waiting in the same corner as he was five years ago.

Because that is when Pierre’s life really changed.

When he was sat in the bar of his dying hometown - visiting with his brother, listening to his high school friends tell him about the state diverting the highway around them and how it was going to cost the town millions.

And then Charles had walked in.

Pierre knew who and what he had been immediately - had met a vampire in Portugal of all places, but no one else had known what he was.

Pierre had.

And maybe that’s why Charles picked him.

Maybe it was the fact that when Charles smiled, his eyes crinkled up on the sides and Pierre hadn’t been able to help himself when he lifted his fingertips to his skin.

Maybe it was the photos that Pierre had of sunrises plastered on his tiny apartment walls.

Pierre had taken him home that night, tipsy on well whiskey his brother insisted on buying him and the way Charles muscles underneath his hands had felt like marble.

It doesn’t matter what it was.

Not anymore.

It was beautiful and all encompassing and Charles had sworn to Pierre that he wouldn’t be alone. That Charles would love him until the end of time and beyond.

And Pierre still believes it.

Because Charles didn’t take the photographs when he left.

And to Pierre.

To Pierre that means Charles still trusts him - that he still loves him.

Pierre knows that Charles meant it because he would have taken the photographs with him when he went. He wouldn’t have allowed Pierre to keep those blurry, overexposed photos the two of them had taken with a timer in the desert. Or the ones of Charles in Pierre’s kitchen, making Pierre spinach and egg omelets to keep Pierre’s iron up.

He wouldn’t have allowed Pierre to keep the photographs of the two of them, curled up in the moonlight - Charles looking every bit of the ethereal creature he is.

Pierre waits for him to come back because Charles had made him promises about taking him home to France.

Showing him his home there - ancient and lifeless he had called it.

Pierre waits because Charles had loved him and made him feel alive and he knows - he knows - what they had together transcends everything.

What they HAVE.

Pierre sips his beer and he half listens to some story David tells him until David mentions Pierre’s niece - something about smashing mailboxes out on 239.

And that’s why Pierre misses it.

The door opening.

The door opening and the whole place going into that hushed quiet whisper.

Pierre might miss the door opening, but he feels it in his blood - like his body knew and alerted him immediately to -

“Sorry,” Charles’ voice is soft as he slips into the chair beside Pierre, scooting it closer to his silently, “I got held up at a festival in Italy, but -“

Pierre reaches over and takes his hand and the whole bar goes back to normal volume. Like they’ve accepted Pierre’s forgiveness for Charles leaving him heartbroken here for two years. Or maybe they think the two of them have been seeing each other this whole time - Pierre flying off to see him.

“Cha,” Pierre says. Quiet and low, but it still sounds too loud for this place. “Want to go back to mine?”

Charles eyes shine as he nods and Pierre brings Charles hand up to his chest, splaying his hand over Pierre’s beating heart.

“Let’s go home.”

They have shit to work out, but they have forever to do it.

Here or France or Thailand or Uruguay.

It doesn’t matter to him. Not when Charles repeats it back to him.

“Let’s go home.”

#Piarles #vampires #Spotify wrapped fics

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 7 months

Text

tuesday again 11/14/2023

twenty-nine, please be kinder than twenty-eight and the tail end of twenty-seven. phil update: unauthorized access

listening

Maisie Peters’ Guy on a Horse (previously featured with song Not Another Rockstar). headbanging indie rock off the spotify recced playlist. i would have liked this song much more in my worst misandrist period from high school-early college but the lines “Got this far and I’m Joan of Arc/And you’re just a guy on a horse” made me laugh. spotify

also off the spotify recced playlist (many bangers on last week’s) The Last Dinner Party’s My Lady of Mercy. all-girl baroque british indie rock, a dizzy quality i like very much in this small dose but would never be in the mood for a full album’s worth. spotify.

OH this feels like it’s probably on every griddlehawk playlist. one day i will read those things

reading

fallow week

watching

Sirocco (1951, dir. Bernhardt). it was on tubi and i wanted to watch a Bogart noir without hooking up my laptop and finagling The Big Sleep with the good subtitles off the dvd. Sirocco has…hm. aged poorly is an understatement. it is not internally consistent with character motivations (a truly fucking baffling ending) and the leads have zero chemistry. the leading lady didn’t have anything to fucking do to create chemistry. the hottest moment was when she absentmindedly gave him back a cigarette with a lipstick print, and he finishes smoking it with a thousand-yard stare. comparing this in marketing to Casablanca was criminal. stop fucking comparing everything to Casablanca it’s never going to be as good!!!

third most unforgivably, below the brownface and script that was once in the same room as fun dialogue, it could have been a singular half-hour episode of television instead of a feature length film.

playing

genuinely cried at the conclusion of the mainline Fontaine quest in g/enshin. this was a beefy fuckin update my god. i think the last act in the five-act quest was like two hours of cutscenes. i know how the fuck are they funding this (gacha) but still. any other company this would be hysterically cost prohibitive.

in other games: Luna Story Picross I, i am having fun but i think my brain has not yet picked up on the internal logic of picross yet. if there was a Good Picross paid app like the Good Sudoku paid app that teaches you sudoku strategy i would get that in a shot. this is a very millennial app, lovely gradients and extra chunky pixel art. very crossstitchable . ik pixel art is already crossstitchable but this lands somewhere between whimsigoth and every astronomy-themed gift on the marketplace and i find that compelling

making

horseshoe knife from the Dragon Forging Experience!!! at the ren faire. unrelated half pound block of beeswax for scale. i did not have enough upper body strength and got a blister :( but any excuse to swing a medium-sized hammer with malice aforethought. my initials are somewhat indifferently stamped on the other side bc again, upper body strength, but those don’t need to be on the internet

hung up all the cat wand toys. this is extremely not very hashtag aesthetic but hopefully seeing them every day will remind me to actually play with my fucking cats, bc they were in a horrible pile behind the futon and were a right bitch to detangle every time. we’ll see how this goes. mack has not ripped them all down yet bc she doesn’t want to stretch over the little samsonite train case i yoinked off the side of the road in mass. strongly recommend a big makeup case or train case like this one to hold all the cat bits and bobs like flea treatment and brushes and extra toys and the filters for the water fountain et al.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #some real ringing musical endorsements

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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

Text

Come and Get Your Love

Summary: You come home from work early one night to find your boyfriend, Steve, playing dress up. Steve x fem!reader

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Smut requested by a friend, heavily inspired by this spotify playlist!!

God, you think to yourself, I cannot wait to go home tonight. You love your job waiting tables at the best burger joint in Hawkins, Indiana—the people are friendly, the menu is limited, and the pay is surprisingly good (and the tips even better)—but all the same, it’s been a long day. The high school basketball team has won another game tonight, edging them a little farther down their path of unforeseen victory, and the crowd of parents, teenagers, and high testosterone’d teenage boys has become entirely too loud, too raucous for your head. Three more minutes, you think, glancing at the clock, three more until I get to go home early. Your friend, famous for her missed shifts, has shown up for once and is graciously allowing you to leave at your assigned time for once. You make your rounds, bringing them change or letting your tables know that someone else will close them out tonight. After a few overly zealous “we’ll see you next time!”s and “have a great night!”s, you are finally free.

In the parking lot, you pull your apron ties from around your waist, exhaustedly tossing it into the empty passenger seat. You’ve got to remember to take it into the apartment with you tonight—when you don’t, it makes the car stink like the grease traps you spend too much time around. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, honestly, but Steve can’t smell your uniforms after work without immediately getting hungry. There are few things in this world you love more than Steven Harrington, but his constant desire for french fries can be a little exhausting at 7 AM. Speaking of Steve, you told him you’d be off around midnight; it’s only 10 now. Hopefully, he’s still awake and (after you shower) the two of you can crawl into bed together.

These last few weeks have been…lonely. You moved into Steve’s apartment at his insistence. “You’re already over here all the time,” he had laughed, “What’s the difference? Another drawer for your underwear and the half of the closet I already don’t use? Yeah,” he had snorted, “that’s really going to be just terrible for me.” You had grinned, wrapped your arms around his waist, snuggled your face into the side of his neck. Like always, he smelled like a mixture of his leather cologne and hairspray. There was a slight whiff of vanilla in the mix that day, a sure sign one of the Hawkins’ moms who still doted on your boyfriend had made sure he had eaten some homemade baked good that day.

But now you actually lived with Steve, and it was different. When you go home from your job every night, crawl into bed alone, and then go see your boyfriend in the morning, there’s an expectation of isolation. When you live with the man you love and are crawling into a bed where he’s already asleep, it feels like you’re missing someone who’s right next to you. It hurts, you think to yourself, mildly jarred by your own honesty. It’s worse, somehow, to feel alone with Steve than it ever was to be apart from him. But Steve isn’t the kind of guy you say these things to; it would hurt him, unfairly so, to tell him that you’re more lonely sharing his one bedroom, tiny apartment than you were on your own. Steve went out and bought plant stands the day after you agreed to move in and found the corners with the most sunlight because he knew you would have to bring some greenery into the apartment—how can you tell that man that he’s hurt you by…what, exactly? Sticking to a sleep schedule? You feel selfish, suddenly, for these thoughts. You love Steve—you love him so much it physically hurts you sometimes, looking at him while he makes you a cup of coffee first thing in the morning and your heart twists inside of your chest. You’ve never loved anyone like him before; you’ve never been loved by anyone like him before.

The kindness and care he has shown you had shocked you back in the first few months of your relationship. Once, you explained to him that, while you loved your weekly grocery store bouquet, he really didn’t have to get it for you. He also didn’t have to open doors for you. He didn’t need to pay every time you went out, either. You were just mildly shocked that he still hadn’t yelled at you—not once—or raised his hands to you. A week earlier, in the middle of a big fight about his overly close relationship with Robin (a stupid fight, you knew now), he had sighed loudly, pulling his hair, and said in a tense tone “I am very god damn frustrated. Can we take a walk and come back to this conversation in twenty minutes?” You had expected him to hit you the whole time you had been screaming at him, and this sentence disarmed you far more than a man’s hands ever had. But it wasn’t just that Steve was good to you—you loved him for himself too. He constantly brought home books from Robin and stacked them on shelves for her to come back for in a few weeks, and he always brought home a “treat” on Fridays to reward himself for surviving another week, and he had never sung in-tune once in his life, and his eyes lit up when you came home excited from your weekly class at the community college and regurgitated the entire lesson for him. You realize, suddenly, that the radio unit in the console of your car is playing Africa, one of Steve’s favorites. It’s hard not to smile, thinking about all of the times you’ve watched your gorgeous boyfriend slap the steering wheel and flop his high hair back and forth as he sings this song—a song that, notably, does not inspire “head banging” in most people. “Please be awake,” you whisper to yourself as you pull the car into an empty space outside of the apartment building.

Walking down the hallway to your apartment door, keys and apron in hand, you can hear the faint strains of music leaking under someone’s door. Must be a party, you think, if the music is that loud. You recognize the song as one of Steve’s favorites, one of the many he has sung to you after climbing out of bed and putting his underwear back on before walking to the kitchen. You can’t help but remember the way his hips have wiggled—mildly out of time—as he croons for you to “come and get your love,” a giant grin plastered over his face. You’re still replaying this image as you slide the key into the lock on your door and twist it, letting the door swing on its loose hinges. The music hits you in the face like a blast from a fan—it’s coming from your apartment, not someone else’s. Steve’s sound system—one of the few things he said he was willing to invest “big money” in to with Jonathan’s advice—is blasting the song.

However, there’s no Steve in sight. No off-key singing, either. Where the hell is he? you wonder abstractly. You set your apron and keys down next to the door, kicking your shoes off as you do. Scanning the room for Steve, you walk to the stereo and twist the knob to lower the volume. “And you’re mine and you! look so divine!” comes wailing out of the bedroom. With a grin, you turn and call, “Baby, I’m home!” while practically prancing to your bedroom. He’s awake! you think, and he’s in a good mood! At the doorway, you stop. Your eyes can’t make sense of what you’re seeing. That is…your boyfriend, right?

Steve is facing you, eyes wide in horror. “Oh my god,” he says. “Fuck.” His hands are covering his chest—or rather, they’re covering what’s on his chest. Your boyfriend, Steve “the hair” Harrington, “King Steve” when you were in high school together, has wrapped his wildly hairy chest in a sheer, light pink bra. Amidst your shock, you can't help but notice that the sheer fabric is adorned with tiny white flowers, embroidered around the empty cups that lay flat against his pectoral muscles. There’s no lining to what he’s wearing, and you can see his nipples straight through the fabric. Not particularly practical, some part of your brain says. As if the practicality of the bra is why your boyfriend has chosen to wear it.

“You’re not supposed to be home yet,” Steve says, swallowing. “Jennifer showed up for her shift.” Your eyes have not left his chest yet. His hands are trying to cover himself defensively, but he��s clearly unsure if he should be covering the thin straps and sheer cups or if he should be pulling the damn thing off. “I’m just—it’s—“ he stutters. You raise a single hand, silencing him. “Who does that belong to?” you ask. “Me!” he says, quickly. “It’s mine. But it’s not some—“ You interrupt him again. “Are you cheating on me?” you ask, cold and detached already, preparing yourself to remain stoic while he breaks your heart. “No! Jesus christ, no, baby, I love you so much, it’s just…well. It’s just. It’s mine, I swear. It fits me, see? It’s my size.” You’re mildly shocked that he knows his bra size, but your brain accepts that without question.

“If that’s not someone else’s bra, why do you have it?” you ask, meeting his eyes for the first time that night. They are wide, a hint of fear around the edges. His mouth is set in a hard line that you’ve come to recognize as his “oh shit, I’m going to have to fight my way out this time” look. “It’s just…for me. I like the way it feels. On me. So I wear it sometimes.” He says, eyes darting towards the ground at his confession. “Okay,” you say. His eyes shoot up to yours, hopeful and shocked. “Is it…something we need to talk about? I mean, do you want to wear it all the time?” “No,” he says, “it’s just fun. To wear it at night sometimes, and dance a little, and just enjoy it.” “You can wear it all the time,” you say, almost surprising yourself. “We can get you whatever you want to wear. I’m not going to love you less or differently if you change…some things.” As these words come out of your mouth, you realize how true they are—your love for Steve doesn’t depend on his manhood.

“It’s—jesus christ, it’s not like that!” Steve barks, a thick and heavy blush washing over his neck and face. “I didn’t want to tell you for this exact reason. I knew you wouldn’t get it, no one really gets it.” This is the angriest you have ever seen him. He’s not used to sharing things about himself that aren’t already a matter of public knowledge, and his defenses are up. Your heart is racing with the slightest touch of adrenaline as you say “Will you explain it to me?” He takes a deep breath. He takes another, and you can see his pulse throbbing in his throat from across the room. His broad hands are still spread over the bra he’s wearing, and you quickly glance down to assess what else he’s wearing—just his boxers, slung low on his hips. “It’s just…no one expects me to do this.” Steve’s voice has dropped drasticaly as his blush has receded, and his fingers fidget. “I don’t have to be…you know…Steve Harrington when I wear this. I’m not the washed up basketball player, or the fired icecream scooper, or my dads son—I’m just me.” He looks at you cautiously from across the room. You take two steps into the bedroom, stepping into the plush rug. “I think I can understand that,” you say. “I want to understand that.”

Steve is still standing with his hands covering as much of the bra he’s wearing—his bra, you chastise yourself—as possible. “Would you…Could you show me? What you’re wearing?” you ask, voice gentle like you’re approaching a wounded animal. That’s what Steve is right now: wounded. His pride, his presentation of himself has been taken from him in an unexpected moment. Your boyfriend doesn’t do well with being unprepared; he keeps a baseball bat by your bed and a flashlight in the nightstand. Passively, the thought of how difficult this moment must be for him flicks through your brain on a breeze of distraction. Right now, you know, your job is to comfort him and reassure him, no matter how hard your heart is beating or the fact that your stomach has begun to swirl with a warm, molten feeling that’s creeping down between your thighs. Slowly, his hands slip down by his sides, palms out towards you. “It’s a nice bra,” you say. “Is it as soft as it looks?” He nods, his hair flopping against his forehead. Hands now free, he reaches one up to his face and pushes his hair up and to the side—still the slick Steve Harrington move that has made your heart skip more than a few beats since you first met.

The mesh cups of fabric and embroidery laying flat over Steve’s naked torso is, quite possibly, the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen. He’s both pretty and handsome, sexy and sexual in a way you didn’t know you wanted. “So,” you say leadingly, “do you have others? Or is it just this one?” His face flinches, so briefly, like he’s deciding how much of the truth to share right now. “I’m asking,” you say quickly, “because we could get more if you want.” His eyes are still so closely guarded. “I have more.” He says. His tone makes you think of a child getting in trouble with their mother; he’s both resistant to the discipline he’s expecting and defiant about his right to be wrong. “I’d like to see them.” He disappears into the closet, reaching up to the far left of the top shelf, pulling down a shoe box. He sets it on the bed next to you and your fingers brush—this is the most physical contact you’ve had since you came home, and it sends sparks up your nervous system like embers starting a wildfire.

Steve pulls the lid off of the box, pushing aside the crumpled tissue paper. Inside the box—the same box you pushed aside when you moved in to make more space for all of your shoes, not even daring to guess Steve would have anything hidden from you—is a neatly folded stack of underwear and a row of bras laid on top of each other. You look up at him, curiosity lighting your eyes. His face is still guarded, still closed off to you and you pause in your exploration; it’s obvious to you that this is something he’s struggled with for a while. The way he’s crouched slightly since you came in, the way he lashed out earlier, the way he has tried so obviously to make this a private experience: he’s ashamed. Someone has taught him, at some point, that this is not the way Steven Harrington should express himself and he’s taken their word for it. But the thing about shame is that it lies to you; you can’t allow Steve to tell himself his shame is the right thing to feel. God, you think to yourself, my baby has carried this alone for so long.

“Steve,” you start, pulling in a deep breath. “You know this isn’t…something bad, right?” “I’m not supposed to want things like this,” he murmurs. This answer has come too quickly and you know it’s been on a loop in his head. “Who the fuck said that?” you ask. He looks at you, incredulous. “Oh, my God, I don’t know, like everyone with a penis? In a thirty mile radius?” “And that’s who you’re going to let tell you how to live?!” The urge to yell at him is rising in your chest—this is not the time to be a smart ass, not the time to raise your voice. “Baby,” you say, “remember the first time I told you what I wanted? In bed?” He blushes, a light pink sheen trailing over his cheekbones, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “Yeah,” he says. “There are people who would tell me I’m not supposed to want that,” you say. “People that think the idea of you telling me what to do and calling me what you do is the worst thing I could want.” Steve begins chewing on his lower lip and you’re keenly aware he’s still standing next to the bed you’ve taken a seat on, wearing nothing but the sheer pink bra and his boxers. This is what intimacy looks like, you think, sharing truths until you’re out. “You and the person you’re with are the only ones who get to tell you what you can and can’t do, Steve,” you say, reaching out to put your fingers on top of his. You wait, breath bated, for the question you hope will come. “And is this…can I do this? With you?” Steve asks, eyes on the floor. “Of course you can, Steve. Do you want to do this with me?” “God,” he says, face radiant, “so badly.”

You return to the shoe box on the bed next to you. Your eyes rove over the neat little scraps of lace, of mesh, of satin. Curiously, you reach out a hand to touch one of the pieces in the box—stilling when you note Steve’s eyes on your fingers. “Can I touch?” you ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Touch away.” There’s one bra in the box unlike the others: where the others have minimal or no padding, this one has well lined cups, covered in a white satin. It looks like the kind of bra your mom had bought you, years ago, when you first started “needing” them according to her. “Why’s this one different?” you ask, tracing your fingernail over the cup. “It’s not mine,” Steve says. “What?!” Your eyes whip up to his.

Your stomach knots suddenly, the exact fear you had felt when you first saw him tonight apparently coming to fruition. “I mean, it’s mine now,” he says, reaching his own long fingers to pluck the brassiere out of its cardboard surroundings. “But it wasn’t mine originally. It was Nancy’s.” Momentarily, you are furious at this betrayal. How could he keep his ex’s underwear? In the home you share together? But you notice the look of reverence on his face as he delicately toys with the too-wide straps and understand that he has more to say. “It was the first one I ever wore,” he says, still looking at the bra in his hands. “She left it in my car,” he pauses at the involuntary noise that escapes the back of your throat, “and the guys found it. They dared me to put it on, as a joke. That’s what it was supposed to be—a joke. But it felt good, and I felt…I don’t know. I understood what it was like to be looked at and desired for more than just your name or whatever, because that’s what it was like for Nancy. She knew guys didn’t want her because she was Nancy Wheeler, they—I—wanted her because of who she is under that. So I just…kept it.” You can understand that, you think, that need to be wanted for yourself rather than what you offer. To be desired for what’s in your heart rather than what people think they know about you.

Steve puts the bra back in the box. It’d be better if it wasn’t Wheeler’s bra, but you understand that he’s kept it for sentimentality rather than some sort of lingering fascination with the person who owned it. Turning to the small stack of neatly folded panties, you begin shifting through the options. Baby blue lace, pale yellow satin, even a cotton cheeky cut pair printed with green leaves and small roses. “Do you buy it yourself?” You can’t imagine Steve Harrington buying underwear and lingerie, asking the sales girl to ring him up in a tiny town like Hawkins. “Robin,” he says, “She buys it all for me.” There’s gratitude in his voice, gratitude for the friend who has been safe for him, and there’s gratitude in you for her too.

There’s a pink, sheer pair in the stack as well, the band embroidered with the same white flowers wrapped around Steve’s nipples right now. Hooking a finger around the band, you pull this pair out and hold it up at your eye level. Steve looks visibly nervous as you study the sheer fabric. “Would you put these on? For me?” You don’t make eye contact as you ask this, giving him the space to feel whatever is going through his mind and body at your words. Wordlessly, he takes them off of the loop of your finger, and nods in the corner of your eye, rich brown hair shining under the bedroom light. “I…I’m going to change in the bathroom.” He disappears without looking at you, softly shutting the door.

For the first time, in the privacy Steve has left you in, you’re able to acknowledge the sheer desire that has been resting in your stomach since you saw him tonight. The warmth that has burned dully in between your legs compels you to stand up, walk back into the living room, and return to the stereo. Steve has a mixtape—something you giggled at the first time you pointed out that he always puts on the same songs as he starts to undress you—full of songs that you suspect he has recorded during Saturday night radio broadcasts. You press play on the rewound tape, letting the strains of ABBA croon through the speakers softly. You turn the volume knob, slowly, and then pad softly back to the bedroom.

You’re feeling…less than clean from work today. While Steve is still in the bathroom, you run a brush through your hair and take off your sweaty clothes, replacing them with the oversized shirt you normally sleep in next to Steve. Sitting back down on the bed, you hear the bathroom door slowly swing open. “You put on my tape?” Steve’s voice is incredulous. Instead of replying, you turn to him, smiling, and are stopped still with a gasp. “Holy shit, Steve.” He blushes, hands immediately covering his pelvis. “I’ll change.” “Please don’t.” The slightest hint of a smile creeps up over his lips, eyes glinting. “Don’t go wasting your emotion,” the speakers croon, “lay all your love on me.” His hands rise up to his hips and rest softly above the light, white scars he calls his “bat bites.” You thought he was joking the first few times he said that, but Robin still blames his moments of confusion on untreated rabies and, at some point, you accepted that the white scars on either side of his hips are from being bit by…something.

Your eyes are focused solely on the sheer size of his package bulging against the panties he’s wearing. The muscles around your ribs feel like they’re tightening, and you can’t stop your mouth from dropping open just slightly. Your tongue pokes out just barely, softly tracing the inner line of your lips as your mouth dries out with desire. Eyes tracing up his torso, following the line of his body hair, you look at Steve’s face. He’s chewing his bottom lip, but the left corner of his mouth is turned up. Once you finally meet his eyes, you see how intently he’s been watching you. “Like what you see?” he asks, the same smirk you’ve seen on his face after he’s made you cum more than once in one round and he’s wildly satisfied with himself. “Very much.”

“Can I feel your panties?” You ask him. His eyebrows meet his hairline, a delighted shock on his face. Wordlessly, he steps closer to where you sit on the bed. You hold your hand out, palm up, and he presses himself against the soft flat of your hand. You push against him ever so slightly—his hips push backwards and your other hands grabs him, pulling him closer and holding him steady. Slowly, delicately, you rub your hand up and down the soft fabric, feeling him swell under your fingers. “Pretty,” you murmur, “so pretty.” His hardness is pushing against the panties now, and your breath is coming a little shallower now. The mix tape clicks over to the song he likes to spend on his knees, head buried between your legs, and your blush at the memories of his tongue in between your lips makes his eyes widen.

Steve places his hand over yours on his crotch. His hips start to wiggle, grinding against your hand slightly, as he whispers always off-key, “turn on my charm, that’s because I’m a Good old fashioned lover boy.” The two of you are grinning at each other and it feels like you’re in on a joke together. He keeps his hand over yours, rubbing your palm over his bulge, and bends down slightly, placing his other hand against your own panties. A gasp escapes his throat and his eyes glint. “Fuck,” he says, “how long have you been soaking your panties for me tonight?” “Since I saw you in that bra,” you whisper. You feel him twitch under your hand at these words, and he starts rubbing against your damp panties. A little moan slips out of your mouth and he looks so proud of himself you can’t help but lean forward and press your lips to his.

Your mouths are warm together, and his tongue fills yours like he’s been starving for you. You trail your lips down the side of his soft jaw, rubbing raw on stubble, and down his neck. Over his collarbones, you lick a soft spot before biting tentatively, delicately. He likes a little pain, but he’s always needed you to be gentle while you hurt him—especially tonight, when he’s been so vulnerable with you. “I want you to fuck me,” you say into the soft skin in the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder. “I will,” he groans. “God, I will.” “With the panties on.” His hand stills against your damp underwear and the hand over yours freezes. “Are you serious?” His voice is incredulous. “Yeah,” you moan, lips tracing down the bra strap over his shoulder to his pectoral muscles. “You are so hot,” he says, radiant joy in his voice. You pull your hand out from under his and off of his waist, reaching up behind him to unhook the bra he’s wearing and slowly pulling it down so you can graze your teeth against his nipple. “Take my underwear off and leave yours on,” you command before biting sharply.

His gasp goes unstifled, and you smile against his hairy chest, one hand pushing the other bra cup up in place over his chest as the straps slide down his wide shoulders. His broad hands find your own shoulders, lightly pushing you on to your back on the soft plush of the bed you’ve shared with him. His hands disappear under the hem of your shirt, grabbing the waist of your underwear and pulling down as you lift your hips up. He pulls your panties over your legs and holds them up, standing up. The dark spot of slick warmth covers most of the cotton fabric and he examines it carefully before locking eyes with you. “You’re such a slut for me,” he says, and you smile, nodding. He starts to slide the pink sheer panties down his thighs and you stop him. “All the way on,” you say, “push them to the side.” He shifts the fabric over to the side, using his hand to pull his thick member out from behind the fragile fabric.

He pushes your shirt up to your waist, leaving you partially exposed, and pins your hips in place with one hand. His other hand rubs down his length, thumb brushing over his tip, before positioning himself at your entrance. Finally you feel his head make contact with your body and sigh in contentment. However, he’s not quite ready to fill you—he teases the very edge of your clit with the head of his dick. You can feel the slight bit of warmth already leaking out of him pressed up and down the sensitive nerve endings. You reach up a hand, grabbing for his thigh. The very edge of the orgasm he’s going to bring you to soon trembles through your legs as he continues to tease your body with his own, and you can foresee the shaking of the earth beneath you when you finish tonight. “Please,” you moan, low and honey voiced, “please, Steve?” With a satisfied grin on his soft features and a slow, frustratingly slow, push, he enters you. The soft panties still on his pelvis are rubbing against your skin as he fills you. Achingly, he pulls back out until just his tip is still inside of you and carefully, carefully slides back in. Your core is physically aching with a lack of him. God, he looks so good. The bra is dangling loose around his torso, one strap half down his swollen bicep, and you start to beg him to go faster, imploring that you’ll “lose it” if he doesn’t start riding you hard and fast.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asks, smirking. He strokes his thumb over your hip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh. The motion of his hips slowly begins to speed up, and the friction is driving you wild. You’re writhing on the bed under his hands, rolling like you’re crazed, as you help him find friction amongst your dampness. His hands squeeze your tits under your shirt before he eventually places both hands on your hips, raised high, so that he can keep his rhythm. He keeps one hand on your same hip, fingers tight as he helps support your weight—he has absolutely bruised you with his fingerprints by now—while the fingers of his other hand slide in above where he’s thrusting in and out of you. The rough pads of his fingers rub your clit, hard enough to hurt a little. The heavy, hard strokes are different for Steve, but you can’t stop the small cry of both pleasure and pain that escapes your mouth at the slight hurt. You can’t get words out anymore, and when you try to express how good he’s making you feel all that comes out is a whimper.

He pulls out of you suddenly, making you whine. “I want to cum with you on top,” he says. Steve gets on the bed on his back, adjusting his bra as he settles in. As you straddle his hips, you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. There is something luxurious about the lack of fabric on your body and the small pink patches of it on his. Carefully, his hand holding himself, you slide back on to his dick and he whimpers. You lift yourself a bit, sitting back down as he moans softly, lip in between his teeth. You’re already stretched to him and don’t hesitate before you’re riding him, his soft voice calling your name. Hips grinding against his, the repeated press of the embroidered flowers on his panties under your sensitive skin, you are so close to cumming your vision starts to shimmer. Carefully, you lean down over him and rub your hands over his bra. Your hands rub down to the bat bites, digging your thumbs into the soft skin in between the scars as he gasps. One hand still in place, you take the other and place it over Steve’s throat. There’s a slight line there, practically invisible except when his skin is tanned from too much time by the pool in the summer. Your fingers wrap gently around his throat, squeezing the side softly, and he moans loudly. “I’m—“ he moans, “I’m—“ “Not yet,” you command. His shock distracts him, and you take advantage of the moment to take the hand from his hip to place his fingers back on your clit.

The gift of your release is barreling down your spine suddenly, and you feel your muscles clenching and unclenching over and over. As he cums, you feel the heat deep inside of your body, pulled farther up into you by your muscles as he twitches. “Jesus,” he cries, hips bucking up into you with the force of his orgasm. He keeps pushing himself up into you as you rub over him until your orgasm has finished and he has started to soften slightly still inside of you. You sit up straighter, pushing up off his flat stomach as you pull him out of you. The trail of his cum that flushes out of you as you move drips onto his panties and you smile at the idea of leaving a slight stain on his lingerie. Falling on to your back next to him, out of breath, you ask, “Good?” “Jesus,” he says again. You sit up a little, rolling over to your side so you can lightly finger the thin strap still hooked over his shoulder. “I like your underwear,” you say. “But I think, maybe next time, I want to see you in lace.” His eyes meet yours. “Maybe you can let me pick something out for you,” you say, biting his shoulder lightly with a smile. “Maybe we could match even.”

“I’m so glad I get to love you,” Steve says, wrapping his arm around you. You burrow into his armpit, the smell of his sweat mixing with his cologne and filling your senses. “I love you too,” you say with a smile. For the first time in weeks, you feel connected to Steve. Maybe it’s just the lightheadedness of your orgasm, but you want to spend the rest of your life with him. You’re so grateful for his vulnerability tonight, and you’re also grateful for how good he looks in his matching set. “Hey Steve?” you murmur, starting to feel sleepy. “Yes, baby?” “Just don’t change your chest hair, okay?” “I’d never dream of it.”

#Spotify #steve stranger things #steve x fem!reader #steve harrington #fem steve harrington #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fan fiction #i HC that this man does not have a thought in his head

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bluestarjay · 1 month

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Guys ik I've made so many posts recently, but I'm sick and stayed home from school today, so it's not my fault I'm bored!! Anyways, so I have a hc Hinata really likes American music or just like English music in general. I said in a previous post that I think he'd be really interested in linguistics and languages in general, so to follow up with that, I could totally see him listening to American 1980s music in high-school, and being sad that he isn't able to understand it, cause he sucked at English in hs lmao. Like, I lowkey fw him listening to Goth music 👀👀 Hinata is the type of person who genuinely listens to ALL music types. My personal playlist? 29 and a half hours. It ranges from Taylor Swift to MCR, Gacha classics to Linkin Park, like name an artist, and there's probably at least one song of theirs on my playlist. Hinata is the same way!! He'd fs love Taylor Swift, even though she'd only have been up to Red by the time Haikyuu actually takes place. But tell me he wouldn't love The Cure or Tears For Fear!! Omg and even though he's literally a Japanese high schooler, and it wouldn't come out until after he'd graduated, ik he'd love the Hamilton soundtrack (bc be honest, who doesn't?? 🤨🤨) Lana? Yes. Samba music (an older genre of Brazilian music,, I actually started listening to it when I found out he'd gone to Brazil haha its soooo good 😩)? Obviously. Rap? YES. He would like Childish Gambino (I'm just projecting, sorry). HE WOULD LOVEEE THE LIVING TOMBSTONE FNAF SONGS. IK HE HAD THEM ALL MEMORIZED. I lowkey hc he can rap certain songs, and the fnaf one is one of them. OOOO AND I JUST KNOWWW HE WAS LISTENING TO PANIC! AT THE DISCO IN HIS FREE TIME 💀💀 Bitch he was listening to all the 2010s American club songs not having a clue what they were saying but then finding out years later once he knew English and laughing his ass off. He was out in his backyard playing some solo volleyball listening to Kesha to hype him up yk LMAO also he's had the same spotify playlist since high school, so even now when he's like 27-28 he's listening to all the shit he did when he was like 14-16 bc he's too lazy to make another playlist and everyone finds it appalling like ik Bokuto and Atsumu have playlists for working out, driving, sad, happy, everything, but Hinata just has the one 💀💀

#btw guys i write these as I think of them so thats why theyre always so disorganized #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hinata shouyou #hinata shoyo #hq hinata #music #spotify #miya atsumu #bokuto koutarou #msby 4 #msby black jackal

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fragilecapric0rnn · 10 months

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🔁 ronance please and thank you 😌

anything for you my louseph friend <3

FINALLY a song that is not sad!!!

relistening to this one and am reminded how fun and chaotic it is and was, once again, metaphorically hit over the head with an idea:

Ronance workplace rivals to friends to lovers AU! if i'm remembering correctly i used this song on a playlist many moons ago for a rivals to friends to lovers au i wrote (and have since orphaned oops)

Set in the political sphere, both working as staffers for the same US Congresswoman, a prolific, controversial member of the House of Representatives. An office known for being nearly impossible to infiltrate.

Nancy, cut-throat workaholic. Constantly burning the candle at both ends, her desk should be considered her first home rather than her actual home. She worked her ass off.

Starting in high school, piloting the high school Democratic club for her high school and then rocketing it up to the most productive high school chapter in the region, regardless of none of the members could vote. Taking undergrad by the balls and squeezing as hard as she possibly could. Scoring internships the summer after her Freshman year and bypassing incoming Seniors that by the time SHE was a Senior she had a better resume than most seasoned political staffers. Three internships on The Hill, two years of being president of her colleges Dem club chapter, staffed over a dozen political campaigns for various Dems across the political spectrum. All while maintaining a 4.0 GPA and writing guest articles for the University's school paper. Nancy Wheeler made name for herself, stepping into her glory as one of the youngest staffers in DC at just 22 years old. Younger than some interns. But carrying herself with the confidence of someone with decades of experience under the belt.

Robin, on the other hand, kinda fell into politics. It was the summer right before her Senior year of high school. An election year. She never paid much attention to politics before this, her parents were hippies, they were obviously liberal. Naturally smart, never having to try that hard to keep her GPA high, but also knowing that they didn't have enough money to send her to college, but made too much money to qualify for a lot of assistance, and she never excelled so well that she earned a full-ride anywhere, community college was the only reasonable option for her. One day, she's packing up her trumpet at the end of band practice, one of the few stragglers in the gym, when people in suits start setting up the gym. In walks the Democratic candidate for her district. Curious, especially when she noticed the line forming outside to hear her speak, she decided to hang around and see what the big deal was.

She was captivated. Big promises fighting for people like her, really like her. Multiple references to her partner, another woman, Robin felt this itch in the back of her skull, spread to the rest of her body. Something more than curiosity, something that motivates her to wait even longer and approach this candidate, arguing with staffers and whoever she needs to, just to get a word in with the candidate.

She ends up fighting with half of her staff, making some sort of impression on the future Congresswoman, who makes time to talk to her. Robin leaves that night with a new passion, and a new (unpaid) position working on the campaign.

Once the election was won, Robin spent most of her time in community college working for the Congresswoman in her district office. Taking night classes and getting involved in the community college's Dem club, but her first priority was to this office.

Politics was a natural arena for Robin. A schmooze by nature, witty and personable, she made the job look easy. No one would know that she spends most of her time in her car, working two jobs to save money and trying to maintain a good GPA to get into the local State College. The Congresswoman made her promise to finish her degree, not get wrapped up in the career path that politics has to offer. And in exchange, she had a position waiting for her in the DC office as soon as she graduated.

Nancy and Robin start in the Congresswoman's office on the same day. Nancy see's Robin as competition. Robin see's Nancy as a stuck-up rich kid with no loyalty. They're at each other's throats. Nancy constantly trying to one up Robin, Robin easily charming the pants off of anyone in her path.

Robin taking work home with her, but Nancy thinking that she's a slacker. Nancy living at her desk, making Robin view her as a show-off.

It all comes to a head during the first campaign event of the election cycle. And it starts and ends at the open bar.

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

#me vs resisting the urge to add another wip to the already gigantic list #i would write a political rivals fiction if only to remind myself how much i do not want to actually work in politics ever again #i knew so many nancy's in my time. i was more of a robin tbh #ronance #ronance ficlet #fic ideas #ask game

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sarahshot1st · 1 year

Text

"Do you want to go see a movie on Saturday?"

Diana frowned, pulling out one earbud, arm resting lazily against the library table.

"A movie?"

Leona stuttered. "Yeah, I mean - it's just, there's a lot of good ones showing right now, you know?"

Diana huffed. "I guess."

"I was planning on going alone, but it's nicer when you have someone to go with." Leona forced a smile, which completely failed to cover up the nervousness she was obviously feeling. Diana had the distinct impression the red-headed jock had planned this interaction out, and that it wasn't going how she had planned.

She decided to be merciful. "Yeah, I know what you mean. At least if the movie sucks, you have someone to shit-talk it with afterwards."

"Right! And if it's good, you can talk about what made you like it."

Diana gave a faint smile. Based on what she knew of Leona, she could likely talk someone's ear off for thirty minutes about a movie she enjoyed. When the brawny athlete got excited about something, it became her entire universe. She reminded Diana of how her History of Religion professor gave lectures, jumping from topic to topic, making connections with whatever else was currently on his mind; only instead it was about Taylor Swift's latest album, or the plot of some anime Leoma had been watching. Diana honestly found it amusing to see that same level of hyperfocus applied to much more light-hearted subjects than the heavy things Dr. Terris discussed - topics like ethnic displacement and conflicts between rival sects.

"I suppose that's a fair point," Diana said, closing her notebook. She had finished studying an hour ago, and had been passing the time doodling on blank pages and listening to her mellow playlist. She could have left, but Leona studied better when she had someone with her. It didn't matter if they talked about the homework or not, having another body present helped Leona stay focused.

"...So? Do you wanna?" Leona's tone was so full of innocent pleading, she might as well have been pointing her index fingers together.

Did she? They had been study partners for two weeks now, and Diana was honestly coming to enjoy Leona's company. Goodness knew she could stand to expand the size of her friend circle. She had become something of a loner at Targon University, with most of the people she knew from high school going off to different schools or starting careers. Having someone to consistently spend time with had proven good for her. But going from "study partners" to "actual hang-out friends" was a big leap. Is that what she wanted?

"Fine," Diana said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. "What do you want to see? I hear the new Scream movie's supposed to be halfway decent."

Leona paled. "I'd … I'd rather not see a horror film. They're not really my thing."

Interesting, Diana thought. The big, tough, jock-girl is squeamish. She filed that information away for later use.

"Well, I'm not that picky. Pick something out and let me know. But Leona?"

"Yes?"

"Let's do Sunday instead of Saturday."

"Okay…" Leona's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Monday's your off-day for practice. I don't have work, and our classes aren't until the afternoon. We can stay out late and sleep in. Thar way, we can dodge the Saturday evening crowd."

Leona nodded. "Good thinking."

Diana shrugged. "I worked at a movie theater during high school. The employees would always fight each other over who got the Sunday shifts because the place was practically dead. The less people going out on dates, the less popcorn there is to clean up afterwards."

She kept her tone of voice completely neutral, avoiding Leona's face by taking a sip of water. When she lowered her Nalgene, however, she saw that the girl's face had turned nearly as red as her hair.

So Leona did consider this to be a date.

Did Diana mind that?

"I'll … I'll pick you up at 7?" Leona asked, hastily packing up her things. Her homework, Diana noted, was only half-finished.

Well, this could prove interesting.

"Sounds like a plan."

#leodia #short fiction #short ficlet #college au #leona is on the football team #diana is majoring in religious studies #adhd leona #bcuz i project my neurodivergencies onto my blorbos #not alluded to here but trans leona #demisexual diana

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cuoredimuschio · 7 months

Text

15 people, 15 questions

tagged by @patchworkgargoyle!! 💚💚

1. are you named after anyone?

my dead name was possibly in honor of my grandmother and great-grandmother, but i 100% named myself after noah czerny (trc) when i was 17 👻

2. when was the last time you cried?

probably yesterday? idk, it happens a lot and my memory's terrible

3. do you have kids?

no. probably never will, whether i want them or not. i'm a little too scared of how easy it is screw up in parenthood

4. what sports do you play/have played?

i played softball from kindergarten through eighth grade, but that last year, i had a coach who benched me for over half of our games and screamed at me during practice in front of the whole team and made me sick to my stomach at just the thought of playing, so i decided i was done with the sport and didn't try out in high school lol

5. do you use sarcasm?

constantly. too much probably. but like, not with strangers usually, and i try to make it pretty obvious if i am being sarcastic

6. what's the first thing you notice about people?

the way they look at me/their expression, maybe? i'm just like. constantly on edge in public and i don't pass super well and also i'm just like. wildly self-conscious, so i'm always like 'okay, let's see, does this random stranger already hate me? 🤔'

7. what's your eye color?

i guess hazel would be most accurate answer. i've always said brown (dishwater brown to quote the midwife who helped deliver me), but it turns out there's actually green in there too and it's just brown around my pupil (a fact i genuinely did not realize until i was like. 17) so....yeah, hazel

8. scary movies or happy endings?

you know i always say i don't like scary movies because i'm very easily spooked, but i'm currently back on my chucky shit (sorry followers, but tis the season) and honestly, i wanna cop out and say both, scary movie with a happy ending.

9. any talents?

the sad thing is, no, i genuinely can't think of a single one. like, all i've got is that i can make a star with a rubber band, but i don't think that's a talent lol

10. where were you born?

ohio, unfortunately :/

11. what are your hobbies?

writing, reading, playing way too much zelda/stardew valley, occasionally knitting, taking walks, crosswords, making niche playlists, listening to the same song on repeat for hours

12. do you have any pets?

i am the proud proprietor of the cutest dog this side of the mississippi, miss ellie rose. (seasonally-appropriate evidence of said cuteness below)

13. how tall are you?

5'4" (and three quarters) #shortkingnation 😔✊

14. favorite subject in school?

english and math!!

15. dream job?

honestly, i have no idea. i've never had very lofty ambitions; when i was a kid, i wanted to be a bus driver or a mail man, and i never really found anything that stoked my soul in the past two decades. trite english major answer here, but i guess maybe working in a library or a bookstore would be nice (i'd say author but girlie, i could never) 🤷‍♂️

no-pressure, zero-obligation tags: @hellfiredemon, @starryeyedjanai, @pizzaqueen, @thefreakandthehair, @cheatghost, @vecnuthy andddd that's about everyone i know, sorry if i double-tagged anyone!!

#tag game #about me #sorry if i tagged anyone that didn't wanna be tagged too #i'm always so scared to tag people lol

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eusuntgratie · 10 months

Note

Look. I know you just did tknp but. More?🔀

Nolan’s hiding in his bed desperate for some quiet after meeting his very loud, very exuberant new roommate and every single member of his extended family. Kevin is nice, super nice, and he’s sure they’ll get along great, but moving across the country and starting college was overwhelming enough without becoming immediately adopted by the world’s loudest family all in the same day. Mrs. Hayes had looked a little heartbroken when he’d turned down going to dinner with them, but Kevin had seemed to get it, giving him a smile and bustling his mom out of the room with promises to take him to breakfast in the morning.

He wants to ignore it when a guy from high school that he’s sort of friends with texts him and invites him to a party, but Madison had made him promise to make an effort to meet people here and lectured him about how the easiest way to do that was to just…say yes to things even when he wanted to say no.

He sighs dramatically and texts back, ‘sure man send the address. can I invite my roommate?’

He texts the info over to Kevin just in case he wants to come out after his family crashes and pulls up his phone to see how far he’ll have to walk.

Nolan finally gets to the little house, set just far enough outside of town to make him consider turning back. He’d texted with Maddie most of the way there, though, and he’d promised he’d go, so he would.

He can hear the music, loud and thumping, as soon as he starts down the driveway. Someone’s puking in a bush by the front door and there’s a half undressed couple making out in the yard. He sighs, and forces himself through the door.

He spends a few minutes trying to find someone he knows before giving up and asking around for a beer. He figures he’ll drink one and head back unless Kevin decides to show up.

The song changes to something filthy he vaguely recognizes, and a couple of girls hop up on a counter to dance. Suddenly, a tiny, dark-haired, shirtless man skids into the kitchen in socks and basketball shorts and a backwards hat, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. His gaze catches on Nolan, who feels like a bug being pulled steadily toward a bug zapper. The guy sings the words like he’s a stripper Nolan’s paid too much money for, gyrating and jumping around, too confident for anyone to notice that he can’t really dance.

He’s small but he’s built, and he’s tan and he’s beautiful and Nolan freezes once he gets close, not sure what to do with his hands or his mouth. Well, he’s got some ideas, but he doesn’t think leading with those will earn him any new friends.

The song finishes and the guy wraps an arm around Nolan’s neck like they’re old friends.

“You alright, buddy?”

Nolan’s brain cycles through several helpful responses: who the fuck are you?, how are you so hot?, I can see your dick through your shorts, would you like a blowjob?

He swallows hard and just says, “yeah.”

“You want a beer?”

Nolan nods and follows helplessly as the guy drags him out of the kitchen and out a door into the backyard.

It’s sticky and hot outside, but the guy doesn’t move away, stays plastered to Nolan’s side until they find the keg. He digs around for a cup and fills it with foamy, cheap beer, handing it to Nolan with a smile.

“I’m TK.”

“Pat,” he says.

TK grins and slings his arm around his neck again.

“Nice to meet you, Pat. You new here?”

“Yeah.”

“Anybody show you around yet?”

“The house? Or campus?”

“I meant the house. But either, I guess.”

“No.”

“Want me to?”

“You can show me anything you want.”

Nolan swallows and stares at the floor. He’s never forward. He can usually barely string three words together in front of anyone he finds attractive, but this guy’s so hot he can’t seem to help it.

TK’s smiles out of one side of his mouth and tugs on his arm.

“C’mon, baby. I’ve got plenty to show you.”

send me a ship and 🔀 and i'll shuffle my playlist and make an au

#anything for you darling #shuffle prompts #tknp #grace writes #hockey rpf

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thewonandonly · 2 years

Text

save your tears — lee minho

bully!minho (stray kids) x afab!reader

genre ;; angst, fluff

word count ;; 13,375 words

warnings ;; high school!au, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers!au, cliché themes, strong language, slice of life(?), mentions of bullying (physical and emotional), ooc!chaeryeong, chaeryeong has a bit of ocd, anxiety mention, depersonalization, anaphylactic shock mention (fish), kick to the jaw (assault), reader has both parents, mother mention, principal/headmaster visit, tense family relationship.

playlist: spotify

Lee Minho. He’s the most popular boy in school: he’s as smart as a whip, as funny as a bumblebee and handsome as if Aphrodite sculpted him from clay herself. Minho had friends all over the school, in different grades and status. The teachers loved him, his peers loved him. Except one — except you. Minho and you have been in the same class since before you two could walk. Once upon a time, you used to be best friends, living in the same neighborhood and playing in the dirt while you chased him with a worm you plucked out. But his interests didn't align with your own anymore and you both drifted apart.

The geeky kid who used to wear thick framed glasses and was deathly afraid of worms and other insects didn't exist anymore. He switched to contacts, around middle school. and he could hold a ladybug, no problem, even chasing the other girls in the class with them. You still remember seeing that sight and feeling left out by him.

By the time the two of you were in high school, the wavelength was completely off — Minho hung out with a big, popular circle, the crowd everyone wanted to be apart of. and you hung out by yourself. With two or three of your friends you made in middle school. You missed him being your right-hand man and vice versa. But, what you missed even more than having him around, was him treating you like any normal person. When he saw you in the hallway, he’d either do three things: 1) he’d stare you down with the blandest look on his face until you got uncomfortable and stared down at your feet, this usually happens if he’s too far away to do anything physical. 2) he’d give you a flat tire, and watch you stumble at the pressure on the back of your shoe. This normally happens when there’s a lot of people around. He’d always give a half-assed smile and apology that you knew wasn’t real. 3) If it was just him and his friends in the hallway, he’d trip you, especially if you have books or you're looking down at your phone. It was something that always made him and a select few of his friends burst out laugh. Because of the stone glossed floor, you’d often get a friction burn, leaving you to return to the nurse’s office characteristically for the sixth time that week. How’d this happen, the male nurse would ask you as he applied anti-inflammatory cream to the burn, and there was always a voice in the back of your head, whispering, he’s only doing this to make his friend’s laugh. And, you believed it. And you’d come up with a totally unbelievable lie, such as “I tripped over my shoelace.” When the white shoelaces were completely clean, or “I tripped over air.” When clumsiness wasn’t something you were plagued with. And the nurse believed you.

You’d find yourself making up pathetic excuses for Minho, when you knew those weren’t the case. Minho would purposefully turn up the heat on your Bunsen burner, so the chemical goes spilling over, or he’s adding an extra five minutes to your egg timer in Home Ec, so the eggs burn. Or, he distracts the teacher to steal your scantron and throw your answers in the trash for a math test. You’d tell yourself, “I accidentally hit the valve,” or, “I accidentally turned up the timer,” or, “It must’ve slipped out.” You’d even relayed those excuses onto your teachers. Something inside you told you that if you keep making these excuses, maybe Minho would return to your side, he’d see how loyal you were and he’d be your best friend again.

The Winter Ball was approaching, and fast. On December 31, the ball would extend past midnight to New Years Day. It was a popular event at your school, one that your classmates prepared months before the day actually came. Girls would reserve their dresses, testing out different foundation and setting powder or spray for the longest wear time, that they could wear from 5:30pm to midnight. Boys reserved their tuxedos and made plans for transportation long before. Couples already decided the matching colors and the corsage and boutonniere to match one another, to recognize one another in a crowd. Single folks often attended, some even finding a date halfway through the night to share a New Year’s kiss. Couples were on the ballots for Winter Court, the equivalent of Prom Queen and Prom King, as well as a write-in area, where you can write in your friends name as a joke. You were excited, you already had a wonderful dress reserved just at the last minute, and your new driver’s license would come in handy at such a time.

Standing in the hallway, you pinned up a Winter Ball poster, smiling at it softly. Being in charge of Winter Ball preparations and advertisement definitely had it’s perks. Sitting on the collapsable chair, you placed out the clipboards with the ballots along them. Submitting your ballots was always encouraged, but they were still able to do it at the ball whenever they wanted, so long as it wasn’t past midnight.

You nodded, standing from the metal chair, “I thought doing something other than adding fake snow everywhere would be better for everyone.” You chuckled softly.

Chaeryeong was your friend that you met in middle school. You both bonded over how much you despised your math teacher that year, and instantly became friends. She was bubbly, and damn near perfect. It was amazing how she decided to go to Winter Ball alone despite all the others asking her out. If you recall, her response was, “I want to enjoy my night with my friend.” Before she connected her arm with yours and walked you both off to the gym where you, her and six others helped to raise the giant christmas tree you got.

“Need any help?” She grabbed a pen and began to scribble down a coiled mark next to a couple’s name, “I can flag people down here.” Placing the pen back in the holder, she folded the page and passed it to you.

“If you’d like to help, that would be appreciated.” You smiled, dropping the ballot into the giant red box beside your seat. “Heaven knows I need it.”

“I got you!” She wrapped her hands around her bags strap and dashed down the hallway, yelling something along the lines of, “Submit your ballots for Winter Ball by the North Entrance.”

Smiling softly, you silently wondered how she didn’t bite her tongue while running. Sitting back down on the seat, you greeted all who submitted a ballot, noticing some even voting for or writing in themself. And when they’d pass you the ballot to drop in the box, you’d pass them a candy cane, bidding them a good day, seeing them smile as they began to suck on it.

You sat there for the remainder of the morning, packing everything back up and hurrying to class once the warning bell rang. You pushed open the door and sat in the classroom for the next three hours, absorbing the information like a sponge.

Lunch arrived quickly. The hallway filled with students, many walking one way or the other.

“Chaeryeong!” You waved to your friend, who stopped in front of you with a bag thrown over her shoulder, “Ready for lunch?”

She nodded, “Yup.” Chaeryeong wrapped her arm with yours, “I hope we get there before the rush.”

“Me too. I really want some of that salad.” You rubbed your stomach, opening the cafeteria doors for your friend and yourself. There was a strong tension in the air — as there was every lunch. The “battlefield” was split in two: Popular folks on one end and the regular folks on the other.

Chaeryeong guided you over to a table by the doors, “What would you define as a popular person?” She mumbled, setting her bag on the table.

You sat there for a moment, digging through your bag to find your wallet, “Someone who's well known. Reputation doesn't matter. Bad publicity is still publicity.” The response was one you thought of a lot. “Although, I don't understand why someone would want to be popular in school. All of that falls away after graduation.” You shrugged, pulling the wallet out, “Found it.” You nodded to Chaeryeong and walked towards the line for lunch.

The doors opened beside your bag and Minho strolled in — Changbin, and Jisung in tow. It was like time stopped inside of the cafeteria while time continued to tick on the outside.

“Here comes those bastards.” Chaeryeong whispered, leaning against the wall as she picked at the chipped nail polish on her fingernails.

Nodding stiffly, you watched them as they walked across the room and sat at the table they regularly sat at. Minho sat beside Irene, his girlfriend for four months — who also happened to be one of your best friends in the past — and kissed her cheek, a goofy smile crossing his lips. And you couldn't help the small smile that stretched your lips once you saw his silly one, looking away.

Chaeryeong looked at you, “Are you okay? What are you smiling at?”

Really, there wasn't anything wrong with wanting your ex-best friend to be happy after your crazy adventures come to a stop, and you wanted to say so, but all that got past your lips was “Thought of something funny.” Chaeryeong and you grabbed your lunches, much to your dismay, the salads were all gone, so you grabbed something small — a chicken burger. When the lunch lady rang you up, and you both paid, you returned to your table, sitting down.

On what, you asked yourself. Standing up, you noticed the entire back of your skirt covered in chocolate, a crushed brownie on the seat. You went red in the cheeks, dizzy in the head.

“What? What’s wrong?” Chaeryeong leaned across and looked at the seat, gasping, “They put an entire lava cake brownie on your seat!”

You quaked, “Chaeryeong, do you have a coat I can borrow?” Your teeth were clenched.

As much as you made excuses for your former friend, it was nerve wracking for it to happen so often.

Chaeryeong pulled out a blue sweater, and you quickly tied it around your waist, “I’ll be back.” You mumbled and walked out of the cafeteria, your eyes glancing back at Minho across the room, watching everything happening.

You gave him a blunt smile, and stalked your way to the office. Pushing open the door, you shyly asked for a new skirt to replace the one you had on.

The receptionist was always kind, and she pulled out a replacement skirt, “What happened to the one you’re wearing now?” She asked sweetly.

No more excuses, you thought to yourself, It's time to stand up for yourself, clearing your throat, you shrugged, “Lee Minho. He’s been tormenting me for years.”

“Is that so? Lee Minho is always so sweet. It couldn't be him.” The receptionist shrugged as she typed away on the computer, “Are you sure it isn't someone else? You know, boys are mean to girls they like. It couldn't be Lee Minho, do you have any proof?”

You stood there, gaping: Proof? Other than the last four years of my life? Opening your wallet in a huff, you grumbled out a “how much is it?” Only for the receptionist to pass a receipt across the counter and advise you to visit the bookkeeper — who was all the way on the other side of campus.

Holding in a groan until you exit the office, you go to the restroom and quickly change your skirt, wincing at the brownie staining the fabric of your other. You take a look in the mirror, wetting a paper towel and clean off as much as you can of the brownie on the back of your thighs.

You took a moment to look yourself in the mirror. As much as you loved Minho, he was like a brother to you, this was a breach of your brother-from-another-mother, sister-from-another-mister contract. Sure, brothers prank their sisters, but was it really this bad? Wasn't this just hatred? You felt your eyes water as you looked at yourself deeper. There was cinched hair from the time Minho turned on the Bunsen burner without you knowing — that was a dark day. Emotional turmoil from all the teacher visits and calls, meaning your mother would corner you and ask why your grades were so bad. Your legs were bruised and tattered to how often you were tripped. You had stitches on your chin from the one time you busted said chin from being tripped. No one except Chaeryeong visited.

By the time you finished examining yourself in the mirror, you hated yourself too. The girl you knew would've been brave and told Minho what she actually thought, what she actually wanted to say. But, you’ve curled back into a shell, one you didn't know you had. Irene had left Chaeryeong and you, who’s to say Chaeryeong wouldn't leave you either?

Folding the skirt with a sniff and throwing the jacket over your arm, you headed towards the bookkeeper, paying the 15 dollars for the skirt and back to the cafeteria. There was a whisper among the air and you felt out of place.

Chaeryeong squatted on the ground, wiping the seat off with a napkin, “Welcome back.” She smiled.

“Hi.” You nodded, “I’ll wash this for you.” You lifted the coat, swinging it.

“Alright.” She hummed, “How much was the skirt?”

“15 dollars.” You sat on the seat beside the chocolate violated seat, digging in your backpack to pull out a piece of paper.

“That makes it one… hundred and 3 dollars, 65 cents.” She nodded.

Normally, keeping track of your expenses wasn't something you did — you didn't take money as seriously as you should — but the list you had was all from that month. With how often these pranks frequent, you decided to keep track of all the expenses that you spend and lose, considering you get paid once every two weeks. And when you and Minho get close again, you’d hang this debt over his head for however long it takes him to pay it off, either through payment or deeds.

“Do you know how much it would be as a total?” You tapped the pen against your chin.

Chaeryeong looked up, thinking for a moment. You could see the gears grind in her head as she calculated the difference, “In the last four years, five hundred 36 dollars and 12 cents.”

You clicked your tongue and scribbled the total. “He’s going over the average this month.” You clicked the pen closed and put the paper back into it’s safe space. “Ah, I don't even want to eat now. Who knows what they did while I was away?”

“They didn't do anything. You should eat.” She threw away the napkin, grabbed another and applied water to scrub it, “It's not like I’d let them do anything anyhow.”

“Thank you.” You ignored the feeling in your gut and pulled your tray towards yourself and began to eat the burger, a mouthful of seafood filling your nose. You spit the food out, and gaped, “There's fish in this.”

“Huh?”

“There's fish in my burger. My chicken burger.” You wiped your hands on your own napkin, “I thought you said they didn't do anything to my food.”

“They didn't.”

“How long have you been cleaning?” You looked at her, “Did you leave at all?” You questioned Chaeryeong, who sat on her knees as she began to scritch at the brownie in the crevices of the seat.

“Well,” she began, “Ever since you left the seat, I started cleaning it. And I only left to get napkins. But it's right there!” She defended herself, pointing at the despenser. “I didn't see them at all!”

“Chaeryeong.” You groaned, “Did you turn away from the table at any point?”

“Some of the napkins got stuck so I turned around for a second but I turned right back!”

You curled your fingers into your hair, pushing the meal away, “Great. Now my lunch is ruined, I lost 18 dollars today.” You grabbed the slip of paper again, scribbling down the added 3 dollars.

Chaeryeong looked down, “I’m sorry. I really tried to watch it.”

You turned towards her, shaking your head, “No. It's not your fault. If they just acted like decent people, this wouldn't have happened.” You patted her head, “I know how you get with cleaning.” You smiled at her, “I think the school should start paying you instead of the janitor.”

“They should, shouldn't they?”

The long, and very traumatic, lunch ended and you grabbed your bag, “Come on. Let's go to class.” You gripped the tray and threw the trash away. Your hands felt numb, so you buried them under your shirt, tugging at your collar, “It's hot.”

“Are you kidding? It's 32 degrees out.” She shivered, “How are you hot?” Chaeryeong looked over at you, “Hey, Y/N, you’re sweating like crazy. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You wheezed, “I feel fine.”

Chaeryeong stood there for a second, before her face dropped, “Oh, shit.” She whispered.

It felt like air was becoming scarce. Like you have to be careful with every breath you take. You had cottonmouth, and it was hard to swallow. You felt dizzy.

“Shit!” Chaeryeong dragged you along to the nurse’s office, “Are you okay, Y/N? Do you have your EpiPen?”

You nodded, “In my bag.” You talked past your swelling tongue as she brought you into the nurse’s office.

“Why didn't you say she was allergic to seafood!” A voice whispered to Minho.

He looked at the two anxiously, “I didn't know!” He mumbled, “She didn't have that when we were kids.” He turned to Irene, “You should’ve told me.”

“I thought you knew!” She defended, “Why do you even bother bullying her anymore? It's no fun.” Irene grumbled, burying her face into the scarf.

Jisung’s hand clenched his hair, the beanie on his head flying up, “Oh, god. She’s gonna die and we’re gonna be murderers! She’s gonna die.”

“She’s not gonna die. You're so overdramatic.” Changbin mumbled, “They’re heading to the nurse's office now. They should be able to give her the EpiPen.”

“Let's just go.” Irene began to walk off, Changbin and Jisung following, Minho trailing on after a gaze at the two entering the office.

After the uncomfortable few moments where you couldn't breathe, talk or think, the swelling of your tongue was going down, your airways began to return to normal and the sweat disappeared. You laid on the bed in the nurse's office, staring at the ceiling.

Chaeryeong sat on a chair, looking at you, “I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“Not your fault.” You chuckled, “It's good to go into anaphylactic shock every once in a while. You know, for my immune system?”

Chaeryeong gave you a look, “This isn't time to be joking! Imagine what would've happened if you didn't have your EpiPen on you!”

“I always have my EpiPen on me.” You rolled your eyes, rolling onto your side, “You should get to class. I’ll be there soon.” You nodded at her.

“Are you sure?” She asked warily.

“Yes. Go.” You nodded.

Chaeryeong grabbed her bag at her side and zipped up her coat, “I’ll see you at Winter Ball prep.”

“Bye.” You waved, and returned to lay on your back.

Had it really been so long that Minho forgot about my seafood allergy, you questioned, It's only been 4 years.

The door was pushed open, and you lifted your head to glance at whoever walked inside.

But, when you speak of the devil, he shall appear. And the devil oddly looked like Minho. He nodded to the nurse and even held his stomach in faux pain, walking stiffly over to the bed next to you.

The nurse left the room not a second later. And Minho, who not even laid down an entire two seconds ago, sat up and walked around to your bed, sitting on the edge.

You had a certain anxiety boil in your chest as soon as he entered the room, and there was a settling tension that could easily be cut with a knife. You were sure something was coming, yet you weren't sure what.

“How ya feeling?” He asked softly, as if he wasn't the cause for the anaphylactic shock you experienced, probably the worst one of your life.

It came crashing over you like a wave: the anger, the frustration and the second pair of eyes you had on your back. Why you? Why were you his sole target? Why was he like this in the first place? What happened to him that made him a cruel, even bully?

Minho dedicated his four years of high school to making your life a living hell. What he didn't expect was you to retaliate. And he definitely didn't expect you to kick his ass.

After such a dumb and idiotic prank he pulled, you were in the nurse’s office, resting on the bed, and you knew, before Minho could even get comfortable and apologize for the torment he inflicted upon you, you met your foot to his face, sending him to the ground. The anxiety and panic you were plagued with seemed to leave your body the second you saw him.

You glared down at him, your eyes sharped and curled with your fists, “You messed with the wrong person, dickhead.” It slipped past your lips like velvet, and you didn't even recognize your own voice.

Minho rubbed his cheek where your foot met, and looked up at you, “What are you gonna do?”

“I don't know yet. But all I know is that I was made for this.” You leaned forward, your eyebrows creasing, “When i speak about everything you've done, you should know my words are true. The school, no — the world — will know of what you’ve done.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed, and he stood up. He was a bit taller than you, but you could still look him in the eyes, “You think just because one person says something they’ll believe it?”

“It's not one person. It's two — three if i can convince Irene.” You crossed your arms, “You aren't the only one who’s sly, Minho.”

Minho chuckled softly, his tongue prodding at his cheek, “Clearly.”

You noticed his cheek swelling as he ran his hand over it, “You’ve bullied me for the last time, Lee Minho.” The declaration was bold, strong and Minho clearly stood there, shook to his core.

You’ve always been one to avoid conflict, Minho noted, but this was an entirely new Y/N, one he has never seen. It confused him, on how the same girl at the beginning of their high school career who easily calmed down two boys before they threw fists at one another could have kicked him in the jaw just a second ago.

With your fists curled and Minho holding his swollen cheek, the sight before anyone could clearly show the relationship you had with the boy across from you.

“What is going on here?” The nurse called, his feet shoulder length apart, clearly upset and examining the situation, “Miss Y/N, did you injure Minho?” He approached and you stepped away, your anger settling as anxiety filled you. You stammered, trying to come up with a proper excuse, but all that could come out was a small “he started it.”

The nurse checked Minho’s cheek, giving the boy an ice pack, looking at you with shifty eyes, “This could get you in serious trouble, Miss Y/N.”

And it did. The nurse sent you to the office, making a call to the secretary, who called your own mother. Sitting in the office, bouncing your leg as you took in a deep breath, already holding back tears. You seriously messed up, you really, really, really, messed up. Being on thin ice with your parents was already dangerous, but when they find out you physically assaulted a boy — Not just any boy, your childhood friend and neighbor — You’d be in bigger trouble than you thought. You’d be dead. You shouldn’t be here in the office after 4 years of torment from Lee Minho, after 4 years of anxiety in your chest when you passed him in the hallway, and 4 years of absolute hatred. Your high school years were destroyed because of one person, the one person who knew all your weaknesses, the one person you trusted to keep those hidden. And yet, no one believed you enough to say whether or not he did destroy your highschool years.

The office door opened and your mother walked in, the lines already settling into her face as she looked over at you, disappointment evident in her eyes. You could feel it radiating off of her. Burying your head in your hands, you sighed, feeling tears well in your eyes.

“Mrs. L/N, thank you for coming.” The receptionist greeted, “Principal Jung will be right with you.” Looking over at you, the receptionist sighed, “This is the second time she’s been in here. She came in blathering about Lee Minho and him taunting her.”

Your mother didn't say anything, and turned to look at you as well.

You shifted uncomfortably in the chair feeling their eyes on you. Please, stop looking, you whined to yourself.

The receptionist continued, “I told her that's not possible. He's such a sweet student and he's so smart.”

Humming, your mother began to sign the visitor list, “Yes, I know. We've been close to the Lee family for years. It's hard to believe an absurd rumor like that.” She smiled stiffly at the receptionist, moving to sit beside you, her legs crossed and arms across her chest, “Get all your excuses out now.”

You looked at your mother, eyes red and your lips almost purple from the previous anaphylactic shock you went through, “Excuses?” You almost glared, “You think I’m lying about this? You think I’m lying?”

“What would Minho gain from taunting you?”

“He’s not just taunting me, Mom. He's tormenting me.” Your voice cracked, your emotions pulling through like sled dogs dragging a musher through the snow, “He has been for 4 years.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I don't know what he’d gain. But, whatever it is, he really wants it.” You crossed your arms, the anger bubbling with every second.

“Mrs. L/N, it's a pleasure to see you again. Although, we're here for an entirely different reason rather than a citizenship award.” Principal Jung greeted your mother, giving you a look, “Follow me along to my office.”

Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you followed behind both adults.

The principal's office was right behind the receptionist’s desk, two seats in front of her desk, “Now, let's get into the situation. Miss Y/N here assaulted Mr. Minho when he was visiting the nurse’s office for a stomach cramp.” She used the mouse to click on the computer, going through the emails from the nurse. “There are two sides of every story, and I’d love to hear Miss Y/N’s.”

You took in a deep breath, going over the last 4 years of your educational career: The physical abuse, the emotional torture. Spreading weird rumors about you, tripping you in the hall. Strategically hiding seafood in a chicken burger and causing you to go into the worst anaphylactic shock you’ve experienced. You even pulled out the 10 pages filled with wasted money and the exact cause behind them. Tattered skirt — Minho found a stray string and let you walk until the skirt was much shorter than the requirement in your second year. $15.25. School supplies — Minho and Changbin stole them and dumped them in the upstairs boy's bathroom, not only causing you to lose the Summer final study guide of your first year, but also causing a giant flooding to close off the bathroom, both upstairs and downstairs (due to water damage above a stall). $120, not including the fifty dollars of ink you had to buy to reprint the study guide. And you couldn't forget the unreplaceable earrings you received from Chaeryeong on your birthday that you wore to school, only for Minho to kick a soccer ball a bit too hard right into your face, the earring tearing through your lobe, leaving an unforgiving scar and bloody nose.

In every retelling, you could recall your mother's not so subtle eye roll or scoff. Although she didn't believe it, you could see the principal nod her head as she half-listened.

“Although, this may be true, we have zero tolerance for physical altercations. We have zero evidence that this may be true, but we have evidence that you did assault Minho.”

“What?”

“Due to this, we're going to place you on a two day suspension and your tickets to the Winter Ball be refused at the door. I’m afraid your citizenship award will also be revoked, due to this behavior.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but you should've thought about this before you hurt one of your fellow classmates.” She typed away on the computer, “Unless you can gather witnesses, these are the terms.”

“Call in Lee Chaeryeong in class 4-C. She can vouch for me!” You looked at the woman across the desk, in disbelief this was happening.

Your mother scoffed, “Chaeryeong is your best friend, who’s to say that she won't cover for you?”

Your brows were frustratedly furrowed together, your anger seeping over, “This is ridiculous.” You sighed.

“If you had been tormented for so many years, why didn't you let someone know sooner?”

“Because my mother clearly doesn't believe me. Who knows what my dad thinks? This school is protecting him, and I, as the victim, get two day suspension and I’m unable to attend the Winter Ball.”

“I think that's all for now.” Your mother stood up, “Thank you for your time, Principal Jung. I apologize for my daughter's negligence.” She bowed deeply, “Let's go, Y/N.” She wandered over to the door and opened it for you.

You grabbed your bag, dragging it in your hand and out the office doors, stomping your way to the passenger door of the car.

You have never felt so… so angry, so disrespected and so abused.

You had every single right to be upset at your mother, at the school, and at Minho. None of this would have happened if the… fucker just told you what his issue was with you.

Every single memory in your mind of him suddenly burnt up in the fictional flame, his face scratched out like a lottery ticket and torn up like a cat using a scratching post. When your mother unlocked the door, you pulled open the passenger door with all your might, you were sure that the door was going to fly off.

She climbed in just after you, setting her purse on the jockey box, “I can't believe you would make up such a rumor like that.” She scolded, “And that fake list.”

“Make up? Rumor?” You had to pull back your voice, “You think I wanted to blow all my money on 16 different skirts in my school years? That I wanted to spend 536 dollars and 12 cents?I don't even get that much on my paycheck, Mom!”

“Cut the bullshit.” Her voice was different than when she was speaking to the Principal and the receptionist. No, she was furious, but her fury could never match yours, “When we get home, you’re going to apologize to the Lee family for what you did.”

“No. I’m not apologizing to him.” You glared, “I’m not. Why should I apologize for finally sticking up for myself? Why should I apologize for going into anaphylactic shock when they're the ones who put seafood in my chicken burger!”

“You are going to.” She turned on the car, pulling out of the parking spot, “Two day suspension. What would your father say?”

“Probably the same thing you did.” You mumbled, staring out the window with your hand against your head, “I should've never said anything.” You whispered more to yourself than anyone, but your mother still heard you, although not paying any mind.

The neighborhood you lived in wasn't as lively as it used to be. It became one that a lot of older people moved into due to the quiet nature and lack of foot traffic. Stray animals often wandered through to find comfort for the evening. Parking in the driveway, before your mother could even turn off the car, you exited the vehicle and entered the house, kicking off your shoes and stomped up to your room. You pushed open the door, throwing your bag onto the floor.

Your window was open, which ironically peered into Minho’s room.

Sitting on your bed, you recalled staying up way past your bedtime with him to communicate through stringed cups and drawings on your notepads. And up until 4 years ago, he used to throw rocks from his succulent planter at your window in the middle of the night if he was having a particular hard time sleeping. But now, you look at the window with anger, disdain. You hated it. You hated him.

Grabbing the string to the blinds, you gave one final look into the room, Minho asleep on his bed (as he got picked up early from school due to the situation) and shut the blinds, that your mother opened for an unknown reason.

Your phone chimed, and you glanced at it, seeing a text from Chaeryeong, asking what the verdict was. Giving a brief synopsis, you opened your laptop, and typed in the social media handle, his social media handle. You had followed him on social media up until this exact moment for the same reason you were unfollowing him: an impossible change of heart. You wanted to keep him on your close friends list in case he had come to the realization that you were a catch, that you were a good friend. But now, you know it wasn't possible.

You and Chaeryeong kept the text thread going up until it was time for her to give up her phone to her parents.

You leaned back in your desk chair, sighing softly.

Two day suspension, you thought, Couldn't be so bad. Sure, it goes on my record, but, it's like a break, isn't it? You nodded to yourself, already enjoying the time to yourself.

Who needs a shitty Winter Ball when I can have my own in my room?

The thoughts you had varied. You were home, alone, for 2 days. You were excited. Then you got upset as your suspension ended the day before the ball, and you already had everything you needed for the evening. Then angry again. And you could have had more time to gather your thoughts and emotions and really understand them, if it wasn't for the tapping on your window.

You jumped when you first heard it. And you even began to wonder if it was raining. Rolling your chair to the window, you opened the blinds.

The person you definitely didn't want to see even if the world was ending sat across from your window, his cheek significantly less swollen and dropped the rocks back into the planter. Grabbing the notepad beside him, he showed it to you.

“What happened? Like you care.” You scoffed to yourself, and grabbed your own to scribble down a straightforward message, tearing off a piece of tape to tape it onto the window.

Minho chuckled, “I hate you, huh? How cliché.”

You closed the blinds again, leaving the paper there before turning back to your laptop.

You’d be receiving work from your teacher's, and you were sure that the work sent would be harder, considering you're going to miss 2 days worth of lessons.

The world could send what it wanted at you, you were ready to look at the face of it all with unwavering strength. After all, if you learned anything in your mythology class, it's that Icarus laughed as he fell.

You slept in late the next morning, only for your mother to wake you up with the pull of the blinds string. You haven't spoken to her since you were in the car with her, so you just sat up without any repercussions.

Rubbing your eyes with your hand, you caught sight of the paper still taped to the window, chuckling to yourself.

Minho pulled on a sweater, still dressed in his pajamas, holding an ice pack against his cheek and eye with one hand as he scrolled through his phone with the other. You couldn't help but smile to yourself.

You remember that sweater — You had bought it for him in eighth grade. He was upset that everyone was getting something from the aquarium gift shop, so you decided to give it to him, yourself settling for a small plush of a penguin. He loved it when you gave it to him. He didn't take it off for a month.

You could see the imaginary torn, burned and scratched out memory reappear in your mind, and your smile was ripped away from your face.

No, no, you hate him, you shook your head, running your fingers through your hair.

A soft chime.

Minho: You’re staring.

The message was all you needed to stand up and close the blinds, making your way to the bathroom. There were three or four chimes from your phone and you noted to yourself that you’ll check them when you got back, at least one of them should be from Chaeryeong.

Drying your hands off after using the restroom and brushing your teeth, you tapped your phone screen, four obnoxious messages covering your screen, all from Minho.

Minho: Don't close the blinds.

Minho: I hope you know I’m sorry.

Minho: I really don't have an explanation for what I did.

Minho: What if I told you I could get you into the Winter Ball.

Now that sounded interesting.

Y/N: Tell me.

Minho: On one condition, you go with me like nothing happened.

You clicked your tongue, furrowing your brows and locked your phone.

Y/N: I’d rather be dragged through every layer of Dante’s Inferno and rot.

Typing in the password to your laptop, you opened your email, finding over 15 emails from your teachers — why they sent so many assignments, you’d never know.

Although you tried to ignore the devil next door, the text message showed up in the notification bar on your laptop.

Minho: Alright. You don't have to go with me. And you can still hold your grudge for me. You can hang it over my head for however many years.

Clicking the “x” hovering over the message, another one chimed through.

Minho: If you come to the gymnasium at 6:30, I’ll let you in through the back door.

“X”

Minho: You don't deserve to have your Winter Ball torn away from you because Principal Jung didn't believe you.

“X”

Minho: I’m sorry, for what it's worth. I hope we can be friends again.

That’s it, you clicked the message, typing out a long message as follows: “Your apology as it is now means jackshit to me. For the entirety of my high school year, I had to live in fear of you. Nothing can make up for that, except perhaps for the 530 dollars you owe me in expenses. Friendship comes at an expensive price with me, and you threw it away as if it was worthless. If you want me to forgive you, admitting to what you did and taking the proper punishment for it might fit well. Until you grow a pair, do not talk to me, do not text me, and definitely do not throw rocks at my window.”

You were pretty proud with the message, and you turned back to your work, thoughtlessly scribbling down the notes shared with you, and completed the online work assigned.

And when the 15 assignments of the day were finished, you settled down on your bed, your thoughts finally returning to your head. He wants to be friends again, you couldn't ignore the gentle smile crossing your lips, before you shook it off. That ship sailed just yesterday, you reminded yourself. But no matter how many times you shook it off, it kept returning to your face.

He really wants to be friends again.

It repeated in your head, and no matter how many you tried to make it stop, it wouldn't. It stuck to you like glue, and you rolled around onto your bed, burying your idiotic smile into the pillow, glancing at the window.

You waited 4 years for this, for him to finally admit that he wanted to be friends again. And although you were in the position you were in now, you felt like maybe that's what tipped the iceberg. Maybe he caused all these problems just for you to fight back, for you to prove yourself.

“Y/N, dinner's ready.” Your father knocked.

It was the only time he actually spoke to you since yesterday, and it was three words. Standing up from your bed, and headed down the stairs.

I wonder what's for dinner, you thought, Probably steak again. Dad always—

Getting pulled from your thoughts, you noticed three extra pairs of eyes on you: the Lee family.

Cursing to yourself, you rubbed your head, greeting the family, giving Minho a sideways glance.

“I considered since you weren't going to go over, I’d ask them to dinner here.” Your mother sat at the head of the table, your father at the other end. Minho and you were seated next to each other with his parents straight across from you two.

It was nerve wracking. Tension was high and clearly uncomfortable for everyone.

Despite you being dressed in your pajamas — short shorts and a sweater — you did assault the boy beside you, and his parents watched you like a hawk. Every move you made, they analyzed it and watched. Every bite into the food, every breath, or every shiver. You felt imprisoned in your own home.

Your mother set her chopsticks down, turning to look at you, “Don't you have something to say?” She picked up the wine glass, filled with what you assumed was chardonnay, and took a small sip.

You shrugged gently, “Are you going to believe it if I say it?”

“Depends on what you're going to say.”

You sighed, “Alright.” Setting your own chopsticks down, you smiled at the Lee family across from you, “Your son has been tormenting me for 4 years.” Looking at your mother, you pretended to feign innocence, “Is that all?”

“How dare you?” Your mother glared at you.

Minho cleared his throat, “If I may,” He smiled gently, wiping his face with his napkin, “Mrs. L/N, I appreciate the sentiment, but she isn't lying.” He mumbled.

The entire table's mouth gaped — including your mother's, who had a strong sense of pride in him being innocent. You began to pick around your food, eating whatever didn't seem too tough for you.

Minho began to explain, although you weren't really listening. And when he finished, he looked at you with his black and blue eye, almost as if he was asking for your opinion.

You shook your head, going right back to eating your meal.

“I think…” Your father started, “we own you an apology, Y/N.” He mumbled, so desperately upset he had even doubted your word.

Wiping your mouth, you stood up, “It's okay.” And left the table, walking back up the steps to your bedroom.

Minho thought this was his redemption arc, but you wanted the school to see him as he was. A conniving, self centered bully.

Pulling down the sheets to your bed, you shut your blinds and laid down to sleep the next day away.

Downstairs, your mother and father awkwardly excused the table, collecting the plates and seeing the family out. They entered the house doubting every word you said, only to leave doubting everything their own son said.

Their own son. The one they raised to be a perfect gentleman, the one they raised to treat everyone with respect no matter what.

When they arrived to the house next door, they sent the boy up to his room and informed him they’d be up there to talk to him in a moment. Obeying, Minho entered his bedroom, opening the window, only to see your blinds still closed, the reminder taped to your window.

I hate you, it read in your handwriting. And who was he to blame you? Because of what he did, he was facing the consequences. And he didn't realize how much he ruined the relationship you two had, all because he thought he was better than you.

The two of you were on the same level: academically and socially, once upon a time. And he was aware that every family compares the child to their friends, because they never see the real them.

But with his parents, it was the same conversation with everything: “Why can’t you be more like Y/N?” or “Why can't you do this like Y/N can?” They’d ask how you were doing before their own son. You were like their second child. They saw you in all your glory.

And he was sick of being compared to that glory. That's when he began to sneakily throw your test scantrons into the trash, or when he began to spread those disgusting rumors about you. He did all that out of envy. Of anger.

He understood the anger you felt when your parents wrongfully accused you of lying about what was happening. He wanted you to feel how he felt it.

But, with that, you had an award you worked hard for ripped from your grasp, suspension for assault listed on your permanent record, and of course, your Winter Ball stolen from you.

Sitting at his desk while his father scolded him, he noticed his mother taking his electronics: his cell phone and his gaming consoles. She left the laptop, but only after explaining that the only things open to him was school websites and everything was blocked.

They were disappointed in him once again.

He knew it wasn't enough for him to just admit it to his parents. He picked that up during dinner when you so much as gave him a glance. He’d have to do more. A lot more.

And he had just the plan.

The next day, despite your plan to sleep in, you woke up as if it was every other day and got to work on the assignment given by your teachers. It wasn't as bad as the day before, but it was still a lot. You went to bed without dinner that night.

You haven't spoken to Minho, however, you did relay his plan over to Chaeryeong, who agreed to help you. You both tried to come up with a convincing lie for your parents and you decided to say that Chaeryeong wasn't going, which leads to Chaeryeong sending you photos of her working on fake assignments, which makes you question what she's been doing for her having such good photos like those.

And when the Winter Ball D-Day arrived, you returned to school like it was nothing. The hallways were decorated with snowflakes and candy canes, groups chattering about how excited they were, what they were wearing and what they’d be arriving in. Although you were sneaking in, you felt left out. You didn't have anything exciting to converse with them.

“Vote for Winter Court! Last few hours before the box closes until this evening.” A voice called in the hallway, and you peeked down to see Irene waving the flyers around, stopping the passers to ask them to vote if they haven't.

Chaeryeong stopped beside you, “I didn't think I’d see that on the day of.” She held her bag straps, “Must be Winter Ball fever.”

Shrugging, you tightened your own bag straps, “Someone had to take over. I guess she was just the next best thing.”

“How do you like the decorations? I think we did a good job.”

Looking across the ceiling, you nodded, “It looks great.”

“I tried to stick as close to the plans as possible. And, I even volunteered to clean up after the ball ends.” She changed her shoes and followed you in, “Did you tell your parents what we decided on?”

“Yeah, they said it's fine.” You nodded, “They’ve been lenient since Minho fessed up.”

“I can't believe he did that.” Chaeryeong crossed her arms, pulling a face, “He should’ve done it sooner!” She threw her arms in the air, her brows furrowed.

Walking down the hall, Irene stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You jumped back, “Hi, Irene.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you're okay.” She hugged you tightly, smiling softly, “I didn't know how to react when you went into shock like that!”

You chuckled nervously, “Yeah…”

“Everyone's been talking about you!” Her eyes sparkled, “They're all happy someone finally stood up to Minho.”

“Alright. Back away from Y/N.” Chaeryeong had to lead her back to the table, “You can talk to her all you’d like after the Winter Ball.”

“Oh, did you vote, Chaeryeong? They added someone new onto the ballot.” Irene smiled.

“Yes, I did.” She patted the other girls head, “I’ll see you later.” Nodding to you, you both continued down the hallway until you reached the classroom.

“See you after school.” You and Chaeryeong shared your secret handshake before you both walked off to your respective classes.

It was so odd. When you sat down in class, everyone began to whisper, but it wasn't because of your tattered skirt, or the bandage around your head for the torn earlobe, or for your tear stained cheeks.

It was for how courageous you were to stand up to someone so cruel like Minho, how you were so brave.

Looking behind you, the small group of three: Minho, Jisung and Changbin — watched as the group gathered around your desk, as if you weren't invisible anymore. Awkwardly taking your seat, you smiled, the teacher stepping in just in time as you were getting claustrophobic.

And the entire day was like that. A relaxing class, a stressful passing period. Hell, they even gathered around you at lunch, while you ate the turkey sandwich your mother made you. They watched you like a hawk.

“So, are you going to the Winter Ball?” One of them asked.

You responded with a stiff, “No, I got banned.”

And then that gave the group something to chatter about: Banned? For kicking someone in the jaw? Banned? For sticking up for yourself? It looped around, making you question how the word got around school.

You finished your meal while they all questioned the school's moral compass, and you stood up to throw out the trash you collected from your box. And once the final bell rang, you sat back in your seat, cleaning up your desk to finish your studies for the day.

Dismissal from school was so much more odd: Some students decided to hang back in order to get ready, already finding themselves burrowing into the bathroom to stare into the mirror for the next 45 minutes while they patted on makeup and pulled on their dress.

Your two day suspension made you realize something. Teenagers hold physical experiences so much higher than the other kinds. They always think back to parties or dances and hold it up on a pedestal. Meanwhile, they have perfectly fun moments at home, yet they're decreased to nothing but a passing thought. If it wasn't for the 105 dollar collateral you placed on the dress for this evening, you would have to agree with your thoughts, but for now, you’d have to dance the night away like there was no tomorrow.

Chaeryeong stood beside your car, scrolling through her phone screen as she looked around for you. And when she saw you, she waved and smiled.

Unlocking the door, you sat down in the driver's seat with her in the passenger’s seat.

“So, good news.” She smiled, “Someone offered to help us tonight.”

“Who?” You started the car, buckling in your seatbelt.

“Let's just say that they're someone we haven't entirely enjoyed for the last 4 months, and that they just wanna make it up to us.”

You paused, turning to look at Chaeryeong. You would've been surprised at the girl who approached the window, if it would have been on your side, but instead, Irene gave a hearty “boo” through the window, Chaeryeong rolling down the window with narrowed eyes.

Irene pulled a face before she climbed into the backseat, “Hello.”

You smiled at her, “Finally joining the right side of history?”

“It's always good to do a little flip flopping now and then.” She shrugged, setting her bag down on the floor.

Chaeryeong looked at you, “Alright, so what's the plan?”

“You both walk in there like it's just you two, showing your tickets and everything. I’ll park my car at the park behind the school and sneak onto campus through the gate after 20 minutes, at 6:50. I’ll knock on the back door 5 times, and Chaeryeong, you open the door when you think the coast is clear.” Pulling out of the driveway, you drove towards Chaeryeong’s house, “That's pretty much it.”

“It feels like we're in a spy movie!”

Chaeryeong turned to look at the girl in the backseat, “What made you change your mind?”

“Well, I always knew Minho didn't like me around. And he just wanted to hit Y/N where it hurts.” She played with her fingernails, “I’m sorry I left you guys. If I’m being honest, spending time with those three is stressful! They're so dirty.”

You looked in the rearview mirror, smiling at Irene softly, “It's all cool, Irene. Everyone wants a taste of popular life.”

Pulling up to Chaeryeong’s house, the three of you grabbed your things and climbed out of the car. You had your dress thrown over your arm and your backpack hanging off your shoulder.

The scene of entering her home, too excited to greet her family and preparing for the night with gentle music in the background felt exactly like a 80’s movie. Scene-for-scene, Irene getting dressed in the closet as she chattered with Chaeryeong about what type of music she hoped they’d play and if she’d find the perfect person to dance to a slow song with. Chaeryeong pulled on her own dress, dusting a gentle blush on the apples of her cheeks and her nose, looking at you, who was nearly bending over backwards to tie the upper corset of the dress.

“Y/N, come sit down! Let me do your makeup!” She smiled, patting her bed, crossing her legs on the vanity chair.

“I don't know…” You mumble, “Last time you did my makeup for an outing, you made me look like that dragon from Shrek.” You laughed, teasing the girl.

Chaeryeong sputtered, “Fine, I promise I won't make you look like the dragon from Shrek, or any other freaky characters or whatever.” She patted the bed again.

You sat down, anxiously fidgeting with the skirt, going over the plan once more, including collateral damage in case a teacher is suspecting something, before you finally voiced your anxiety, “What if this is all a hoax?”

“What do you mean?” Irene swiped the lip gloss across her lips, popping them twice and cleaning the edge with her finger.

“With Minho.” You mumbled, “What if he tipped off the principal about what I’m doing?”

Chaeryeong shook her head, “We won't let that happen, Y/N.” She lined your lips slowly, “That's what Irene and I are here for.”

Irene settled behind you, gently brushing your hair back with her fingers, “I won't let Principal Jung get close to you.”

Chaeryeong smiled softly, “There. Makeup's all done. Irene’s doing your hair. And we still have 40 minutes left to spare. We can get pictures and everything done then.”

You smiled gently, “Even if I don't get to go in, I’m happy I could have this experience with you two again.”

“Principal Jung’s a jerk for taking away the Winter Ball for you. It's your last year at the school.” Irene mumbled.

Chaeryeong joined in, “And, you helped decorate. The least she could have done was let you go.”

You chuckled, “It was my own lack of judgement. When I saw his face, I wanted to do nothing but punch him.”

Irene pulled her hands away from your hair, smiling, “Picture time!” Before adding the final touch; a white feathered headband, clipping it into your hair.

The three of you all wandered down the steps, Chaeryeong’s parents at the bottom of the stairs, a camera in her dad’s hands and her mother gushing about how wonderful the three of you all looked. Guiding you all along to the area in front of their fire place, Chaeryeong stood in the middle, placing her hand on her hip and nodded to her father.

“Big smiles.” He chuckled, the shutter closing and capturing the photo. You all took a few more, taking joking pictures with one another, serious ones, and even having individual pictures taken of each of you, with one of the others holding you as if they were your date to the dance.

Chaeryeong's mother chuckle, "Okay, you three. You should head out before you waste the dance just taking pictures."

The three of you waddled to the front door, Chaeryeong's mother giving a peck to her head, and rubbing her cheeks, smiling softly.

Irene and yourself headed out to the car, climbing into the front seats.

And when Chaeryeong joined, she climbed into the backseat, "Why do you get shotgun, Irene! You just joined us again."

"Move your feet, lose your seat!" The two bickered back and forth.

You chuckled, turning down the music a bit to listen to their argument. It was like that the entire ride.

"The front seat is about loyalty, Irene! And you decided to not only be friends with Minho, but to date him!" Chaeryeong scolded.

Irene fired back, "He's the one who asked! I went in as a secret spy."

Pulling into the parking lot, you took your regular spot and shut off the car, "Okay, let's go over the plan one more time."

Chaeryeong groaned playful, "At 6:50, we open the back door of the gym to you, and then we party like we've never partied before."

"Yeah." Irene nodded.

You looked between the two, "What are you both going to do if a teacher comes and asks what you're doing?"

"I'll peek my head out and knock three times while you go run off to the girl's locker room and hide away in the shower stalls. And I'll tell the teacher I must've heard something." Chaeryeong responded plainly, already getting annoyed of the rehearsals.

Irene mumbled along.

You sent them a thumb's up, "See, was that so hard?" You laughed, "Alright, get up to the door and turn in your ticket. I'll be at the park behind the school until-"

"6:50 on the dot!" You all blurted out together, Chaeryeong and Irene giving each other an eye roll before they slammed the door and headed to the front doors, turning in their tickets to join the dance.

You pulled out from the spot and drove around the corner to the park, plopping down on a park bench, sifting through your bag. You mindlessly began to reorganize your bag, keeping your phone propped up to show the time.

"20 whole minutes." You sighed to yourself, tapping the items against the table, clicking your tongue.

You could see the gymnasium door just across the way, your eyes catching on the door, hopeful.

God, please let this work, you thought to yourself.

It never stuck with you just how screwed up this whole situation was: You lost a citizenship award you worked so hard for, you planted the trees just outside the baseball field for Arbor Day, for Christ sake. You donated approximately 6 pints of blood for blood drives. You volunteered at the hospital. You volunteered at the dentists. You volunteered at shelters, the same exact shelters Minho picked his three cats for adoption, it so happens. You didn't just lose your citizenship award, no, you lost all dignity in the eyes of your teachers, your supervisors. You felt so wronged because, what? You threw a little kick to the boy who has been taunting you?

You set up the entire Winter Ball. You were the one who introduced it to the council after it was pushed back for something else. You were the one who designed it. You were the one who made the ballots based on the students suggestions. You did this, all of it, aside from physically setting it up. You couldn't take credit from Chaeryeong and the others who worked so hard to make it a reality.

No, it wasn't just you who did all of it. It was plenty of others. It was the students who donated money to help make their dream a reality. It was the students who voted. It was the council for agreeing to it in the first place. It was your parents for getting you all those volunteering hours, it was your parents who gave you direction.

And, God, you didn't want to admit it, but it was also Minho. You could remember his voice as a child, saying, "If we ever have a dance, I'll take you as my date."

Maybe you haven't been completely honest to yourself. To anyone really.

You loved Minho, and maybe the whole reason you let him get away with everything before was because you couldn't blame him; you blamed something else. You blamed his parents for being more obsessed with you than him. You blamed media for telling people that if a boy is mean to you, he like-likes you.

And Minho, in all his bitter rage to his parents, you couldn't blame yourself for loving that smart-as-a-whip, as-funny-as-a-bumblebee and handsome-as-hell, Lee Minho.

The realization almost brought you to tears. But, leaning your head back just as the tears welled, you decided to sacrifice your confession, rather than your makeup.

You grabbed a tissue from your bag, holding the corner to your waterline and used it to soak up the tears in both eyes.

Fanning your face as you looked back at your phone, you realized the time, shoving everything back into your bag and stood up, nearly dashing to the back door of the gym, knocking 5 times.

Chaeryeong opened the door almost immediately, waving you along.

"We did it." She cheered, "We did the plan!" She smiled brightly.

You looked at Chaeryeong as you squeezed through the door, holding your clutch bag in your hand, "Where's Irene?"

Chaeryeong looked over her shoulder, "On the dance floor."

You looked at the girl dancing with someone, smiling to yourself, "She looks happy."

Chaeryeong nodded, "It's so fun in here." She smiled, bouncing on her toes, "Come on! Let's go!"

You followed her to where Irene was, dancing with her.

Minho stood off in the corner of the gym, his hands in his dress pockets.

The disco lights on top of the stage echoed off your vibrance. The white feather headband around your head shined just as bright as your smile. The white dress encasing you so brilliantly, he could almost think you were an angel.

The music echoed off the walls, Heaven by EXO played, Minho's thoughts echoing in the song, silently wishing that you picked up the message that he was telepathically sent you.

All he saw was you in the room, among all the bodies that danced, he was only focused on you.

Minho couldn't help the gentle smile crossing his lips as he saw you dancing with Chaeryeong and Irene, the laugh escaping your lungs at a joke one of the two said. The gentle reminder from his swollen cheek and black eye echoing in his head.

"Dude," Changbin nudged Minho's back with his elbow, "Go talk to her."

Minho shook his head, "She won't talk to me." He mumbled, kicking up an invisible piece of dirt with his shoe.

"Well, we're gonna go dance." Jisung mumbled, "If you wanna join, you know where to find us."

Changbin and Jisung began walking off before Minho stopped them with his hand, "Wait." He started, "You guys got all those ballots in, right?"

"Yes, dude. We put them in all around the school." Jisung shrugged, "Don't worry, Minho. She'll come around."

Minho looked over Jisung's shoulder, glancing at your figure, "Yeah, you're right."

Jisung scoffed, "Of course I am." He shrugged.

The two wandered back to their dates, grabbing their hands and leading them to the dance floor, not very far from where you three were.

Irene greeted the two, smiling softly and talking over the music. And it seems, as aware you've been in the past, that wherever those two were, Minho wasn't far behind. Turning your head over your shoulder, you saw Minho standing at the refreshments table, nodding his head to you.

And by some miracle, you nodded back, turning back to your friends, whispering to Chaeryeong about who knows what, and looked back at him, the well in your eyes clear under the fairy lights and led's.

He wanted you to have fun. And he was sure to let you have it, even if it meant destroying his own evening.

Chaeryeong rubbed your back as you whispered to her, "Hey, Y/N, you'll be okay." She calmed you down, "I understand the anxiety, but I promise you, I won't let anything happen to you here. Not tonight. Not after everything we all went through."

Your chest heaved, "Yeah, you're right." You nodded.

Who were you to let your anxiety settle in your stomach at the sight of your oh-so gracious enemy? That same enemy you've had feelings for ever since he first got scared by that worm you held out to him on a rainy day? That same enemy you've had so many movie nights with?

No, you weren't going to let him get the best of you, not tonight; Especially not when Jisung was dancing like an old grandpa at his granddaughter's wedding.

Minho peeked over his shoulder again as he walked to the entrance of the entire gym, swirling the fruit punch in his hand.

Suddenly, an idea popped in his head. Not one of malice, but rather a way to settle your anxiety a bit. Something that'll get the supervisors out of the way. So, they didn't notice you.

Clicking his tongue, he grabbed a lemon from the refreshments table, something that was used as decoration and immediately squeezed it in his drink. Looking around, he wandered back to his spot by the door, and took a sip.

He pulled a face, smacking his tongue in disgust, "Oh, yeah. That's the real deal." He gagged. Holding up the drink, he looked at the bottom, hoping a seed or nothing got into his drink, just to really hitch off his plan. Wandering over to a supervisor, he gagged again, "Excuse me." He started, and when they turned he began to pull off the lies he's become so good at, "This... This fruit punch, I think the supervisor there spiked it, or something. It tastes off." He shrugged.

The supervisor he told immediately looked at the refreshments table and furrowed his brows, "May I take a sip?"

Minho passed him the clear plastic cup, "All yours. I think I'm good for the night." He held his hands up, straighten his face.

The supervisor took a sip, their brows furrowing, "Oh, that's foul!" They complained, "Thank you for telling me, Minho. I'll get on that immediately." They threw the drink out and called the security over.

Minho walked off, laughing quietly to himself, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

The supervisor asked the other to follow them out, and just like that, all the other's followed, wanting to see what was going on with the refreshments supervisor.

His eyes were captivated by you, leaning against the table of the unattended refreshments, letting out his own little laugh as Changbin and Jisung were dancing like idiots, his eyes stuck on you.

He couldn't get over how... beautiful you looked. Ethereal, even. Minho was shocked how no one else was looking at you, how no one was as captivated as he was.

And he would've mustered up the courage to walk up to you if it wasn't for the student announcer walking across the stage, clearing their throat and tapping on the microphone to get the attention of the student body.

"Attention all students!" They started, "Congratulations to all of you for joining us at this wonderful ball. None of this would've been accomplished if it wasn't for all your support and ideas. We appreciate it so, so much."

The crowd cheered, Jisung letting out a loud whoop at the thanks.

"This evening, in this envelope, I have the official results for our school wide ballot that will decide our Winter Ball Court for this event." They smiled as another eruption of cheers came out, "Now, please, join me in this wonderful reveal of our court."

Tearing open the envelope, Minho smiled to himself, looking up at you as he hoped you were just as excited for this reveal as he was.

"First, our Winter Ball Princess, is..." The anticipation built.

Jisung and Changbin obnoxiously hyped the crowd with what sounded like barks, and whoops, and cheers.

"Bae Joohyun, also known as, Irene!" The student announcer clapped.

"Oh my god, Irene!" Chaeryeong hugged her friend, a wide smile on her face, "You won Princess!"

"Congratulations, Irene!" You hugged her tightly, "Go up there and get your prize."

Irene smiled brightly, giving Jisung and Changbin and their dates their own hugs, as she walked up the stage, her dress glittering in the light.

"For our Winter Ball Princess this evening, we'll be gifting her not only a crown, but a $200 dollar gift certificate to our proud sponsor, Seoul Queen Spa!" The student announcer held up the certificate, passing it to Irene.

"Woo! Let's go, Irene!" Jisung cheered, clapping loudly, leading the entire crowd to follow.

Irene bowed deeply, giving her thanks.

"How wonderful!" The announcer clapped themselves, "Alright, who is our Winter Ball Prince?" They cleared their throat once again, "Our Winter Ball Prince will be getting a $150 gift certificate to, I'm sure, a school favorite bakery." They smiled, the crowd cheering, "Our Winter Ball Prince, is..." They drummed their hands on the podium, "Seo Changbin!"

"Let's go!" Jisung cheered, giving his friend a giant hug, patting his back with his hand, "Hey, man, get me one of those chocolate muffins at that bakery."

Changbin chuckled, pushing the younger's head playfully, giving a kiss to his date's cheek and walked up to the stage, just as everyone began to cheer loudly, a chorus of his name being chanted. Jokingly, Changbin waved his head, bowing and letting the announcer place the crown on his head.

"Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for. The Winter Ball King and Queen!"

Another cheer, Jisung making obnoxious noises just as it was announced, and Chaeryeong letting out her own cheer.

"Our Winter Ball King and Queen will not only be getting special gifts, our King and Queen will have a special date together, provided by our wonderful supervisors here this evening." The announcer smiled.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Chaeryeong squealed, "So many weeks of getting people to vote! I wonder who won!"

"I know!" You both held each other's hands in anticipation.

Looking up just a bit, everything almost moving in slow motion, you caught eyes with Minho, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

You could swear that the glimpse Minho sent to you had a smile across his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes, one with a bruise decorating his orbital. And when you met your unwavering eyes at him, he bit his bottom lip and turned his head away from you.

“And the Winter Ball Royal Court starts with...” the student announcer opened the envelope, a smile crossing their lips as the turned the card to the crowd, “Y/N!" They called.

"Y/N, you won!" Chaeryeong gasped, "Those write in ballots must've been the one's who elected you!"

"Huh, probably." You mumbled.

"Well, go! Go! Get your crown." Chaeryeong almost pushed you to the stairs.

You're eyes widened while looking at Minho, the fear and hyperawareness that this could become a Carrie situation.

“Come on up, Y/N.” The announcer called, holding a hand out to you, helping you up the steps. The anxiety that settled inside your chest drowned out the applause around you as you scanned the ceiling before you relaxed and accepted the crown to be placed on your head.

The announcer turned to the microphone, smiling, “The final winner for Winter Royal Court is... Lee Minho.” They clapped.

You froze, looking into the crowd as Minho pushed past some students, nodding to them in response to their congratulations. He bent down for the announcer to place the crown on his head, the crowd laughing with him just as he planted himself right beside you, scratching at the black eye, wincing just a bit at the bruising.

Minho looked at you, clearing his throat, “You look nice.” He whispered, fixing his suit.

“As do you.” You mumbled bluntly, taking a small step away from him, “So, how’d you win? We both weren’t on the ballot.”

“Jisung and Changbin dumped some faux write-in ballots in the box.” He nodded to his group of friends, giving a high five to Changbin, “Thought this would be the easiest way to talk to you without you physically assaulting me.”

The announcer smiled, “Now, it’s time for the dance with the winter court! Everyone, grab a partner, and get ready to share the waltz with one another.”

The lights dimmed and the music began. Minho turned to you, settling one hand on your hip, and the other holding your hand. “I hope you know I don’t hate you.” he started, “They were just impractical jokes.”

You could remember vividly when you were imagining this as a kid; On The Snow by EXO would be playing, Minho holding your hand in his, and you both would share a meaningful moment.

And only two of those were true; On The Snow was definitely playing, and Minho was definitely holding your hand.

You furrowed your brows, “Impractical jokes? You gave me food poisoning on one occasion, and the flu on the other.” You glared at him, "I could've died a few days ago."

Minho sighed, "Listen, I'm sorry. Okay? I didn't mean to try to kill you." He sighed, "Isn't that what all boys do to their crush?"

“No.” you growled, “Normally, boys would just give their crush their jacket on a cold day, or flowers when they’re sad. What you did was just... cruel.” You looked away, feeling both embarrassed and upset.

Minho chuckled softly, shaking his head, “You're thinking of chick-flic endings.”

“There's nothing wrong with someone wanting to be treated correctly.” You squeezed his hand until your fingertips turned white, “Who knows? Maybe if you did treat me with an ounce of respect, I could’ve been your date tonight instead of you having to find a way to talk to me and ruin my winter ball.”

Minho looked at you softly, "Let's start from the beginning."

"What?"

"From the beginning. From that day I told you you'd be my date to something like this."

You looked away, "I can't forget what you did to me."

"I never said you did. I just said we can start from the beginning." He lifted your head with his finger, "You can hang all of those cruel things I did to you over my head."

Your heart thumped in your chest, "You owe me 536 dollars and 12 cents." You mumbled, "And, I get to choose the movies we watch for a month."

Minho smiled, "Deal." Using his fingers to brush an invisible strand of hair from your face, he held your face in your hand for a little bit, "Can I kiss you?"

You looked at him softly, "You haven't had any fish, have you?"

Minho chuckled, "No, I haven't. Not today, at least." He smiled, "Not tonight. I wouldn't have done that to you."

"Then, yes." You whispered.

All three came true, you thought to yourself, feeling your inner-child jumping with joy.

But before he could press his lips against yours, a loud booming voice stopped you both.

"Miss Y/N!"

"Oh, no." You turned to find the principal entering the gymnasium, "Gotta run." You whispered, lifting your dress so you didn't trip over it as you ran down the steps and out the back door, dashing to your car.

The principal and other supervisors stood at the exit and watched as you sat in your car, a giant smile across your face as you watched them right back.

Minho raised his arms in frustration, debating on what exactly to do in this situation.

Changbin chuckled, "Modern day Cinderella."

"But she didn't drop a shoe." Jisung shrugged, leaning against the edge of the stage, before gasping, "But she did leave that!" He pointed before grabbing the discarded item on the ground.

It was the white feathered headband, and Minho nearly snatched it from his hands, looking at the door you ran out.

Chaeryeong and Irene shared a look, before they ran out the door the supervisors returned through.

Chaeryeong paused, "We're really sorry, miss, but what you did was... incredibly wrong to do." She looked at the principal with anger in her eyes, "Sorry, again!"

Minho hurried down the stage and followed the two out the door, "Sorry, miss, but, maybe you should've listened to your number one citizen!" He shouted as he ran behind the two girls, following them to your parked car.

"Minho?!" Chaeryeong shouted behind her, "What are you doing?!"

"I'm not letting her think I don't care again." He chuckled, knocking at the window of your car, motioning for you to roll down the window.

And when you did, Minho popped his head through, kissing you in the lips, the headband forgotten in his hand.

You gasped softly, feeling all that anxiety you had melt away, holding his wrists as he kissed you before he pulled away to breathe.

Minho smiled softly, "I think I love you, Cinderella."

You chuckled softly, "Come over and we can talk more about it." You ran your thumb across his swollen cheek, and his bruised eye, a sad reminder of what the two of you experienced.

Minho laughed, setting the headband just the way it was on your head, "I'll see you then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

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