#this one is far more slowburn

[2hightocare]

DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

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[heeology]

i want nobody but you | p.sh

synopsis → you and sunghoon have known each other your whole lives and although you've both dealt with jokes from classmates since elementary school on how you two would end up together, that never ended up happening; you two would brush it off and then move on. you never really thought about pursuing something with him romantically, especially since you like things with a more casual approach. but once sunghoon's girlfriend becomes a part of the picture, you can't help but feel these feelings consume you. being the way you are, however, you managed to push them down and you at least thought you got over them until you realize maybe they never left at all. or even worse: they were always there.

feat. → yujin (ive) & sungchan (riize)

genre → college au, friends to somewhat enemies to lovers, romance, smut, angst (eh, ig), slowburn (ig? srry lmao)

pairing → nonidol!sunghoon x fem!reader

warnings → MDNI, smoking !! (reader and sunghoon both smoke), drinking, cursing, mention(s?) of death, mention of hookups, reader is called and referred to (sometimes self referred to) as a: slut/whore; slutshaming, !! potential sh reference (pinching/hitting self; dk if that counts, but it's not mentioned after) !!, mentions of sex (obvi)

w.c. → 22.7k

a/n → long time no see lol. lmk if u would be interested in seeing some pics i took at the enha concert i went to :)) (i won't do vids because i was screaming like a baboon lmao) p.s. bear w me bc ik this is a long one, but i feel like i owe you all since i've been gone for practically a century, but pls give it a chance, i'm on my knees begging bc this took 3 days

disclaimer !! → i don’t ship any idols i portray as dating in this story irl nor do i have the intent to portray anyone in this story in a negative light, this is just for creative purposes, babes <3; this is all just fiction, take it lightly pls and thx

!!DO NOT COPY OR REPOST!!

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Today has been a long day. You groan as you take a seat on a bench somewhere near the lecture hall you just left and you close your eyes as you lean back against it. You had originally thought your senior year of high school was torturous, but being a senior in college was far worse. Your eyebrows furrow a bit when you feel the weight of the bench shift a bit, meaning someone has taken a seat beside you. Your eyes open a bit and you turn your head to see Sunghoon next to you. A sigh escapes your lips and you turn your head away, closing your eyes again. 

Sunghoon sits there for a moment, looking at you. Lately, you two haven’t hung out as much and although he admittedly forgot to text you for the past week and half, you were still his best friend. He could argue, though, that “the phone works both ways”, so you’re not exactly innocent either. He’s seen you around campus, hanging out with some members of the basketball team, mainly the captain: Sungchan. You didn’t seem bothered by the lack of contact between the two of you, either, so it didn’t bother him or make him feel guilty that you haven’t hung out in just a few days. No…not at all.

“Nice to see you, too.” he mumbles. You stay quiet, honestly close to falling asleep on the bench, especially with the warm breeze that is gently blowing. He narrows his eyes a bit and leans back against the bench. He does the same as you, closing his eyes as he relaxes, but he frowns to himself. “You and Sungchan seem to be close.” he says, not really even understanding why he brought it up in the first place. 

This piques your interest. “What about him.” you say rather than ask, still keeping your eyes closed.

Sunghoon shrugs, still not really sure why he cares who you hang out with or how often or who they are or…anything like that. Maybe it upsets him to think about the fact that you might replace him with someone cooler as your best friend; maybe he was too lame for you. How juvenile, he thought to himself. But that’s what it felt like, to him, at least. “Nothing. I’ve just seen you guys hanging out a lot, that’s all.” Sunghoon replies.

“How would you know that; we haven’t really hung out or talked lately.” you reply, not meaning to sound snarky, but it most likely came across that way.

Sunghoon scoffs softly. “I have eyes; I can still see who you talk to.”

You open your eyes a bit and turn your head to look at him. “Stalker.” you tease. 

Sunghoon opens his eyes, almost as if he can feel you looking at him and he rolls them, not amused. “Am not…I’m just trying to start a conversation or whatever.”

“About the people I talk to?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “About anything…” It stays quiet for a moment. “It’s just been a while since we’ve talked.”

“And whose fault is that?” You ask, rhetorically.

Sunghoon frowns. “Well, I’ve just been busy-”

You scoff, “Yeah. I know.” You reply dryly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that that’s what you always say whenever we don’t talk to each other for a while. Like, I get it, you’re dating Yujin, big whoop.”

You’ve considered the possibility that he has just been busy with schoolwork, but no matter how many times you would give him the benefit of the doubt, it always ended up being because he was hanging out with Yujin. You weren’t really mad, per say, just annoyed. Severely annoyed. But what could you do? Ever since they started dating freshman year, you’ve felt like you were on the backburner. Which, again, you can’t really be upset about that. Afterall, she’s his girlfriend, whether you liked it or not. There is nothing wrong with her, you two got along fine, even if you don’t really talk or are even friends. You don’t hate her, not for any valid reasons, anyway. Still, despite how many people you know, Sunghoon is your only real friend and always has been. But it’s times like these when it feels like he means more to you than you mean to him.

“She’s my girlfriend.” He says, matter-of-factly.

You roll your eyes at his statement. “I know that,” you retort with annoyance, “you only ever bring it up every chance you get.”

“You seriously can’t be annoyed that I spend time with my own girlfriend.” He responds with the same tone.

Sometimes, Sunghoon gets caught up in things. Like being with Yujin, for example. He’ll be with her and then it just slips his mind to respond to a text of yours or to ask if you want to do something, he can’t help it. He knows that he’s your best friend and he’s certain that you’re his, too. Sure, Yujin means a lot to him, but you mean more, whether he would admit that or not. He just wants to make everything balanced, for everything to work out. But a part of him feels like something has been off since he started dating Yujin. Sure, he’s had other girlfriends, but never one for longer than a few months. This relationship is important to him. What if Yujin is the one? He can’t screw it up and he’s afraid to, so he makes sure to spend as much time with her as he can. He thought you would understand, but apparently not.

You’ve met Sunghoon’s other girlfriends, none of which bothered you as much as Yujin. Maybe because this one seems more serious. Maybe because she seems more important to him. The thought makes your stomach curdle. This whole situation makes your stomach curdle. You shouldn’t care so much, but you do. You hate that. “Whatever.” you reply, honestly not having thought of anything better to respond with. What were you supposed to say to that? Of course you understood, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.

“Besides, like I said, you and Sungchan have been hanging out a lot recently. Don’t act like you’ve never blown me off to hang out with him.” Sunghoon says.

“Barely.”

“Not barely. A lot. ‘Oh, Sungchan invited me to his basketball game to watch’, ‘Oh, Sungchan invited me to a party,’ ‘Oh, Sungchan wants to hook up’, ‘Oh, Sungchan this and Sungchan that’.” Sunghoon mocks, annoyed.

You frown. “Why do you care? You’ve got a girlfriend, so just hang out with her instead.”

Sunghoon frowns as well. “That’s not the point. The point is that you ditch me just the same to hang out with a guy who you’re not even dating. You don’t talk to me sometimes when you’re with him or another guy, so why are you so upset that I do the same with Yujin, who I’m actually dating?”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re dating someone. Good for you, who gives a shit? So what if I do the same? It’s only because you do it first!” you argue back. You grab your backpack and stand up as you put it on. You start walking away from him and he watches you as you leave.

“Great talk!” he calls out to you in a sarcastic manner.

He didn’t mean to make you upset or try to “rub his relationship” in your face, he would never try to intentionally make you upset. So, why did he care? He doesn’t, it’s as simple as that. Maybe you doing the same thing to him with Sungchan bothered him a little. Maybe you wanting to spend your time instead with someone else you’re not even dating bothered him a little. But it’s not like he actually cared or anything. He knows he can’t tell you what to do or who to see, so why does he care? He knows he blew you off, so why didn’t he just apologize? Why did he bring up Sungchan in the first place? Sunghoon sits on the bench for a moment, rethinking things. Why was he acting like you were ignoring him when it was kind of the other way around? He sighs and closes his eyes again. He’ll figure it out later.

-

You let out a long yawn as the dim glow from your computer screen shines on your face. It’s three in the morning, and sure, you have a class tomorrow, but you can’t sleep and figure you can just skip your lecture anyway. Even if your brightness was all the way down, it still hurt your eyes every so often, so you would close them to make them feel better while you listened to the show you were watching. You hear your phone ding and your eyes open, your hand reaching for your phone to see the text.

“are you awake?” Sunghoon texts.

He knows you are. You almost always are, which is why he knew you would see the message. Although, he did anticipate the idea of you ignoring him. You were good at things like that, things that required a stubborn attitude. He didn’t mind your stubbornness, though. He didn’t mind anything when it came to you. He waited a bit, sitting in the darkness with just the light of his phone screen, his thumb gently tapping it so it doesn’t automatically turn off as he waits for you to text back. 

“yeah.” you text back.

It took you a few minutes and in all honesty, you almost didn’t respond. But you missed him, which even if he asks directly, you would deny. You wonder if he missed you too, but you shake that thought away.

“still pissy?”

This makes you laugh a little. Yes, you were, but you still found it a little funny.

“shut up.” you text back.

“wanna hang out?”

You sigh. Now he wants to? It takes you a while to reply with anything as you just stare at his message.

“can u bring the usual?” you reply.

He smiles at your text. “duh” he texts back.

You smile a bit, looking forward to actually hanging out with him. The whole argument was dumb anyway and you just wanted your best friend back. And after a while of waiting, you hear a knock on your dorm room door. You get up from your bed and unlock it, opening it as you step outside. He smiles softly when he sees you and you smile a bit back. You both quietly leave your dorm building before going outside and sitting on the curb. He sets the plastic bag he was carrying between you two and opens a bottle of beer before handing it to you. You take it and he opens his own, both of you taking a sip as a cool breeze blows softly. 

“Sorry about earlier,” he says quietly, “and for not talking to you for a week. I just got caught up with Yujin, you know?”

You take another drink, not really interested in discussing this anymore. “It’s fine.”

“I also wasn’t trying to rub her and I into your face and make you feel bad or anything, it’s just…” he trails off. It’s silent for a moment as you both drink. “This week has been shitty.” he mumbles.

“Amen to that.” you reply. He chuckles softly and you both clink your bottles before smiling and taking another drink.

“How’s your love life going, anyway?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Sure, there were other things he wanted to talk about, could talk about, but this is what slipped out of his mouth first. He was actually curious, he truly wants to know. He just wants to see you happy. 

You shrug, “The same; just hook ups.”

He looks at you for a moment. That’s it? You’ve been hooking up with people since the beginning of high school. Sure, you’ve dated some guys before, but they were all assholes; Sunghoon never liked them. He couldn’t stand them, to put it plainly. You deserve better, and he knows that. But he also knows you’re not into relationships. You like things to be simple and direct. But when it comes to how you feel, he knew you weren’t very expressive with that. Only when it comes to getting what you want. He kind of admires that about you.

“So…no one in particular? You just kind of…go after who you think is the hottest?”

You grin, “Something like that.” you take a sip, “So…how are things going with Yujin?”

You honestly hate that you asked. Why would you? Why would you want to hear about that? Surely, things must be going wonderfully if he’s so wrapped up in all that is her. But you’re still friends. It’s normal to ask these kinds of questions, right? Maybe he won’t really say much anyway and you’ll be a good friend for even asking. That’s what you’re hoping for, at least.

"Well... things have been kind of weird. She's been acting kinda distant recently; I don't know how else to explain it. She just seems really bored all the time. Like, the sex is good but it just seems like she's not into me anymore or something." he replies.

You give him a weird look as he brings up the topic of sex with Yujin. Gross. Just...Gross.

“Describing sex with your ‘girlfriend’ as good is never a good thing.” you say as you laugh a bit, taking a sip. 

Sunghoon scoffs a bit. Why did it seem like you were happy to hear that? It irritated him a bit, but he brushed it off. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s more like…it’s become something that’s routine.”

“Yeah, that’s probably not a good sign.”

Sunghoon sighs. "I know... it's just so weird though. I mean, we've been together for so long, and she's never been the type to get bored like this. It just sucks. I'm worried if something happened between us that's making her not want to be with me anymore."

You look at him for a moment as he drinks. You hate seeing him upset and you know that Yujin means a lot to him, especially since this is his first big relationship. You frown a bit as you drink. “Have you asked her?” you take another sip, “Aren’t people in relationships supposed to communicate and shit?”

"Yeah, I asked her and she said everything was fine, but like... I don't know. I just have a feeling that she's not telling me something, and I've tried asking her multiple times, but every time, she always says everything's fine." he takes another drink. “That’s pretty much what I’ve been spending last week doing, just…trying to fix what may not even be broken.” he mumbles.

You feel bad now for getting upset at him for blowing you off. It makes sense and you just got defensive again, not really knowing what he was doing. You sit there for a moment, not really sure what to say. Sunghoon didn’t mind the silence, though. He was trying to focus on Yujin and figure out why things feel this way when maybe, they aren’t even that way at all. Maybe it’s him. He isn’t sure, but he is sure that he already feels a million times better being with you, even if it is just sitting next to each other on a curb in silence.

“Do you cum?” you ask.

Sunghoon chokes on his beer a little, hitting his chest a bit as he coughs. He looks at you, not expecting your question at all, and as for you, well, you weren’t really expecting to ask it. It kind of just…came out. Your initial thought process was to ask more about his feelings on things in the relationship, seeming more like a routine, but it kind of led to you wondering if he even cums. In your defense, you thought that if he doesn’t, then maybe the relationship is going downhill. You look at him, as if what you asked was totally normal, taking another sip of your beer. He looks back at you, seeming to have processed what you asked.

“...yeah, pretty much every time.”

“Does she?”

Again, not something you really want to know, but you do want to help him.

“...sometimes, but most of the time she doesn’t.”

You suck air through your teeth, “Uh-oh.”

“It’s not a big deal, you know, so what if sometimes we don’t? It’s not about that, it’s just about…connecting or whatever.” he mumbles as he takes a sip.

“So, then what? Do you guys just like…do it yourself?”

“Yeah, so?”

You laugh. You can’t help it, it’s just too funny. Not his obvious pain with his relationship kind of going south, but the fact that he finds this to be normal. You at least found that funny.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, pissed off, but also slightly embarrassed.

“Dude, I'm not a relationship expert, but like...shouldn't people who have sex, I don't know, finish every time? I mean, I have never really had that happen often with any of the guys I hook up with, but hey, what do I know.” 

"Well... I guess, but it's not a big deal to me. As long as she enjoys it, that's what's important. And, it's not like it happens all the time. Sometimes she does finish, but it's just... well, not as often as I would hope..." he takes another sip.

You roll your eyes to yourself. Kind of out of instinct. If you’re going to be frank, you don’t give a damn about her.

You shrug, “I don’t know,” you take another sip, “you say you don’t cum sometimes, how come?”

“I don’t know…it just happens?”

You shake your head, “Nah, there’s a reason.”

“But the reason is dumb and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” he takes another sip.

“Do you think she’s hot?”

What a stupid question. You wish you didn’t ask it. Why would you want to hear him talk about yet again how hot he thinks she is. It makes your blood boil and you would rather bash yourself over the head with your beer bottle than hear him talk about how perfect she is. But, there is a small, small part of you hoping for a certain answer. Only a small part.

“Of course I do.” he replies, simply.

“So, then, what’s the problem?”

“Sometimes I have a hard time finishing, happy? Jesus…” he mumbles as he drinks some more.

You roll your eyes. You’ve known each other your whole lives, you know when he’s lying.

“Mmm,” you take another sip, “no, you see, sometimes when I hook up with guys, I suddenly don't feel attracted to them, so then sometimes I don't finish. So do you just like sometimes not like her or something?”

He shakes his head, "No, I'm always attracted to her. But... sometimes I have a hard time finishing, and I don't know why that is."

“What do you think about?” you ask, kind of quietly.

A part of you didn’t want to ask that, besides, this conversation was becoming weird. But that small, small part of you was so desperately hoping for a certain answer. Fucked up? Yeah, most definitely, but that didn’t seem to stop you.

“About what?” he asks, actually clueless.

“When you’re having sex, what do you think about?” you ask again, taking a sip of your beer.

“...about her, that’s what you’re supposed to do, so,” he trails off, “Sometimes I…think about other things...” he answers, blushing a bit.

“Like what?”

“Just…random stuff. Why do you want to know anyway?” he asks, getting slightly defensive.

“Maybe that's what's distracting you. I don't know, spice things up with her or something. Or have an actual conversation with her about how you feel or whatever.” you mutter as you finish your beer.

He takes another sip of his beer. “Why are you acting like some sort of relationship counselor? You’ve never even really been in a relationship yourself.”

Maybe he wanted to piss you off with what he said, but only so you could back off. “Spice things up”? Yujin and him are fine, he’s deciding that right here, right now. He doesn’t want your help with this or to even discuss it anymore with you. It feels weird. Besides, he doesn’t want you to think that he’s…not good at sex. Not for any other reasons, just that…he doesn’t want you to think that about him.

You set your bottle down and look at him. “Because you’re my friend? I don’t know. Why do you care?” You hold your hand out, wanting him to hand the cigarettes he brought while your other hand digs into your sweatpants pocket for your lighter.

He reaches into the bag and hands them to you, knowing full well you could have grabbed them yourself, yet he still obliged. “So, in all of your hooking up, have you ever had feelings for anyone you hooked up with? And not those bullshit feelings for your douchebag exes, like actual feelings. Or have they all just been hookups?” he asks, hoping to change the subject.

You open the pack, “Hookups.”

“Every single one?”

“Mhm.” you answer, taking one out and putting it into your mouth, lighting it as you take a drag.

“So you’ve never fallen in love with anyone you’ve hooked up with?”

You laugh, “Fallen in love? How stupid.” you say as you take another drag.

“Okay, love might be a strong word, but like, have you never developed feelings for any of the people you’ve hooked up with?” he asks, finishing his beer.

“Nah.”

"Right, right. So, you're just all about hookups then, and that's cool, no shame or anything; I get it. But you've never felt even just a little bit of loneliness from it?" he asks as he sets his bottle down. You ignore his question, taking another drag. He knows by your reaction that he’s said something that bothers you. Whenever anything is mentioned that may reveal how you truly feel, you just block it off and move on. He sighs, not too sure why he bothered asking since you always ignore these types of topics. Sometimes, he wished you wouldn’t. He wished you would be more open with him. It feels like he can talk to you about anything and everything, even if sometimes he doesn’t want to, but he does anyway because you…well, you’re you. "I mean, it's gotta get kinda boring... always hooking up, never really connecting with anyone. Unless you don't care about that kind of thing."

“Love is stupid.” you reply flatly.

What a groundbreaking opinion. Truly, nobody has ever felt or thought the same thing. Great stuff. Sunghoon sighs at your answer, not really getting why you won’t just tell him. He wants you to. He can’t really explain why. It doesn’t have to do with wanting to get some satisfaction out of helping you or changing you, but rather, sometimes he feels like he knows nothing about you. You’re important to him, more than you could possibly understand, but still, sometimes, you seem so distant; like a stranger. He just wants to know that you trust him.

“So, just because love hasn’t exactly worked out in your life, you think love is stupid? I don’t really think that’s fair…just because your ex boyfriends were assholes doesn’t mean that true love doesn’t exist.”

For some reason, him talking about true love pisses you off. It pisses you off greatly. You can feel your skin crawl and anger boiling up inside you, so you take a drag from your cigarette, blowing out the smoke, wishing it was something else you were getting rid of.

“It’s not about them.” you take another drag, “Do you love Yujin?”

You think you know the answer already. No, you know the answer indefinitely. There is only one answer. Why would he have spent the past three–almost four years–dating her if he didn’t? You think about all the times he talked about her when they first started dating. You try not to, but your mind recalls all the details, how he said them, what he said, how he looked while he was talking. It made you sick.

His heart sinks a little when you ask the question. He stares at you for a moment, not responding to your question right away. He takes a long deep breath before he answers, “Yes.” You sit silent. You heard his answer, but you don’t want to acknowledge it. You take another drag from your cigarette, a longer one this time, blowing out the smoke slowly as you tap some of the tobacco from the butt of it off. “Do you…not believe me?” he asks, watching you. He can tell something is on your mind, you’re just having trouble saying it. He’s not asking to be snarky or anything, he asks in more of a gentle tone, just wanting you to open up or at least just say something remotely close to how you feel.

“No, I do.” you answer quietly. For some reason, it hurts to say that. It’s true, though; you do believe him…unfortunately.

Silence consumes the both of you, just sitting on the curb as time passes. Crickets chirp softly in the distance and the subtle burn of the tobacco from your cigarette fills it a bit, but not enough. He stares at you, both annoyed and concerned. 

“Then what is it? Are you trying to say there’s something wrong with my relationship?” he asks, suddenly defensive. Even he, himself, doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so defensive about it, especially since he brought up the issue earlier, but he doesn’t like thinking that you think there is something wrong.

“Jesus, it’s not like that.” you respond, knowing full and well it is like that.

“Then spit it out; what are you trying to say?”

“Shut up.”

You take another drag and he rolls his eyes, annoyed. “You know, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’re worse.”

You take another drag, genuinely wanting him to shut up, or for things to be normal. Or better yet, for things not to be complicated. “Go cry about it to your girlfriend.”

“Screw you.”

“Ditto.”

“Whatever.” he says, pissed off.

“Yeah, whatever.” you mumble as you take another drag.

He continues to look at you, pissed off at how you don’t seem to care about anything. He used to like that a lot about you, how you never cared about what people thought and are able to brush anything off. Maybe “used to” is a bit strong, he still likes that about you, but for right now, it’s incredibly infuriating. 

“You know, I’ve noticed that you always avoid giving direct answers to questions. Maybe that’s why you’re so scared of commitment; Not willing to really speak your mind out of fear of hurting someone’s feelings or your own.” he says, hoping this would piss you off enough to just say how you feel.

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” you say as you continue smoking your cigarette.

“No, I won't shut up. In fact, I'm gonna keep talking because this is one of the rare occasions where we’re actually having a serious conversation and not just talking about petty stuff.”

You roll your eyes again. “I don’t want to.” you reply, simply.

“Too bad. because I am really curious about it. So, I’m just gonna keep asking questions. Like, have you ever experienced real heartbreak before? Because you seem like the type that just throws people away and moves on with no remorse.” You become quiet. Sure, you weren’t answering before, well, barely, anyway. But this time, you feel like you’re shrinking. That type of quiet. The type of quiet you become when you feel like you got caught and you don’t want to admit to what you did. You just smoke your cigarette. “And you don’t just avoid answering questions about your romantic life, either. You do the same thing when it comes to family, friends, and anyone else. You just push people away and never actually let anyone get to know the real you.” 

“You know the real me.” you say, looking at him. In all honesty, you were insulted. He was seriously telling you that he “doesn’t know the real you” after you guys have been friends since you were two years old? What does that say about your friendship?

“No, I really don’t. All I know about you is the surface layer stuff that you’re willing to share, but I don't actually know you. No one does. Because you never let anyone get close enough.” he says as he looks you directly in the eyes, meaning every word he says. Well, maybe not every word, but it is how he feels. He doesn’t want you to get frustrated, but if that’s what it takes for you to finally say how you feel, then so be it. You do feel yourself getting frustrated and you look away, taking another drag. “And don’t deny it, ‘cause you know it’s true. You just push people away and never let yourself be vulnerable, ‘cause if you did, then they could use that vulnerability against you. And god forbid anybody ever find out about your deepest insecurities-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” you say, feeling anger seethe out of you. He sits there, somewhat stunned by your response. Not exactly that you became angry, but more so that he actually got a reaction out of you. He watches you as you put your cigarette out and stand up. “I’m going back to my room.” you mutter. 

He stands up. “Seriously?” he says as he sees you start to walk away. He scoffs. “You’re just going to leave? Like that? Whatever.” he mumbles as he grabs the pack of cigarettes you put back into the bag (the pack he specifically bought for you and always buys whenever you guys hang out like this). He opens it and grabs one, lighting it as he sees you turn around. You walk back over to him and snatch the pack of cigarettes from his hand. “The hell?” he asks, annoyed, as he tries to grab it back.

You hold it out of his reach. “You don’t even like red Marlboros.” you say, almost tempted to take the one out of his mouth, too just to spite him.

“Give it back.” he says sternly as he takes a small drag from the one in his mouth, holding it between his fingers as he glares at you.

“No.”

“It’s my pack of cigarettes.”

“That you bought for me.”

“And I want it back.”

“Well, tough shit, I’m not giving it back.”

“Give it.” he says as he holds out his hand. You ignore him and turn around, starting to walk away. He takes another drag, grimacing because you’re right, he doesn’t like this brand, but he’s only doing this to spite you. He gets even more pissed off just seeing you walk away. “Why are you always such a pain in the ass?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” you yell back.

He quickly puts out the cigarette and puts the bottles into the bag before catching up to you. “I'm not the one who’s always being super mean and acting all mysterious about everything. Like, what’s with all the attitude and snarky comments? You’ve been extra shitty lately.”

“Fuck you.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know, you’re being shitty, you just don’t wanna admit it.”

You stop walking and turn to look at him, throwing the pack at him. “Then go away.”

He grits his teeth and grabs the pack from the ground. He looks at you, “Whatever. I'm leaving. But just know, one of these days, you’re going to actually push someone away for good.”

“Hopefully it’s you.” you say as you cross your arms.

“Yeah, me too. Because I am so fed up with your bullshit.”

“Great. Go away.”

He rolls his eyes and walks past you, his arm bumping into yours purposefully as he heads back to his dorm.

-

As Sunghoon makes his way to his lecture, he sees Yujin in the distance talking to some of her friends. He thinks about your conversation last night. He had hopes of confiding in you a bit more about how he felt, but of course that’s not the way things panned out. He had no time to focus on that, even if he was feeling even worse now that he possibly lost his best friend for good. Shit…did he really lose you for good? He feels his blood run cold, but he’s trying to forget it and focus on her. She’s his girlfriend, he has to remember that. He walks up to her, smiling a bit. She looks at him.

“Oh…hey.” she says softly.

“Hey…can we talk for a minute?” She nods her head and stands still. Sunghoon glances at her friends and then looks back at her. “...in private?” Yujin glances at her friends before following Sunghoon over into the library, taking a seat at a table near one of the back bookshelves, a little bit of space between the two of them. “Is there a reason you’ve been acting like this lately? Do you not…want to be with me anymore?” Sunghoon asks, just getting straight to the point.

Yujin is quiet for a moment. “Everything is fine.” she says.

He crosses his arms, feeling himself getting frustrated. Why can’t people just be direct like you? Yeah, you’re not really direct with your feelings, but you are when it comes to anything else. “Are you sure? Because you've been really distant. We haven't been talking as often, you barely want to spend time with me... and it feels like you're avoiding being intimate with me, too. I had to almost beg you to spend time with me last week. Is there really nothing? Are you sure everything is fine?” Yujin listens and stays quiet. Sunghoon sighs. "You know, couples are supposed to communicate and shit, right? If something is bothering you, just come out and say it." Sure, he took a page from your book with what you said last night and perhaps some of what you said rang true after all, but he’s not really looking to give you a “you were right” moment at this time.

“You being friends with her bothers me.” Yujin says as she crosses her arms.

Sunghoon freezes for a moment, taken aback by her response. “...are you being serious?” he asks, not totally sure if she’s just messing with him.

“You hang out with her more than me to the point that I had to ask you to stop texting her whenever we would hang out and you always say you’re “just best friends”, but I don’t believe you. Do you have feelings for her?”

“Do YOU think I have feelings for her?” Sunghoon asks, becoming defensive while also avoiding answering her question directly. 

“Yes.” she answers, simply.

“What, do you think I’ll dump you for her or something?”

"She's a slut. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. I don't care if you guys are close, I'm worried she is going to make a move on you and then you break up with me just for her to use you once and then ruin you; She's bad news." Yujin says.

He feels his jaw drop a bit at what she says. Did she seriously just say that? And so boldly? He feels himself become upset about the way she talks about you. He wants to defend you, he always has, but he frowns. What if this leads to Yujin breaking up with him? You did say last night that you two were done with each other, so why does it matter? He doesn’t agree with Yujin, but he wants to save this relationship…

“You really think I'm that naive? That I'd fall for a girl like her? Just because we’re close friends doesn’t mean I automatically get feelings for her and forget about you. You know I'm smart enough to not get mixed up with someone like her.” he says, feeling like his heart is breaking as he says it. He wants Yujin to feel reassured, but after saying this…it doesn’t feel worth it.

“So you agree.” Yujin says.

Sunghoon sits there, feeling like he’s about to throw up. Why is this so hard? Why can’t he just say ‘yes’ and move on? Why can’t he be happy with Yujin? He just nods his head. “I wouldn’t fall for someone like her.” he says extremely quietly, almost as if he never wanted those words to leave his mouth. But they did and it was too late.

Yujin smiles, satisfied by his answer. She leans in and kisses his lips quickly, “I believe you.” she says softly.

Sunghoon hesitates, not glad that she believes him. Not glad that she said those things about you. Not glad that he said those things about you. He’s just not happy. He gives her a small smile and kisses her cheek quickly. “I’m glad.”

-

You are sitting on a bench, scrolling through your phone as you wait for your next lecture to start soon. Sunghoon sees you as he exits his lecture hall and his gaze lingers on you for a moment. He sighs to himself a bit, feeling like he was being pulled in two different directions. The more he thinks about it, he feels as though Yujin was giving him an ultimatum to choose you or her. If she said it outright, there isn’t a cell in his body that would hesitate to choose you. He thinks back to his conversation with Yujin in the library and he feels sick; he knows he did something wrong. 

He walks over to you and takes a seat next to you, just wanting to make up and move on. To his surprise, however, you get up immediately and take your bag before walking away. He sits there, confused, but figures you’re still upset about the argument last night. He gets up and he follows you before catching up and gently grabbing your arm, but you end up taking it away and start walking again. He bites the inside of his cheek before stepping in front of you, “Why are you walking away from me?”

“Get away from me.”

“No.” he said as quickly as the words left your mouth.

You look at him, feeling your eyes sting, hot tears wanting to form, but you blink them away. “You should probably go find your girlfriend, you wouldn’t want to be seen hanging out with a slut like me, right?” you ask rhetorically.

“Hey-,” he cuts you off, frowning instantly when you call yourself that. “Stop it…you know I don’t see you that way.”

“That’s a fucking lie; I heard you talking to Yujin. Or are you surprised about that too since you were in the library and someone like me couldn’t possibly be in a place like that.” you say as you cross your arms, swallowing as if that will help mask your clear frustration.

“...what?” he asks quietly, freezing as he realizes what you’re saying.

“I heard you. I heard you agree with her when she called me a slut. I heard you say you "would never be stupid to fall for someone like me". Well, fuck you. Go be with your perfect girlfriend, asshole.” you say before you push past him, swallowing again, but this time to stop yourself from crying.

“Wait-” he tries to grab your arm again, but you pull it away and keep walking. He feels his heart sink as he watches you walk away. The world felt as if it just collapsed. He feels like he’s sinking and as he watches you become further from him, he feels like he’s lost everything. He’s holding his breath, not necessarily realizing he is, almost as if he exhales, he’s not sure he has the strength to take another breath knowing he’s hurt you; he doesn’t deserve to.

-

Everything moves in slow motion, all voices muffled, as Sunghoon feels himself being dragged inside of a party by Yujin. He can hear and see her laughing and talking with her friends as they walk inside the loud and crowded atmosphere, but he feels as if he’s hollow. He stands there like a zombie as Yujin talks and greets some of her friends. He’s not sure how it happened, especially since it was almost midnight and he honestly just wanted to go to sleep, but he somehow ended up here. His eyes felt heavy as they looked around the room, but he subconsciously stood up straighter when his eyes landed on you. It was like he had been resuscitated, his heart beating rapidly as he sees you and then he sees him.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, noticing how Sungchan was standing closely to you, how his eyes scanned every inch of your body with some stupid, smug smirk on his face. Sunghoon rolled his eyes again and grimaced at the sight. He sees how you whisper something into his ear, Sungchan grinning as he places his hand on your hip. Suddenly, Sunghoon’s heart stopped again as his gaze fixates on his hand. His hand grips Yujin’s tightly as he clenches his jaw and his other hand curls into a fist, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. His breathing becomes heavy as he sees you smile, smile in a way he’s never had you smile at him before as your hand caresses Sungchan’s cheek while you clearly flirt back with him. Sunghoon was livid. He feels like an extra in his own life as he watches you fall for someone like that.

“Baby…?” Yujin asks, loosening her hand and taking it away from him since he was practically cutting off her circulation.

“I’m fine.” he mumbles, hints of anger and annoyance clear in his tone. He doesn’t look at her as he answers and she catches on.

She looks to where his gaze is and then she looks back at him, upset. “Why are you looking at her?” she asks as she crosses her arms. “You told me you don’t have feelings for her. I’m your girlfriend, not her.”

“Stop, Yujin, it’s not like that…” he mumbles, annoyed as he keeps looking at you and Sungchan. He watches as Sungchan puts his arm around your waist and he feels like the air has just been knocked out of him. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he glares at the two of you, wanting nothing more than to shove him off of you.

Yujin scoffs, “I don’t even see how you could have feelings for a slut like her.” she mumbles, taking a sip of a drink her friend brought for her. Sunghoon keeps his attention on you. How Sungchan keeps you close, whispers in your ear to make you giggle and you indulge in it, how he touches you, and how he looks at you as if he’s some sick animal that wants to devour you. “Did you even hear me?” Yujin asks, pissed off.

“Yeah, I heard you.” Sunghoon mumbles as he continues watching the two of you.

Yujin glares at him and then grabs his hand, dragging him away from her friends. Sunghoon just goes along with it and as Yujin starts dragging him upstairs, Sungchan leas in and kisses you. Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he continues going upstairs with Yujin, her dragging him into an empty bedroom and closes the door behind them. Sunghoon feels like all thoughts had escaped him when he saw that and he stands there with only one thing on his mind: you.

“Let’s have sex.” Yujin says as she looks at him.

Sunghoon snaps out of it and looks at her, feeling like this is his first time seeing her tonight. He looks at her in confusion, not wanting to since he only has you on his mind, but he doesn’t want to upset her any further, so he nods his head. Yujin pulls him towards her and kisses him. He hesitates, feeling himself grimace, but he tries to ignore it and kiss her back. He doesn’t want to be up here with her, he wants to be down there with you. As they continue to kiss, Yujin begins to undress herself and Sunghoon feels himself tense up. He tries to forget about you and focus on her, thinking maybe helping her undress would help, but it doesn’t. Not even a little bit. 

Yujin moves them over to the bed as she keeps kissing him and he sits there, partially kissing her back and also sitting stiff as a board. He knows this is supposed to be hot for him, having a practically naked girl on him, but he only finds himself wishing it was you. Yujin kisses down his neck as she takes off his shirt and he feels like he’s zoning out, not moving a muscle. Yujin moves her hands along his chest and down his body and then stops kissing him as she looks at him.

“You’re not even hard.” she says as she frowns. Sunghoon just stares at her, not necessarily surprised, but he still feels bad. "What the hell do you even like about her? She's a fucking whore who opens her legs for any and every guy. She has nothing else to offer besides her fucking pussy, which probably is already stretched beyond repair." Yujin says, angry. "She's nothing! She's not even special and yet she always gets any guy she wants. Well, why does she get you too?" Yujin tears up. "I'M your girlfriend, not her! Do you even love me?" Yujin asks, frustrated.

Sunghoon knows her anger is justified and he feels awful for feeling like he wants her to be you instead. As he watches and hears her say all of these things, he feels bad for treating her like this, but he also becomes angry at listening to what she’s saying about you. He feels bad for saying it feels like he doesn’t know you, because he does, and he knows you’re nothing like who she says you are.

“Answer me!” Yujin yells.

“I do love you.” Sunghoon says quickly.

“...do you love her?”

He stays quiet. Does he love you? He doesn’t know how to answer that. He knows he cares about you more than anyone else, he knows that even when you two fight, he would never want anyone else but you to be by his side, he knows that you’re the only one who gets him, he knows he likes making you smile and laugh and sometimes when you look at him, he feels like he can just look back at you forever. But is that love? Then, what is it he feels for Yujin? Does he love you and not her? How come he never realized it before? Did he always feel this way?

"Why the hell did you even ask me out? Why did you even ask me to be your girlfriend if all this time, you've wanted her? If all this time you've been in love with her?" Yujin asks, furious.

What is he supposed to say? Has he always been in love with you? He thinks for a moment. He thinks about why he asked her out in the first place, about a week after you hooked up with some guy after you two just started college. Was that the reason? Was it because he just wanted something and he knows deep down, you don’t want the same, so he found it somewhere else? You…everything has always been about you, his whole world has always revolved around you.

Yujin gets up and gets dressed. "If you want to be with her so badly, fine. But just know, she's still a whore. She'll just use you and then toss you aside." Yujin says as she finishes getting dressed. "But by all means, go sleep with that slut. We're done." Yujin says as she leaves the room.

Sunghoon sits on the bed in silence. Just great. Now, he doesn’t have a girlfriend and worst of all, he still can’t have you. He sits there for a moment longer before getting up and putting back on his shirt. Screw this party, he shouldn’t have come anyway. He walks out of the bedroom and goes downstairs, feeling like his mind is in a different place as he walks outside. He stops and notices you sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette. He feels relieved, not seeing you in Sungchan’s arms, and for a split second, he wishes he could just walk over and take you into his, but he pushes that thought away and just decides to take a seat beside you on the curb instead. You scoot away a bit from him, silence looming over the two of you and he feels even worse. 

“You shouldn’t be sitting here, you know. Your girlfriend might get pissy.” you mumble as you exhale some smoke.

“I’m not with Yujin anymore.”

You pause for a moment, “...I saw you two go upstairs.”

“She just…got upset that I couldn’t get hard. I just had so many thoughts running through my mind…” he trails off, not wanting to ramble on about it.

“Whatever.” you say as you take another drag.

“I wish I never asked her out.” he says before taking a deep breath, feeling like he said something he didn’t even realize he was keeping a secret, not even from himself.

“Why are you telling me this? In case you forgot, I am not your friend anymore. Not after what you and her said about me this morning.” You take another drag, “It's one thing for her to call me a slut, I don't care about her, but you? You agreed with her. You made fun of me. You're supposed to be my best friend and you say I'm a slut and then that you aren't "stupid" enough to date "someone like me"?  Fuck you, honestly. I was so pissed when I heard that. I know we fought the other night, but I never thought you would say that shit about me.” You take another drag. “So stop talking to me about your problems like we're still friends. You want nothing to do with "someone like me"? Well, then, you got it.”

Sunghoon stays silent, feeling as if everything around him is crumbling. You’re sitting maybe a foot away from him, but he feels like you’re on the other side of the planet. “I’m sorry.” he says softly, feeling ashamed to have talked about you like that.

You shake your head and continue smoking. “Whatever.”

“I miss you.” he says suddenly. “And, I shouldn’t have said any of that this morning. I was trying to reassure Yujin at your expense and…that was a big fuck up by me. None of what I said was worth any pain I’ve caused you.”

“Well, I don’t miss you. I don’t even care.”

Sunghoon stays quiet for a moment. “I have to fix this. Not because I feel like it will make me feel better to know I said sorry, because that doesn’t fix anything; that doesn’t make you feel better. I want to fix this because, even if you don’t believe me, I value our friendship more than anything in the world.”

You scoff and don’t reply, blinking away your tears as you continue smoking. “I don’t need you. Think what you want about me, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Hey…” he says tentatively as he notices you blinking away tears. He feels like he got punched in the gut and hates himself for knowing he’s the one that caused you to feel this way. “I know I hurt you…a lot.” he admits. He doesn’t know if you would want to listen to anything else he has to say, but he wants nothing more than for everything to go back to normal. To have you back. To just have you look at him. Anything.

You scoff, “You? As if.” you say as you put out your cigarette. “Don’t flatter yourself. Like I care about your opinion.” you say as you stand up. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your friendship. I don’t need you.” you say as you walk away and back into the party.

He doesn’t hesitate to follow you, not wanting to let you go. He can’t. He can’t bear the thought of you actually not being a part of his life, not for one goddamn second. He tries to catch up to you, but he stops in his tracks when he sees you go back over to Sungchan. It feels as though time has stopped and he was cursed with having to watch you be with him for the rest of his life. You whisper something to Sungchan, prompting him to grin and put his hands on your waist. Sunghoon feels like he’s about to collapse as he watches Sungchan whisper something back to you before taking your hand and leading you upstairs. He wants to do something, take you away from him, tell you that you mean so much more and are so much more than whatever Sungchan thinks about you. How you mean everything to him and watching you walk upstairs with some other guy feels as though you are taking away every piece of Sunghoon, breaking him apart. But he doesn’t and an hour passes before you walk back downstairs with Sungchan, his arm around your waist.

Sungchan whispers something in your ear before letting you go and walking over to his friends, all of them laughing and teasing him. You just walk back out of the party, feeling sick to your stomach; as if you just made the biggest mistake of your life; shame. As you walk down the sidewalk, the night suddenly feels much colder than before. You take out your cigarettes and start smoking another one. Sunghoon follows and catches up, “Can I have one?” he asks, not knowing what else to say, but wanting to say something. You stay quiet, but eventually extend the one you were smoking to him. You stop walking as he takes it, taking a drag as he stands beside you. 

You hold out your hand, wanting it back and after he takes another inhale from it, he exchanges it back. You take another drag, staying quiet, as you extend it back to him. He takes it as you two share the cigarette and he hands it back to you, almost wanting to just hold your hand instead. You take a long drag, holding the smoke for a while before slowly exhaling. “...you were right.” you say quietly as you hold the cigarette out for him. “It is lonely.”

He takes the cigarette, feeling hopeful that this is the beginning of an honest conversation, and relieved that you’re opening up. He hands it back to you, “Are you lonely? Do you miss having a relationship?” he asks, softly, wanting to make sure he’s being cautious so he doesn’t hurt you again.

“Not the ones I used to be in, no. Those guys were…well, you know.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles. You sigh and take a seat on the curb. He follows suit, seeing if you’ll say something else, but deciding to break the silence. “So…what kind of guy do you want?” he asks, deep down hoping for a certain answer. 

You don’t answer him and instead, ignore his question. In all honesty, you don’t know. Well, you do, but you’re too scared to admit it. “You were also right about me being a slut.”

“I-I didn’t mean it-”

“You know it, everybody else knows it…and I always knew it.” You take your cigarette back and take a drag. “Hearing you say it sucked, though, but I know it’s the truth.”

“I shouldn’t have said it. I was so caught up in trying to make Yujin feel better and fix things between us when it wasn’t worth it. Not when it came at your expense.”

“I know.”

“I should’ve still stuck up for you. It didn’t matter if she was my girlfriend, you don’t deserve to be talked about like that.”

You shrug and hand him the cigarette, lighting a new one for yourself to smoke. “I don’t care anymore. Hooking up with Sungchan just now made me realize it. Seeing and hearing his friends tease him for it…” you take a long drag, “I knew that’s what I am.”

He does the same and looks at you. “Did you want to hook up with him?”

“No.”

“Then, why did you do it?” You ignore his question and keep smoking. “Hey…” he says softly. He knows you’re avoiding his question, but he wants to hear what you have to say.

“What happened with you and Yujin tonight?” you ask, wanting to change the subject.

“Just…an argument.”

“About…?”

“That’s not important.”

“You wanted to tell me all about it earlier. You said something about you not getting hard and regretting asking her out. What the hell happened? I thought you loved her or whatever.” you mumble as you inhale more smoke, a part of you hoping it chokes you.

“I do love her. But I guess…it meant something different to her. She wanted things from me I couldn’t do.”

“Like what.”

“Like…her not wanting us to be friends anymore.”

You scoff before continuing to smoke. “You should’ve chosen her.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow as he takes a drag. “You think I shouldn't have chosen my friend who's been with me through thick and thin over someone who was basically controlling who I talked to?”

“She was just controlling that you don't talk to me. Can't blame her, she probably thought I would try to sleep with you or something. Besides, since when did us being friends for so long suddenly matter? It didn't when you agreed with her about me being a slut.”

“It matters to me.” He says, feeling his heart sink a little at your words. It seemed like you didn’t think your friendship meant anything. He takes another drag and sighs quietly before continuing. “You’re my best friend. I care about you more than anyone else.” You stay silent as you continue to smoke. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?” he asks, softly. You just keep smoking, not really sure how to answer. He sighs to himself as he does the same and his mind wanders to thinking about you and Sungchan again. He rolls his eyes to himself as he tries to push those thoughts out of his head.

“You asked me if I ever felt heartbreak when we fought that night, talking about if that’s why I have commitment issues or whatever.” you say as you take another drag. “Yeah…I have.”

“Was the heartbreak from…” he let’s the question linger in the air for a moment, “a relationship?” You shake your head. “So…what was it from then? Who broke your heart?”

You stay silent for a moment, just smoking “...i didn't realize I fell in love with him until he got a girlfriend, well, his first serious girlfriend. At first, I didn't really care, but then…” you go quiet for a moment as you keep looking ahead, not at him. “The way he talked about her, would smile a certain way when he was with her, like he's never smiled at me before...laughing at jokes they shared...seeing him kiss her, hold her hand…” you take another drag, “holding her hand..” you repeat, like you’re lost in thought. “It's something so stupid and simple, but I've never had a guy hold my hand romantically...but he held hers and I remember feeling like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do a damn thing but suddenly wish I was his girlfriend instead. And then I realized. I loved him.” you take another drag, “I loved him and he was in love with someone else.”

He stayed quiet the whole time you talked. He took in every single word. He took in how you said every single word, how you looked as you spoke. He felt his heart break for you. The way you talked about it was nothing like he’s ever heard you talk about; so…innocent. “Did you ever try to tell him how you felt?”

You stay quiet for a moment as you swallow. “I almost did. One time. I just felt so tired from pretending and I didn't want to just hookup with anyone anymore. I wanted to be his more than anything in the world. I almost told him and then…” you take another drag from your cigarette. “He started telling me about how he finally had sex with his girlfriend. How hot she is. How he had never seen anyone so beautiful. How he couldn't believe he was so lucky to be dating her. Fuck-” you pinch your thigh to stop yourself from crying as you take another drag. “I felt so...gross. I had never had a guy say that about me, never had a guy be proud to be with me, but the way he talked about her and everything he was saying...I knew he would laugh in my face if I, just some slut, was in love with him; he would feel grossed out or whatever. No matter how close I thought we were, I knew right then and there I would never be like her. Never like the girl he wanted.” you take another drag, “So I didn't say anything.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet again, feeling awful. He hated that you thought about yourself that way. He hated that other people had made you feel that…him included. He hated this guy, especially, for making you feel this way. What a piece of shit. You deserve nothing but the best and this guy pulls this bullshit with you? He was about ready to punch him in the face. “And you’re still friends with him? After he did all of this to you?”

“He’s all I’ve ever had.”

“He’s not all you have, though. What about me?” he asks, intending to make something positive out of this all. He just wants you to know how precious you are to him because he cares about you so much. 

This, doesn’t help whatsoever, and you feel like you’re about to burst into tears. You can’t tell if he’s the idiot or if you are; maybe the latter. But when he says that, you just feel like sobbing, curling up into a ball, and dying right then and there. You pinch your thigh again, to prevent yourself from crying because you absolutely loathe it.

He notices and immediately puts his hand on yours to stop you. He hates seeing you like this and he looks at you, not wanting you to suppress this anymore.

His hand on yours, however, makes you feel even worse. Worse because it makes your stomach do flips and you can feel your heart beat faster. Worse because you know it only carries the connotation of a friend comforting a friend…nothing more. You pull your hand away and continue smoking.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t try to take your hand back. It hurts him to see you pull yourself away. He just wants to make you feel better, feel safe, feel loved. Feel nothing but happiness because that’s all you deserve. But you don’t. He wants to give you everything, and so, he tries again to comfort you. He reaches for your hand, gently taking it into his, it enveloping yours as he holds it as if it is the most delicate thing on earth.

“Don’t.” you whisper, taking your hand away.

You didn’t want to. God, you didn’t want to. His hand felt like silk against yours, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Compared to his, your hand was like felt, worth far less than his. You didn’t want him to hold your hand, not like this. You wanted it to mean something, have some sort of value. Not for comfort. Not because he’s your best friend. Not because he felt bad. But because he loved you. Because he wanted to hold your hand and be proud as he held it. Because he wanted to claim you as is. Because you wanted to be his.

He lets go of your hand and stays silent for a moment. It was as if a part of him died inside as you pulled away your hand. All the thoughts that he was having a few seconds ago were replaced by sadness. His hands tightened into fists from the frustration of being unable to comfort you or take away your sadness. He wanted so desperately to try again, but he knew that there was nothing he could do right now. Slowly, he takes another drag of his cigarette, and you do the same with yours.

“Did you cry whenever he would talk about his girlfriend like that? Did you cry anytime he complimented her?”

You don’t answer for a while. “Yeah. When he told me he loved her, I cried later. After that, I pretended like I didn't care. And for a while, it worked. I would just hook up with guys and I would still talk and hang out with him because he didn't treat me like what everyone else saw me as. He never did. And that's one of the reasons I fell in love with him, I guess, but then sometimes...he would start talking about her and then I just...felt worse. At some point, I just kind of felt numb about it, especially after he told me about the first time they had sex. He talked about it like it was so special...like she was so special...and I just decided then and there I couldn't love him. So, I just pretended and after a while, I thought I didn't love him anymore, but one night, he started talking about how he couldn't lose his girlfriend, how he wanted to make things with her work and I felt that same feeling again, like I was going to be sick. Then, I heard him say what he really thought about me and that was the last time I cried about him.”

“What did he say about you? Did he insult you?” he asks as he feels himself becoming angry, wondering what this jerk could’ve possibly said about you to make you feel this way. But, you don’t answer, you just remain quiet and that made him want to punch this guy even more. “Do you miss him?” he asks, quietly.

“...i miss being oblivious to the fact that I love him.”

He feels his heart drop when you say that. You still love him? He swallows, feeling like he’s choking and as if all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the atmosphere. “So…you do love him. You’re still in love with him?” Once you ignore him again, the answer is clear. “You do still love him…” he mumbles. Anger courses through his veins because you’re in love with someone so fucking awful. How could you give all of yourself to someone who is too blind to see how much you’re worth? How much you mean and value you provide to the meaning of life it’s goddamn self? He watches as you continue smoking. “So, you mean to tell me, after everything he’s done to you, you still love him?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know you’re in love with him?”

“I told you, I never told him.”

This doesn’t help him feel any less bad for you. Some douche was out and about being happy and in love while you suffer on the sidelines? “Are you ever going to tell him?”

You shake your head as you look down. How could you? Especially since you’re delivering this whole pathetic monologue and he still isn’t taking any goddamn hint. 

“Is it because he’s still with his girlfriend?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” you say as you finish your cigarette.

He becomes frustrated, “Is he?”

“No.”

“So, they broke up.” You ignore his question once more. He waits a few seconds before speaking up again, “I’m taking that as a ‘yes’ then.”

“Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” he asks as if this question has the most obvious answer. He scoffs and takes another drag out of frustration. “Because I’m your best friend, dumbass.”

This only makes you frown as you pinch your thigh again to stop the tears threatening to fall. He frowns as well when he sees this and reaches his hand over again. “Stop.” he says as he grabs your hand. You look down at your hands and you take yours away again. He feels a lump form in his throat when you pull your hand away as a pit of sadness just keeps growing and growing in his stomach. “Why are you doing that? …do you honestly think I don’t care about you?” You just keep staring ahead of you, not looking at him once. He takes another drag and sighs. “Have I ever given you a reason for you to think that I don’t care? Have I hurt you like that guy did?”

His questions make you stay silent for a long time. You wish that you could just disappear. Or that you could go back in time and stop yourself from having these stupid feelings. Or…that you never met him in the first place. Maybe then things would be easier. Better.

“Just…answer me.” he says, pleading, almost. He wants you to understand that he is here for you, he always will be and nothing is going to get in the way of that anymore. He wants this to be clear, so he tries to hold your hand again to show his support, but you take it away once he does.

“Are you pretending or are you actually this clueless?” you ask, becoming frustrated, your voice having a hint of pain in it.

His stomach tightened when you rejected him once more. He doesn’t look at you, suddenly afraid to see your expression. He doesn’t know what to do, how to make you feel better. He stays silent for a moment and continues smoking. “Pretending about what?” he asks. You become increasingly frustrated and pinch your thigh again. He notices and grabs your hand again, “Stop.” he says sternly, but you pull your hand away. 

“Jesus, you’re the guy.”

He feels himself freeze. “What the hell do you mean ‘I’m the guy’?”

“Are you dense?” you raise an eyebrow. “You’re the guy I’ve been talking about this whole damn time!”

“...i’m the guy?” he asks, completely stunned. You let out a huff of frustration and stand up, walking away. He doesn’t hesitate to stand up and go after you. He grabs your arm to stop you. “Wait, you can’t just leave…”

You keep pinching your thigh, a part of you believing it will wake you up from this nightmare as you avoid his gaze. You take your arm away from his grip. “Just forget it.”

“No. You just said I’m the guy, right? The one you’re in love with?” He asks, all of his focus on you. You ignore his question and turn around, walking away. He groans and he moves in front of you, stopping you. “You love me?” But you just avoid his gaze and don’t answer his question. He sighs, “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me.”

“No.”

He frowns. “Look at me.” he whispers. “Please…” he moves closer to you. “Do you love me?”

“Why does it matter?”

“You tell me. Why doesn’t it matter?”

You punch your thigh harshly a few times as you finally look at him. Your breath hitches as tears well in your eyes, despite you trying to ignore them. “Because I’m just a slut.”

He grabs your hand and stops you. He feels panicked, not knowing what to do or say. He doesn’t want you to cry or punish yourself. “Stop it. Stop with that bullshit. You’re not a slut, don’t you dare ever call yourself that.”

“You said it yourself. You agree with everyone else. I know you don't feel the same. I know you'll never talk about me the way you talk about Yujin or see me the way you see her. I know you said you guys broke up, but so what? I know what I am and I know that's all I'll ever be.”

He feels tears prick his own eyes as he listens to you. He shakes his head, “Stop that. Stop saying that I’ll never feel the same. Stop saying that you’re just a slut.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! It matters to me. You’re not just “some slut”. You’re my best friend.”

You frown as you feel the urge to cry become stronger. You take your hand away and you pinch your thigh again, just wanting the tears to go away. What he said made you feel awful. It’s not what you wanted to hear. You didn’t want to be just that…and he just kept reminding you that that’s all you are. “...do you honestly think that makes me feel better?”

He frowns, “Fine. Maybe it doesn’t make you feel better. But it should. Because it’s the fucking truth.”

“Are you even thinking about what I told you? Are you even thinking about how you're the guy I've been talking about? How every time you talked about Yujin, every time I saw you hold her hand, how you talked about her when you told me about the first time you guys had sex, that I just wanted to curl up and die? You don't get it. You calling me your best friend doesn't make me feel any fucking better. It makes me feel worse than when people call me a slut. But I don't want you to stand here and try to make me feel better, because if you think telling me you care about me because I'm your 'best friend' is going to make me feel better, then you haven't listened to a damn thing I've said.”

He stares at you sympathetically. He stares at you as he realizes just how badly he’s broken your heart. As he realizes he broke your heart. 

“I don't want to be your best friend. I don't want you to tell me I'm your best friend.” You keep pinching your thigh harder, but tears roll down your cheeks anyway. “I wanted it to be me.” you say as you cry even though you keep pinching harder. “I wanted to hold your hand romantically. I wanted you to smile at me the way you did with her. I wanted you to talk about me the way you talked about her.” Your breath hitches as you cry and pinch your thigh harder, your nails digging into your skin. “I wanted to be special to you. I wanted you to tell me you love me. I wanted to be your girlfriend...more than anything in the world.” You cry harder even though you try not to and you dig your nails more into your thigh.

He’s never seen you cry. Not when you broke your arm, not when your pet goldfish died, not when your first boyfriend broke up with you, not even when you get incredibly frustrated. He has never seen you cry. But he hates it. He doesn’t want to see you so sad, so hurt, in so much pain…and he hated it even more because he–the one person you loved more than anything else–was the one who was making you feel this way. He pulls you into him, hugging you tightly, just wanting to take your pain away, just wanting you to…feel loved. But you push him away and wipe your tears, and he notices the imprints from your nails on your thighs. He doesn’t even realize it, but he reaches his hand out and gently touches the marks as he looks at them. He touches the ridges softly and your skin feels so smooth to him, so precious, but you push his hand away. His eyes travel up to meet yours and he sees you’ve stopped crying.

“Why wouldn’t you just have told me how you felt?” he asks, quietly.

“For starters, you had a girlfriend. The other reason: it doesn’t matter.”

“What if I never got with Yujin? What if I was single the whole time?”

“I didn’t realize I loved you until you started dating her…”

“Why her? I’ve dated other girls before, so why her?”

You shrug, “She’s the only one you really seemed to be serious about…the only one you told you loved. Besides…I’m not some sort of homewrecker.”

“I wish you told me.” he whispers. “You were never going to tell me?”

“No.”

“So, you were just hoping I would never find out?”

“Yes.”

“So, you were just going to keep that secret for the rest of your life?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you were just going to live with that pain forever?”

“Are you going to keep asking the same question?”

“I just want to know…” he says as if he’s desperate. “Why…why would you not tell me?”

“Because you were with Yujin! Because you kept telling me how much you loved her! How pretty you thought she was, how happy you were to be with her, how smart and kind and funny and fucking perfect you thought she was! You were happy. You were happy with someone who wasn't me and although that killed me, you were happy. I couldn't do that to you.” you say as your voice breaks.

“So that justified you suffering in silence? Why would you rather see me happy while you were in pain?”

You look at him like the answer was obvious. How does he not get it? You stare at him as you remain quiet, looking at him as if it’s your last time. “Because I love you.” you say, softly.

He feels like you’re looking at him as if he is the most special person to walk on earth. He swallows out of nervousness as he realizes you gave him your heart completely. “You love me so much that you were willing to put yourself through hell just to see me be happy?” He doesn’t feel worthy of that…but you seem to think he is. You love him.

“Wouldn’t you have done the same for Yujin?”

You don’t want to hear him answer this. You don’t want to know, but you feel like he doesn’t understand. You feel like you keep repeating yourself and he’s relishing in it. 

He doesn’t know how to answer. Would he? Hearing how you describe your love for him, he realizes what he felt for Yujin maybe wasn’t love. Maybe it was comfort. Or security. Or the fact that someone wanted to be with him so seriously. Maybe he did love her, but…not the way you love him. This sounds like love. This sounds like what he was supposed to feel. “Yes…” he says, not really sure if that’s true. He wants to believe he loves her. He wants to believe he didn’t waste almost four years on something that ends up meaning absolutely nothing. He has to love her.

“Then you get it.”

“Did you just hope we would break up one day so you and I would get together?”

You sigh, “You still don't get it. I know you don't feel the same way. I know I am not the type of girl you want to be with. I'm not the type of girl any guy wants to be with seriously.”

How could you say that about yourself? Sunghoon doesn’t believe any of that, not for a single fucking second. “That isn’t true. You’re smart, kind, funny, and pretty.”

“Stop.”

“No. It’s true. Everything I just said is true. You think no guy would be able to fall in love with you, but they would. You would make an awesome girlfriend.” he tries to reassure you.

You don’t want any guy.

“You’re not making me feel better.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Agree with the bullshit you’re saying about yourself? Because that’s not fucking happening.”

“What I want you to say…you can’t.”

“Try me. Tell me.”

You just look at him. He doesn’t get it. He isn’t saying it because he doesn’t feel the same. This realization makes you feel like you’re crumpling. You look at him, defeated. If you have to tell him, you know he would only say it to make you feel better, not because he actually wants to. That. That’s what hurts the most. He would say it because you’re his best friend…but you don’t want to be.

“...are you going to try and get back together with Yujin?”

He pauses. He thinks about it for a second. “Right now…I don’t know. I guess a part of me wants to try still. Does that make me shitty?” He’s not sure why he does. Yujin is the first girl he’s ever told he loved…and he doesn’t say it often. Maybe he’s like you, in a way. He doesn’t really like saying stuff like that. It felt weird when he said it. But he thinks that’s just because he’s never said it before. 

“Why would I?”

“I feel like an asshole for even considering it after everything you’ve told me-”

“She’s the one you love.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” he says, truthfully. He just needs to think. He just needs one damn second to think.

“Then let me make it clear: be with her. From my perspective, she's the one you want. What I told you, how I so stupidly cried in front of you, that doesn't matter. I told you this earlier: you should've chosen her. So just, make up with her tomorrow or whatever and be with her.” you swallow. “...but I can't be your friend.”

He sees you giving up. He hears it. He hates it. His mind is running a thousand miles per minute, he can’t fucking think and it’s pissing him off. “It’s not that easy. I can’t just ‘choose’ between the two of you. I’m confused, I just…I want to be with whoever makes me happy.”

He’s always been happy with you. Sure, you two fought, but you always got over it. You make him happy. So goddamn happy. But he’s scared. He just gave nearly four years of his life to Yujin…what if it’s because he does love her? 

“That’s her.”

“How are you so sure it’s not you?”

“I know.”

He groans in frustration. “So, I have to choose between the two of you?”

You. He chooses you. He’s not sure about the rest of it, but all he knows is that he chooses you. Four years with Yujin doesn’t compare to the years you and him have had together. Nothing else matters. You. Just you.

“Just be with her.”

“What if I want to be with you?”

He hasn’t thought about it. Maybe he chooses you only as a best friend. What if he doesn’t choose you for love? …does he love you? He recalls the teasing from classmates when you guys were younger, but he's never really given any thought to it possibly becoming real. Does he love you the same way he loves Yujin? Does he even love Yujin? He doesn’t know…he just doesn’t know.

“You don’t.”

“And what makes you so sure that I choose Yujin over you? What makes you so sure you’re ‘not enough’ for me?”

“...because you would’ve chosen me first.”

“I can still choose you.”

You sigh, “You're making this complicated. You know she's the one you love, stop feeling bad for me like I'm some lost puppy and just admit it. I don't want your pity and I certainly don't want you to say you ‘choose me’ because you're confusing your pity for feelings. Stop saying I'm this great girl and stop saying any guy would be lucky to have me, that makes me feel worse. So just make up with Yujin and get back with her. Reassure her that you love her because you do and tell her I won't be a problem anymore because you and I aren't anything anymore. Problem solved.”

Is this really what you believed? Is this really what you thought? He just needed some time, he can’t think. He doesn’t know what to think anymore. You were speaking as if it was impossible for him to love you, but what if he does? How is he supposed to know? How did he know with Yujin? He’s questioning whether he even loved her since he can’t even compare how he feels about you with whatever he felt with her. He just knows it’s stronger. But stronger in what way? He sees how you’re looking at him and he realizes the only way for him to succeed in making you feel better–which is what he truly wants–is to just listen to you. He doesn’t want to. But he wants to see you be happy, even if it means he isn’t.

“Are you really sure this is what you want me to do?” he barely asks, the words leaving his mouth without any fervor, as if he never wanted to utter them in the first place. As if he doesn’t want to hear your answer; see you walk out of his life.

You don’t answer him. You just look at him before walking past him. You hold your breath, knowing that once you exhale, you’re going to start sobbing. You felt so lonely. So lonely. You’ve always had him…and then you lost him to Yujin…and now, you’ve lost him for good.

He doesn’t turn around to look at you as you walk away, because he knows if he does, he will run after you and that clearly isn’t what you want. You want to let him go, at least that’s how he understands it. He doesn’t want that. He wants you. He knows that much, he knows he needs you. He’s not sure how things will look without you now. He never thought it would be like this, but here he is. …why does this feel so much worse than when Yujin walked away from him? Why does this hurt more than his actual breakup? The reason is one he doesn’t want to admit. He realizes the answer and he refuses to let it grow to fruition. He doesn’t know why it took him until now to figure it out, but he’ll realize that later. He wanted time…now, he’s got it.

-

Deja vu. That’s what this all feels like. Here Sunghoon was, again, at another stupid frat party around midnight. Here he was, again, with Yujin. He took your advice, he decided to apologize and get back together with her, and these past few months without you have felt like torture. Even using torture to describe it seems too dull. He has thought about nothing but you. He’s heard around campus about people you’ve hooked up with, but he doesn’t feed into it. As he stands here with Yujin at this godforsaken party, all he can feel is regret. He leans against a wall as Yujin talks with her friends and he practically chugs his drink. He doesn’t even want to leave the party because he doesn't think it's worth to waste any of his wants on anything but you. You make up all of his desires and he wants nothing more than for you to be back into his life. He finishes the rest of his drink and to his surprise, he does see you. He stands up straighter as he looks at you, but feels like his insides are on fire when he realizes you’re making out with Sungchan. On the couch. On the couch, you are making out with Sungchan. On the couch, Sungchan is running his hands along your hips and waist. On the couch, you let him. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss Sunghoon. A part of you went missing the night you walked away from him. You’ve seen him around campus with Yujin and eventually, it finally felt like you were over it all. Over him. You wouldn’t say you’ve been getting around quite frequently, but you won’t lie when you say that you did get with some guys to help get over him. It didn’t work. But you won’t admit to that. To you, at least, you’re over it. Over him. Sungchan helped a bit with some of the lonely nights, but you two aren’t anything serious. He’s not into that sort of thing and, hey, neither are you…so this is fine. He doesn’t lie to you about how he feels or what he wants and for that, you’re grateful. Although, you do have to admit, making out with him feels boring. Being with him feels boring. It’s not fun like it used to be…and even then, you aren’t completely sure it was even fun in the first place. Whatever, you’ll get into it at some point.

Sunghoon watches, now it really feels like deja vu. Is he dreaming? Or…is this him getting a second chance? Is this when he can finally pull you away from Sungchan and be there for you? Finally tell you how he feels? How he felt the whole time…? Suddenly, his spirits are slightly lifted, that is, until Yujin crosses her arms and scoffs before shoving him. Sunghoon is surprised and turns his attention towards her. Some people look at them, but Yujin doesn’t care, she just looks at Sunghoon, furious.

“Do you even want me to be your girlfriend?”

Maybe honesty wouldn’t be best right now. “I do…”

“Then stop looking at her.”

“Let’s…not make a scene.” he says, trying to calm her down.

“Just be honest for once: do you love me or her?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. He knows his answer, he’s had months to figure it out. But…you made yourself clear. You were done with each other. He sighs. “Can I get a moment to figure it out?” he asks, honestly a bit surprised he didn’t just cave and reassure her.

Yujin frowns and scoffs. “Let me ask you this, then. Do you wish that you were making out with her?”

He looks back at you and Sungchan, seeing him whisper something to you and you giggling before he kisses you again. He looks back at Yujin. “Yeah.” he swallows, gathering all of his courage. “But, that sounds…awful. It’s like you want me to admit I regret getting back together with you or something-”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” he answers without hesitation. He feels all of his muscles tense up. Did he really just say that? Well…it’s the truth, but he never thought he would say it. He feels…better.

Yujin quickly squashes that by slapping him, “We’re done.” she says before storming out, her friends following. Sure, the slap hurt, but as Sunghoon looks back at you and Sungchan…the pain from the slap seems so insignificant in comparison.

You decide to tell Sungchan you’re getting a drink, so you get up from the couch and go into the kitchen. You pour yourself a drink and once you do, you walk to the backyard and take a seat on the patio. 

Sunghoon figures you want to be alone…but finds himself following you outside anyway. He walks over to you cautiously. You and him have spoken consistently for practically your whole lives, but he finds himself struggling to even say a simple sentence or ask a question. The time you’ve spent apart was multiple days…too many fucking days in his opinion. He can’t stand it. “Can I sit here?” he asks, referencing the spot beside you. You shrug as you take a sip of your drink. He feels relieved, baby steps, right? He takes a seat beside you and thinks for a moment on how to keep the conversation going. “So…what were you telling Sungchan?” …has he lost the ability to socialize or something because why was this the question he asks? He bites his bottom lip a bit in frustration at himself.

“Spying on me?” you tease as you extend your cup, offering him some.

Sunghoon chuckles softly and shakes his head. Hearing your voice for the first time in months makes him remember just how much he’s missed you. He feels like everything in his life is restored and he smiles a bit. “You guys were all over each other on the couch, is it really weird for me to wonder?”

You shrug, “I mean, just typical flirting and dirty talk or whatever. Why?”

He feels his breath catch in his throat. “Dirty talk”?...what the fuck? “Um…no reason…I guess I was just…curious or something.” he mumbles.

“Are you here with Yujin?” you ask as you take another sip of your drink.

He shakes his head. “Well, not anymore. She broke up with me so…I’m alone now.” he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Alone here now…not…me alone altogether…or anything.” he cringes and looks away from you, feeling completely stupid. 

“What? Why did she break up with you?”

“She…saw me…looking at you and Sungchan…so she broke up with me.” he says, not really wanting to say the other stuff from the argument. You laugh in response and he frowns. “Don’t laugh.”

You nudge his shoulder, “It’s okay. If she broke up with you for that dumb of a reason, her loss.” You say as you take another sip.

He smiles slightly. It feels like old times. It feels like he has you back. It feels like you want him back. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s probably best I don’t have her constantly being suspicious about me and you.”

“Especially since we haven’t talked in months.”

He feels caught off guard by your blunt statement. Sure, it’s true…but it sounds like you didn’t miss him. “Yeah…we haven’t talked in a while.” You just take another sip of your drink and he looks back at you. “I’ve missed you.” He waited for you to say something back, but you didn’t. “I’ve um…missed talking to you like before. Like, before…everything got complicated and stuff-”

“I know what you meant.”

He nods his head a bit, everything now feeling awkward. “So…what have you been up to? Anything interesting happen?”

“Nope.”

“Really? Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Yup” you say as you take another drink.

“So…for the past few months, you’ve done absolutely nothing interesting?” he asks, his tone being more lighthearted and joking to try and diffuse the tension.

“No offense, but I’m not really looking to ‘catch up’ with you.”

Sunghoon feels his heart stop for a moment, but he tries to play it off. “Okay, ouch.” he laughs nervously, “So you’re not even remotely interested in talking with me?”

You shrug, “I dunno. These past few months without you, I’ve kinda just been doing my own thing, I guess.”

Your response left him feeling worthless. Like, he didn’t even mean a single thing to you before. Which, he knows isn’t true…but you sound like you mean it. “So, you haven’t missed me at all? Not even talking to me?”

“At first, yeah. But don’t worry, I’m not in love with you anymore.”

“...you’re not…in love with me anymore…?” he asks as he feels his blood run cold. You just shake your head and continue drinking from your cup. His heart sinks immediately. He feels small; insignificant. His mind jumps back to Sungchan and he frowns. “Are you in love with him now?”

“Him?”

“Sungchan.”

“Eh,” you shrug, “we’re not dating, just casual, I guess.”

“So, you’re not exclusive with him?”

“No.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah.”

He feels himself growing jealous and frustrated. How could you give yourself to someone who doesn’t love you? Sunghoon feels upset, realizing he unintentionally did the same thing, but still, not to this extent. He knows you. He knows you don’t want this…hopefully. But he sure as hell knows that you don’t deserve this. 

“That’s ridiculous. How can you be committed to this?”

“I’m not committed.”

He groans, “That’s…not what I meant. What do you two even get out of this?”

You shrug, “Why do you care? I get you’re a relationship guy even though you’ve only been serious with one girl, but don’t shit on me and what I choose to do.”

The way you spoke got under his skin. “I care because I happen to care about the people around me. In case you haven’t noticed, I care about you.” But you just roll your eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes. I’m being serious. Why do you feel like this isn’t worth talking about?”

“Because we aren’t friends. We aren’t anything. I don’t need your input.”

It feels like you’ve slapped him in the face, and this time, it fucking stings. “What do you mean we aren’t friends? We grew up together, how the hell are we not friends?”

“Are you stupid?”

“Am I stupid?” he asks, offended and frustrated. He was starting to lose his patience. “No. I’m not. I still consider you as my friend. We grew up together, went to the same schools, hung out every damn day, how is none of that relevant?”

“We haven’t spoken in months.”

“So what?” he asks, feeling as though your friendship suddenly means less than nothing to you, somehow.

“I told you that night that I wasn’t going to be your friend anymore.”

He freezes. He knows. He also knows you don’t just say shit without it meaning anything. He knows you aren’t friends anymore, but he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want you to be nothing to each other. He thought that if, maybe, he admitted he still sees you as his friend, you would admit the same. But you don’t. And now he feels that same empty feeling. “So…you’re just fine with letting us go without a second thought?”

You look at him, “Do you not remember anything from that night? Of course if fucking hurt; I was in love with you.”

“So it does matter.”

You sigh, “It doesn’t matter anymore; that was a long time ago.” you say as you take another sip.

He looks at you for a moment, feeling like his heart has become a punching bag and you were just taking any hit you could. Was this really the same person he grew up with? That he… “How could it not matter anymore? We used to mean the world to each other…how can that just…be…over?”

You look at him, “Because I had to get over you.”

“It’s not that easy. I spent everyday thinking about you. Everyday.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you!” He thought your question was so redundant, he honestly didn’t even realize what he said at first. 

“But…” you sit there, stunned. He finally said what you wanted him to say for so long, even if it was with a frustrated tone, still…it counted. “What about Yujin?”

“She…she doesn’t matter. You do. She always suspected I was in love with you-”

“Well, this is news to me.”

He deadpans. “Are you being fucking serious? I get I never said it before, but…” he pauses; he sees what you mean. “Okay…but…you never once thought it was possible that I love you?”

“No. Because that night when I told you that I was in love with you, you just kept saying I was your best friend. You’re so full of it.”

“I’m not full of it! I just…for fucks sake, I just didn’t know. I thought…I don’t know, I thought maybe for you it was just passing, or something, I don’t know what I thought I just…I don’t know.”

“Right. So as I stood there, crying my eyes out as I told you how much I loved you, you thought it was one sided.” you say as you roll your eyes.

“I…” he feels like he did that night, like he can’t think. “I just didn’t know, maybe something was holding me back, I don’t know.”

“I know why.”

He looks at you, relieved, thankful that you understand what he means. “You do?”

“Of course you didn’t want to admit to that. How embarrassing for you to have a crush on one of the school’s biggest sluts.”

He frowns. “That’s not what I mean. You honestly think it’s embarrassing for me to like you?”

“Exactly. And you knew that. I don’t blame you, no guy wants their girlfriend to be a whore.” You take another sip of your drink and you look at him. “Look, I’m not mad. I got over it and I honestly don’t care anymore. I know what I am and I know that until we graduate, that’s all I’ll probably be. But it doesn’t matter. Yujin breaking up with you not too long ago was dumb, you’re a really great guy, but you’ll find someone else.” You take another sip,  “I should probably head back in and find Sungchan.”

He felt anger wash over him. Not because you don’t believe him about being in love with you. Not because you were going to Sungchan. But because of the fact that you believe the things you say about yourself. You’re so special, so goddamn special, and Sunghoon is so scared as he realizes he may be too late.

“And what if I don’t want to find someone else? What if I don’t want anyone else but you?”

You look at him for a moment. “Do you remember how you would talk about Yujin with me? You may not remember everything you said, but I remember it all and I remember how you looked as you said it. You talked about her like she was the most special and most beautiful girl in the world. You had this smile that you only had with her…” you pause for a moment, “You may say you have feelings for me…but they're not like the ones you had for her, and that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel bad because you deserve to be happy, but you also deserve to find another girl that makes you talk and feel that same way…and I know that’s not me.”

You’re so wrong. You’re so fucking wrong and it was pissing him off. He wishes he just figured this out earlier. He wishes that he asked you out instead. He wishes that he told you he loves you that night. He wishes he kissed you. He wishes he held you and didn’t let go. He swallows, “You remember everything I said?” he asks, slightly surprised to hear that. Honestly, he doesn’t even remember what he said. Not anymore.

“Of course I do…I wanted nothing more than for it to be me.” you say quietly as you take a sip and sigh. “But like I said, water under the bridge.”

He feels tears begin to form. “Why did we have to grow apart? Why didn’t you just talk to me? Just one damn word. Something. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“I can’t be your friend.”

“Why not?”

You look at him for a long moment, just staying quiet. “...I’m only going to say this once…but if I stayed your friend, I would just keep hurting myself…I would still love you.”

He stays quiet for a while. Even the loud music and chatter from the people inside seemed to drown out as he looked at you; you’re all that matters; you’re all that deserves his attention. “...did it hurt when we would talk everyday?”

You sigh softly and shake your head. “Not until you started dating Yujin. Before that, everything was fine. But once she happened…it hurt like hell.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you. I couldn’t do that to you, you were happy.”

“I would have wanted to know. I would have wanted to be there for you…”

You laugh a little, “No, that’s weird.” You shake your head and still laugh a little, “It’s fine, I’m over it.” 

“It’s not weird. It’s not okay for you to act like everything is fine.” he says, softly.

“Why are you trying to rehash this? There’s no point. Or do you like to hear about how I used to love you and it gives you some sort of ego boost or something?” you ask, not wanting to dive back into this…not again. He shakes his head, but he sighs. What is the point? You aren’t believing him and you’ve said it yourself…you’re over him. You stand up and his eyes follow you, “I’m gonna go find Sungchan. Later.” you say, not really meaning the ‘later’ part, but nonetheless, you walk away and all he can do is watch you leave…again.

He heads back into the party, wanting to find solace in getting batshit drunk or something, but he continues to torture himself by watching you dance with Sungchan. His eyes only focus on you, sure, he’s jealous and pissed off that you’re with Sungchan, but he only sees you. Sees how you move and he finds himself wishing you were dancing with him. 

Sungchan pulls you closer, just whispering sweet nothings in your ear and you feel his hands grab your ass. You giggle a little and try to enjoy your time with him as he starts kissing your neck. You laugh softly as you dance with him and, unfortunately for Sunghoon, he’s bearing witness to it all. His hand practically crushes his red solo cup as fury ignites within him when he watches what Sungchan is doing. That should be him. Not that he would be so…vulgar with his actions, but it should still be him instead. He sees Sungchan whisper something to you as he takes your hand and starts taking you upstairs. 

As he watched the two of you making your way upstairs, his whole body shook and trembled in rage. Every step that the two of you took together enraged him. He hated the way you casually held his hand and how he casually walked you up the stairs. He hated how he acted as if he had every right to touch you like that. He hated the fact that you were both so comfortable with one another at this point. He hated the fact that he was leading you away to his room…

You were so focused on following Sungchan, you were surprised to feel a tug on your other hand once you reached the top of the stairs. Both Sungchan and you stop and you turn to see Sunghoon holding your other hand. 

Sunghoon felt at ease, like he was grounded when he felt your hand in his. This made him more confident as he tugged you towards him, wanting you away from Sungchan. This pisses Sungchan off and he scoffs as he looks at Sunghoon. 

“The hell?” Sungchan says, not in the mood for any games. He tugs the hand he was holding, pulling you back towards him, but you find yourself only focused on Sunghoon as your heart starts to beat faster.

Sunghoon pulls you back towards him, his grip on your hand tightening. “Back off.” he says as he glares at Sungchan. 

“You back off.” Sungchan says as he tugs you back towards him.

Sunghoon realized that you were just being tugged around, so he stopped, but he kept holding your hand. “Let go of her.”

“You let go of her.” He looks at you, “Who the hell is this guy?” Sungchan asks, annoyed.

“Someone who actually loves her instead of using her.”

You look at Sunghoon, surprised to hear him say that. Sure, he said he loved you earlier…but this time when he said it, he said it like it was what he meant to say; what he wanted to say.

Sungchan laughs. “You love her?”

Sunghoon glares at him. “Yes. I love her. Now back off.”

Sungchan scoffs and puts his arm around you. “Tell you what, bud, you can have her when I’m done.” Sungchan winks as he pulls you towards him.

Sunghoon feels enraged. This asshole was acting so entitled, acting like he won this argument when Sunghoon knew damn well he wasn’t giving up. The fact that he had the nerve to call him “bud” too made Sunghoon want to throw him down the flight of fucking stairs. How he treated you was disgusting, talking about you like that in front of you. Sunghoon tugged you towards him one last time and Sungchan rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever.” Sungchan looks at you, “You know where my room is.” he says as he winks at you before walking away.

Sunghoon grimaces as Sungchan leaves, but feels better once he’s gone. The whole time, you were just looking at Sunghoon and you feel as though your heart is beating out of your chest as he holds your hand. After what he said. After all of this. He meets your gaze and he looks at you in a much more gentle manner. 

“You deserve so much more…” he whispers, his breath lightly brushing along your face since you’re so close together. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Stop.”

“No.” he says as he lets go of your hand and uses it instead to gently cup your face. “I wasn’t lying. You are all I’ve thought about for these past few months and you’re all I can ever think about. I’ve missed you every single damn second of the day and I’m sorry I was too scared to say it all before. I love you. And all this time, I’ve just thought about what you mean to me and the answer is everything; you mean everything to me. ...that seems like such a vague thing to say now that I say it out loud.” he chuckles softly, “But everything means nothing if you’re not with me. Eating, sleeping, breathing, blinking, are all pointless if I can’t spend one goddamn second with you. I’m not embarrassed of you and I only realized that night when you left that I’ve always been in love with you. Always. What I felt with Yujin is all meaningless when I compare it to how I feel about you. I love you. It was never her. Not for even a millisecond. You asked me if I would put myself through pain just to see her happy and I told you yes. I lied. I thought that was what I would do, but I realized I actually did that with you. I let you walk away because that’s what you wanted. I didn’t want that, god-” he takes a sharp inhale as he rests his forehead on yours, “It’s always been you…and I’m so sorry I never said it until now. I’m so sorry I put you through all of that shit. I’m so sorry, but please…” he whispers as he looks into your eyes, all of his focus only on you. “I love you.”

You feel your breath hitch slightly and you feel so tempted just to kiss him, but you hold yourself back. You smile a little bit and pull away slightly, feeling relieved. “...I need to smoke. You want one?” you ask as you take his hand, going into an empty bedroom. 

He closes the door behind the two of you as you walk over and sit on the bed, opening the window beside it. He sits beside you as you take out your pack and he smiles a bit. “Yeah, I do.” he says as you hand him one. He watches as you light yours and then you light his for him. You both sit silently for a moment as you smoke, it being a comfortable silence until he speaks. “Thank you.” he says, mainly for lighting his cigarette, but he does want it to apply to you not leaving him again.

“I forgive you.” you say after a moment.

“You do?” he asks as he takes a drag and looks at you.

“Yeah.” you say as you take another drag yourself. “But you’ve got to get better at saying how you feel.” you tease.

He scoffs playfully and nudges your arm. “Says you.” he mumbles as he continues to smoke.

You laugh softly and shrug. “We’ll work on it.” you say before exhaling your smoke and he nods his head a bit as you both look out of the window for a moment. You glance at him and inhale from your cigarette before gently pulling him towards you. He turns his head to look at you and you kiss him gently, shotgunning the smoke slowly into his mouth.

His eyes widen a bit as his heart beats rapidly. He closes his eyes as he inhales, letting the smoke slowly fill his lungs while he leans forward to kiss you back, indulging in the feeling of your lips on his even if it wasn’t an actual kiss. After blowing out the smoke, you break the kiss and watch as he exhales the smoke. He does it slowly, feeling as though his lips are tingling, begging to meet yours again. He smirks a bit after he exhales all of the smoke and looks at you. “Damn…that was good.” he whispers as he blushes a bit.

You grin, taking another drag, “I’ve missed you.”

He takes a drag as well as smiles softly. “I’ve missed you, too.” It goes quiet, but this time, a comfortable silence as you two smoke. He blows some smoke out of the window and looks back at you. “Do you think…we could give this another shot?”

You follow suit and blow some smoke out of the window before looking at him. “Our friendship or…something more this time?”

“Something more. Both, hopefully.” he smirks a bit as he says this, taking another drag.

You smirk a little back and chuckle softly, “I really want that.”

“So do I.” he whispers as his eyes lock onto yours. He smiles softly, “We’re going to be official.”

He reaches for your hand and carefully interlaces his fingers with yours. You take another drag as you smile shyly. “Good…” you say, softly.

Your fingers seem to fit with his perfectly; everything about you is perfect and it was things like this that make him realize it all the more. You hold hands as you smoke silently, both feeling a fluttering excitement in your stomachs as your relationship dynamic shifts to one that you both have been longing for before you even realized it yourselves. He glances at you as he exhales some smoke.

“Good? Wow…I was expecting some more passion out of that.” he teases, gently squeezing your hand.

You laugh before finishing your cigarette and putting it out. You turn your body a bit to face him, “What about…fucking incredible?”

He laughs loudly at your new choice of phrasing. He calms down after a moment, “That’s more like it.” he says with a grin before smoking his cigarette again. His gaze lingers on you as he watches you smile at his reaction. Stunning. He leans in, letting go of your hand, placing his left hand beside you on the bed as his lips meet yours, kissing you. 

You don’t waste a single second, kissing him back immediately as your hand makes its way to the back of his head, your fingers threading with his hair as you push yourself slightly forward, pressing your lips against his more. He inhales sharply as he moves his left arm around your waist, pulling you closer, desperately. He puts out his cigarette and discards it, using his other arm to wrap around you as well as he pulls you onto his lap. You part your legs, straddling his lap as you grin a bit into the kiss, both of your hands using their fingers to gently tug on the ends of his soft hair. You feel yourself fill with excitement, the fact that this is really happening after every inch of your body has desired this exact moment makes you feel restless. 

Sunghoon runs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing them gently, before moving them up to your hips, and then your waist. His hands suddenly felt so big against your skin, his fingers sending shivers throughout your whole body anywhere they touch. He opens his mouth slightly more and you take this as a sign to slip your tongue into it. He grins, this time, and he pulls you closer to him by gripping your waist; your bodies now pressed tightly against each other. He moves his hands to cup your face and you move yours to rest against his chest, your fingers tightly gripping his shirt in an attempt to somehow kiss him deeper. His tongue glides across yours as he kisses you with increasing desperation. The need for you grows every second that passes, he has to kiss every inch of you, he has to make you his, he has to make you feel loved; the only thoughts devouring his mind at this very moment consisted of nothing but you and his need to ensure you only ever want him. 

The kiss becomes sloppy, both of your lips becoming covered in one another, and you feel yourself craving more. So much more. You bite his bottom lip a little, testing to see if this will make him decide to take initiative, resulting in him gasping softly and releasing a low moan. He liked it. He liked it a lot. He moves his hands back to your waist, pushing you down against his lap and his jaw loosens a bit as he loses his breath, feeling you finally press against his erection. You moan softly, enjoying the feeling of some sort of contact where you desperately needed it the most and it felt so good knowing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you. 

One of his hands grips your thigh and his other arm goes back to wrapping around your waist as he picks you up a bit and lays you back against the bed, not once breaking the kiss; at this point, kissing you has become his oxygen supply. Feeling your hands on him is the only thing keeping him alive. His lips part from yours only to kiss along your jaw, just below your ear, and down to your neck. You gasp softly and your eyelids flutter closed as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips kissing your skin. He takes one of his hands and uses it to move some of your hair out of the way, placing it on the back of your head, pulling your hair softly to move your head back so he has more room to work with on your neck. You let out a soft moan, feeling him leave open mouthed kisses on every single inch of your skin, him making sure he doesn’t miss a single spot. 

He opens his eyes a bit and looks at you, to see how he’s making you feel. He watches as your lips part slightly as you take in small gasps of air, as if he leaves you utterly breathless; you’ve never looked more beautiful. He watches to see what spot of your neck when he kisses it that you seem to like the most. Once he gets to a certain spot and watches you bite your bottom lip a bit, he smirks slightly against your skin and sucks gently on the area. His tongue laps the spot a bit as he sucks and nibbles on it; this was his spot now. You moan softly and you feel your breath slightly catch in your throat as he leaves a hickey. He leaves a few soft pecks on the spot a little after he’s left his mark and he smiles a bit to himself. 

You feel the warmth of his body pull away from yours and your eyes open as you look at him. The moon shined a bit through the window, the light falling beautifully on him as he looked at you with a slightly flushed face. He looked back at you, seeing you laying on this bed, all for him, he felt like he was going crazy. He sits on his knees between your legs as his hands run along your thighs; he just keeps looking at you, admiring all of you. You lay there, looking at him, feeling your body become hot as he looks at you through hooded eyes, as if you leave him in a trance. Your breathing picks up in speed as he runs his hands painfully slow along your thighs and as much as you want to pull him back towards you, you feel as though you’re frozen. 

He takes a slow, deep breath, as his left hand travels up to gently take your right hand. He holds it up softly, separating your fingers with his as he loosely holds your hand, his gaze now focusing on your hands. He raises your hand up and leans in, raising it to his mouth. He softly plants his lips on your fingertips, kissing them softly, up to your knuckles, trailing his lips to the back of your hand, then gently turning it to kiss along the palm of your hand. He closes his eyes as he kisses down your arm--slowly--and gently lays your arm back at your side as he kisses up to your shoulder. His hands move to the hem of your short dress, slowly sliding it up, you raising your hips to help him, and he stops, leaving it bunched around your waist as he goes back to kissing along your shoulder. He gently pushes the strap of your dress down your shoulder as he focuses on kissing your body, moving along your collarbone. He breathes deeply, pushing the other strap out of the way as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your left shoulder, down your arm, his hands gently holding it up as he kisses up to your wrist. You watch him, feeling as if your body is constantly shivering, still dressed (albeit, your dress is pushed up), yet feeling completely exposed. His hand envelopes over your left hand as he kisses your palm like he cherishes your entire being, the way he looks is as if he’s wanted to do this his whole life. 

He kisses your fingers, knuckles, and fingertips, opening his eyes slowly as he lets go of your arm gently. He moves his hands back to your waist, pulling your dress up more and you sit up, realizing your body is shaking, and he kisses your forehead before pulling your dress off carefully, like he’s afraid if he does it too fast, you’ll break. He lets the dress fall to the ground, the fabric hitting the hard wood floor just as softly as he lets it go. It’s as if the room is silent, no muffled music from downstairs, no rolling of tires from the occasional cars passing on the streets, no soft wind hitting the curtains, nothing except the quiet breaths escaping from his and your lips. He feels his erection become even more painfully hard as he looks at you, and he swallows, honestly trying not to let out a moan just at the sight of you. His breath stifles a little as he places his hand on the small of your back, steadying you as he leans back in, kissing the top of your chest. He feels himself growing more desperate, desperate to feel every inch of your skin on his lips, on his fingertips. 

He breathes in sharply as he presses his face more into your chest, his lips sloppily kissing along your chest as his need for you grows. His tongue trails along your skin and he shudders, his hands becoming shaky as he holds your waist, all his focus practically on making out with your chest. A low moan elicits from him and from the way he was kissing your chest with such desperation made you moan softly in response, one of your bra straps falling a little off your shoulder from his movements. It’s as if he senses it and just decides to unclasp your bra, still trying to let it slide off of you slowly and hold himself back, but once he sees you take it off, your bare chest exposed, he feels himself get so close to cumming in his pants. He gently lays you back on the bed, wasting no time, however, to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. Your breath hitches and you moan as he releases his desperation. Kissing, sucking, and fondling your breasts, small whimpers coming from him as he feels elated to finally be doing this. Spit covers your chest almost instantly as he licks and sucks, kneading your breasts, moaning as the soft flesh squeezes and molds beneath his hands. And it’s only until he feels his breathing becoming quick, his dick aching in his pants, is when he stops. He pulls away slightly, his hair slightly covering his eyes as he stares at them, his trembling fingers squeezing and spreading his spit along them, his thumbs pressing and circling your nipples, and you feel as if ripples just went throughout your entire body.

You gently push his hair away from his face and he goes back to kissing along your stomach, down to your panties. You can feel momentarily the thin layer of sweat covering his forehead when you push his hair away, running your fingers through his locks and he whines softly against your skin, his hands gripping your sides and finally moving to the edge of your panties. You wait in anticipation, expecting him to take them off, so you raise your hips slightly, but he pulls away. You pout–only slightly–as you look at him with a confused expression. He smiles sweetly, as if he’s not the one that caused you to quite literally soak through your panties. He’s noticed, god, he’s noticed, but it takes everything in him not to behave like some animal. So, with that, he moves his hands down to your feet, slowly taking off your shoes for you before setting them on the ground. He moves back a little, leaning down to kiss along your leg, stopping at your knee, before moving to do the same thing to the other leg, but this time, he kisses up your thigh, leaving open mouthed kisses on the inner part of your thigh, gently nipping at your skin, and up to your hip. He gazes at you through his eyelashes as he moves to kiss along the other thigh, closing his eyes as he moans deeply against your skin, his tongue running along your skin.

He takes in a shaky, deep breath, and you feel your whole body become stiff once you feel his warm breath scatter so deliciously on your core. He gently places his hand over your sopping panties and your breath hitches, your whole body feeling grateful for some sort of contact. His brows furrowed as he slowly rubs his middle finger along your clothed slit, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels even more of your wetness seep through the fabric as he pushes into it. His mind feels hazy; he has to taste you. He takes his hand away, licking his middle finger and he feels as if his whole body exploded. He moans quietly to himself, before gripping your thighs and sticking his tongue out, licking a slow, long stripe between your clothed folds to your clit. Your eyes roll back as you gasp and moan. His fingers dig into the skin of your thighs as he feels himself lose all sense of sanity. He wanted nothing more than to take his time, but fuck, he can’t do it anymore. 

His lips instantly latch around your clothed clit, sucking and lapping his tongue as he starts to subconsciously rut his hips against the mattress. His saliva soaks your panties entirely as he presses his tongue more firmly, causing you to moan louder, gasping, as your hand makes its way to his hair, your fingers tangling in it. He moans and pulls away only a little before diving back in, pushing your panties to the side with his face as he makes out between your folds. His jaw is working overtime, his tongue lapping and picking up as much of you as you can give, His nose bumps against your clit as he loses himself in your taste, eating you out like a madman. He groans and moans into you, his hip movements stuttering as he licks all the way back up to your clit, moving his right hand off of your thigh before pushing his middle and ring finger into you, making sure to rub them between your folds before he does. He sucks and licks your clit, moaning and whimpering as he pushes his fingers in and out of you, not stopping until his knuckles prevent him. 

You moan his name, gripping his hair, pushing his face against your clit more as your legs shake and you cum, moaning his name. He whimpers and the way you taste sends him over the edge as he feels himself cum in his pants, his jaw falling slack a bit, and he pulls his fingers out, desperate to lick them clean. You let go of his hair, trying to catch your breath and he sits up, his face slick and covered in you, and he tugs your panties off. You look at him, watching as he undresses himself and you feel your body become light as he reveals more and more of himself to you. His bare chest, his abs, god, his biceps, you were about ready to start touching yourself at the sight, desperate for him, but you managed to stay put. 

He feels his ego boost a little bit, watching how you look at him, examining his body as if he is some work of art. He’s going to give you everything he knows you deserve and that thought alone makes him smirk. You notice as he takes off his underwear the wet patch from his prior release, making you grin a bit. He finally lets his cock out, it still being painfully hard despite him having cummed already, and you gaze at it. You feel yourself clench around nothing, wanting him so desperately to fill you up and he sees it. He smiles innocently, as if you both aren’t completely naked and horny before he grabs a cigarette and lights it. He takes a drag as he spreads the precum spilling from his tip all along his length and you watch his every movement, honestly feeling your mouth water at the sight. You sit up and he motions his head to the window as the cigarette sits between his lips. 

You turn and face the window, propping your forearms against the windowsill as you look outside, the cool breeze honestly feeling nice against your flushed, hot skin. You feel his presence shift behind you as he takes another drag. He sighs softly, looking at yourself propped like this, he places his free hand on your hip, lining himself up with you. He moves that hand and gently brushes your hair softly to the side, exposing your back entirely, and you turn your head a bit to look back at him. He exhales some smoke and meets your gaze, gently brushing his fingers along your cheek. 

“Relax…” he says before leaning to whisper in your ear, “and don’t be afraid to let the neighborhood know my name.” he says before kissing your cheek. 

You feel your body shudder at his words and he holds the cigarette between his lips as he uses one hand to hold your hip, the other gripping his cock before he slides it up and down, teasingly, between your folds. You gasp softly and he smirks, pushing his tip against your clit and he hisses a little, more precum leaking from his tip. He guides his cock into you, needing to quickly grab his cigarette from his mouth due to his jaw falling slack as he bottoms out into you. Your fingers grip the edge of the windowsill, your jaw dropping as you feel him finally giving you what you want. You moan and become breathless. He takes another drag from his cigarette before moving his hand from your hip to your shoulder as he pulls his hips away and then thrusts himself back into you entirely.

He filled you up perfectly, and he was damn ready to cum just from the way it felt like you perfectly fit around him. So warm and so fucking wet. He thrusts in and out of you a few times, groaning as you moan, sounds of you coating his cock more and more each time he goes in and out of you. He takes a shaky inhale from his cigarette, his eyes rolling back a bit as he thrusts a bit faster, before taking the cigarette out of his mouth, gripping the back of your head, a handful of your hair between his fingers, as he pulls you up and turns your head towards him. You moan and whine looking at him as he kisses you, shotgunning you this time as he keeps a steady pace of thrusting into you. You felt like you were going to choke, but you inhale what he exhales and as he pulls away, you turn back and lean your forearms against the windowsill as you blow out the smoke, gasping afterwards and moaning his name.

“Good girl,” he groans and puts the cigarette out, putting both of his hands on your hips, thrusting faster. “Such a good girl.” 

You moan at his praise and breathe quickly as all you can do is let out strings of long moans as you feel his cock press into you over and over, him somehow hitting every area that makes your knees weak and mind hazy. His fingers dig into your skin as his hips rapidly pound and slap against your ass, the sound of skin slapping becoming louder and louder. You moan his name loudly, and as a reward, he pushes further, you feeling his tip brush against your cervix and you gasp, moaning his name lewdly. He grunts, the way you just moaned his name almost made him cum automatically. 

“Louder, sweetheart, come on.”

You gasp for air as he fucks you so goddamn good, and you try to arch your lower back a bit so he can go deeper. You moan his name as many times as he wants, whatever it takes for him to rut in and out of you faster, to which he obliged. His breathing becomes heavy and your legs shake as you throw your head back a bit, your jaw dropping as you let out a long moan, cum spreading all over his cock. He grunts and whimpers, wrapping his arms around your waist as his brows knit together, him leaning down and kissing your shoulder as he pumps you full of cum, a low moan coming from him and onto your shoulder. He moans your name softly as he lets out a few more shallow thrusts, making sure he gives you every last drop. You feel yourself shiver as the warm liquid pushes into you and you whine a little. 

After a moment of him holding you close and staying inside of you, he kisses your shoulder softly again before pulling out and pulling away. He lays back onto the bed and you shudder as you feel his and your cum spilling out of you and trailing slowly down your inner thigh. He opens his arms a bit and you go to him, letting out a sigh as you rest your head on his chest and feeling content when his arms wrap around you. His hand slowly moves up and down your back before he kisses the top of your head. It’s silent for a while as you both lay there.

“So…we’re a thing now?” you ask, partly joking, but part of you was seriously asking.

He looks down at you and scoffs playfully. “After all of this, you still don’t get it?” he chuckles softly. “I want nobody but you.”

#sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x female reader #enhypen x female reader #kpop smut #kpop imagines #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen park sunghoon #smut #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #heeology #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #park sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fanfic #enha sunghoon #enha x reader #enha fanfic #enha ff #enha smut

[hyunverse]

wherever you are ☆ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x fem!reader. childhood best friends to lovers. slowburn, pining. fluff, angst. suggestive. a hyunjin birthday special.

wc: 12.9k words.

warnings: reader often referred to as "girl," suggestive. mentions of sex.

note: this fic is my baby. it might be one of my favourite things i've ever written so far, please treat it well <3 feedbacks are very much appreciated.

playlist.

Hyunjin promised you that he'll be wherever you are. What do you do when your best friend of years — the only person you've ever loved disappears without saying goodbye? Especially when you've spent your entire life with Hyunjin, you didn't know of life without him.

one.

“Happy Birthday, Hyunjin.”

It was Hyunjin’s 10th birthday. 

Despite already singing him a happy birthday song, you muttered the wish once again in the comfort of his tree house. He sat adjacent to you, feet dangling over the platform, the large leaves hovering over the tree house’s roof providing shelter from the blinding sunlight. 

He hummed in gratitude, eyes busy watching Kkami running around below the tree house. Afternoons with Hyunjin were often spent like this — hanging out in the tree house as Kkami played around on the grass, its barks mirroring its happiness. For years, you’ve spent enjoying the fact that your afternoons were spent like this — were spent with Hyunjin, in childish innocence. 

After letting the silence take over for a while, Hyunjin turned his head towards you, a little surprised once he saw that you were already looking at him. He tried his best to not let his surprise show. 

“Why did you want to come up here? I thought you were enjoying the party inside.” 

Indeed, you were enjoying the birthday party, a little too much for Hyunjin’s liking. The boys from Hyunjin’s school came to the party, and you seemed to get along with them quickly, despite being the only girl at the party. Hyunjin hates to admit it but he was a little envious. He told himself that he’s jealous because he’s your number one best friend, so you should pay more attention to him. It was true, but only partially — he was jealous because they were all boys. Not that he would ever admit that to himself.

To Hyunjin’s question, you responded by extending your arms to him, revealing a white box in your palm. He took it, quickly recognizing it as a jewellery box. He’s received one of them after purchasing a Mother’s Day gift. Quietly, he examined the engravings on the box, and the pristine look of it. Honestly, he was impressed by how clean you have kept it. You had always been one to dirty your white clothes. 

“What’s this?” he asked, answering his own enquiry by opening the box with you sitting close, peering over his hands.

Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat.

In the box laid two necklaces, black strings with Lego pieces as pendants. They were matching necklaces. The Lego piece of each necklace formed a heart when joined together. His brown eyes widened, in disbelief of the gift. He’s never received something like this — something matching. It made his heart flutter — no, it beat faster than it does while playing soccer. Hyunjin turned to look into your eyes, and it was as though he had found a new revelation in yours. The more Hyunjin looked at you, the more the realization seeped in, until it overtook his senses.

You’re a girl. 

You weren’t just the kid from next door, you weren’t like his other friends — you’re a girl. You like Disney princesses, you have a pretty face, you like Sanrio characters, you have soft hair, you like painting nails, you have pink lips from your strawberry lip balm, you like matching necklaces — you’re a girl. 

A very pretty girl.

It felt like a revelation after having been friends with you for over five years. As though the necklaces in the box held some sort of power to snap one from a trance. Hyunjin realized that you were different from his other friends. For one, you have softer hands. Moreover, you’re someone he can develop a crush on — or whatever girls call it. 

His finger traced the pendants, feeling the bumps of the Lego pieces. He smiled, one that reached his ears. You felt yourself releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I love it soooo much. Thank you.”

Unlike other boys (the stinky ones from your school), Hyunjin didn’t cringe at the gift. The way he gently examined the necklaces mirrored the appreciation he felt towards it. If he was any other boy, he would’ve probably laughed at the gift, then poked fun at you. 

Then again, Hyunjin had never been like the other boys you knew.

He was different in the way he spoke softly to you (softer than he would to his guy friends), and how he would let you change the TV channel from Snoopy to Totally Spies. He had always been different, that being the reason why you were so fond of him. 

“You like it? Really?” you queried, staring at him. You watched his expressions carefully, trying to sense for any lies.

“Really! Which one do you want?” he answered, absolutely no hesitations. He wasn’t lying.

Hyunjin panned the box towards you, prompting you to pick which necklace. One was in black, the other in white. As always, he gave in to you, letting you be the one to choose. 

“White!”

The sun was setting when you both swayed your legs, wearing the matching necklaces. Hyunjin was genuinely happy, one of his hands wouldn’t stop fiddling with the pendant. The party was still lively inside, but he much preferred sitting with you — his one and only best friend. 

“Yn,” your best friend’s voice broke you from your trance. “What do you want for your birthday?” 

“Hm,” you pondered, tapping your pointer on your chin in a cartoonish manner.

He was looking at you, an expectant expression on his face. You pulled up your legs to cross them as you thought. 

“I think…” your voice trailed, “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!” 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “at least make it something I could give you!”

You pouted, “but that’s what I want!” 

The boy sighed, laying back on the rough surface of the tree house. He looked up, observing the little glow-in-the-dark stars plastered onto the tree house ceiling. He recalled putting them up with you. You were impossible to deal with. Hyunjin desperately wanted to know your wish — something he could give you for your birthday. Your gift to him made him really happy, and he wished to return the favour. 

“Then, I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris with you.” 

It was such an innocent, child-like answer — straight from a 10-year-old’s desire. Untainted by the boulevard of broken dreams. As if anything in the world was possible, and that the universe was kind all the time. 

“Really?” you chirped, looking at him with disbelief in your eyes. You giggled in glee and plopped yourself down beside him. “Really really? You really really really mean it, Hyunnie?” 

At that point, Hyunjin could only giggle and nod. “Of course! I’ll be wherever you are.”

The manner in which you hugged him expressed your excitement. You were practically suffocating him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing tightly. 

“You’re my best friend in the world!” 

Hyunjin felt like he could die. 

His heart continued beating rapidly, worsened by you nuzzling your face into his neck. Hyunjin knew, it was just you being your usual self. However, the revelation he experienced minutes earlier made the tips of his ears turn red. 

“Hyunjin! Come down here! Your friends are about to leave!”

At that very moment, Hyunjin silently thanked his mother for saving him.

two.    

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A question which had you staring into space — the walls of Hyunjin’s bedroom for a while. The blue walls were plastered with posters of numerous musicians and self-made artworks.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know the answer. You knew. Ballet had been a part of your life since small, it was your everything. It wasn’t that you were unsure if you wanted to do ballet, you were unsure if you should be doing ballet. 

Uneasiness settled into your stomach, but you tried to keep them in. You were in no mood to be going through an identity crisis.

“Ballerina,” you stated, matter-of-factly. Your eyebrows furrowed when Hyunjin chuckled.

“What?”

“Your answer hasn’t changed,” Hyunjin laughed, but not in a humorous way. Rather, it was in an expectant way, as if he knew that’s what you would answer. 

You straightened your posture and tilted your head. Hyunjin laughed even more, making a comment that you looked like Kkami.

“Have you asked me the same thing before?”

He nodded, “sort of? Kind of. On my tenth birthday, I asked you what you wanted.” Hyunjin cleared his throat and took a deep breath, mimicking the voice of younger you. “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!”

“Oh, shut up!” you rumbled, hitting him with his bolster repeatedly. “That’s not how I sounded like!”

“It so was!” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t quite recall the memory. You didn’t doubt Hyunjin though, it did sound like something you would’ve said. 

You queried again.

“What did you answer then?” 

Hyunjin turned silent. He didn’t like where this was going, not fond of recalling the cheesy answer he gave you. As he looked away from your gaze, you pressed him further. Even threatened to dog-nap Kkami.

“Fine. I said… I said I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris too…” his voice trailed, getting smaller, “said I’ll be wherever you are…”

Your eyebrows raised, scooting closer to him in mock confusion. “Sorry? Didn’t hear you.” 

A pillow hit your head, and you burst out into peals of laughter. It was hilarious, the cheesy answer little Hyunjin gave, but what amused you even more was his face turning red. 

Touches of laughter echoed in the room, and Hyunjin found himself praying the moment would last forever. The conversation quickly escalated into a pillow fight, ending up in Hyunjin leaning against his headboard, exhausted, and you laying on his lap. 

You looked up at him, eyes fleeting to the stubble growing. Mindlessly, you grazed his cheek, feeling his sideburns prickling against your thumb. 

He was growing, you realized it then. You were growing too. Neither of you were little kids anymore.

A fact you didn't want to accept.

It’s the softness of your fingers that froze Hyunjin in his tracks. He held his breath, as if you would stop if he moved. He didn’t want you to, wanted to let your fingers linger, to etch the sensation into his memories. 

In a soft tone, you spoke, “Did you really mean it?”

“Hm?”

“Would you be wherever I am?”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a lump growing in his throat. If he spoke, he feared his feelings would become too real. For as long as he could, he wanted to bury his feelings deep down. Life was already risky as it is, he didn’t want to take any more.

It’s platonic. It’s platonic. It’s platonic.

They repeated in his brain like a mantra. Maybe if he chanted it, it’ll manifest to life.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin swallowed, “of course I will. You’re my best friend.” 

Like magic, your worries about the future disappeared into thin air. Would it be foolish to trust Hyunjin so much, that you believed life would be fine as long as he was with you? 

Dear universe, be good to me.

You smiled, one that Hyunjin swore could light up the entire sky. The stars must envy you, for the way you could brighten up darkness effortlessly. 

“I’ll be wherever you are too.”

Yeah, Hyunjin would love it if time froze.

three.  

Don’t be a coward. 

Four words Hyunjin told his reflection as he got ready. He was dressed in a basic tee and a pair of jeans, hair slicked back like the one time you told him it looked good. He spritzed his cologne behind his ears, on his neck, and on his wrist before repeating the four words again. This time, he whispered it, letting it soak into his brain, in hopes his heart would have courage. 

It’s been too long. The feelings he harboured for you piled overtime, the crush he once thought was temporary transforming into fondness. It was becoming too much for Hyunjin’s heart to bear, he needed to let it out. If he didn’t, he felt like his heart could burst. And if it did, it would be confetti-shaped memories of you. 

Chatters echoed outside your ballet academy, Hyunjin watched through the lowered window for your face among the sea of people. He had a plan in mind — he’d open the door for you, put the seatbelt on for you, and tell you about his feelings. In front of your academy wasn’t the most ideal place for a confession, he knew, but God — he couldn’t bear sitting in silence with you as a storm raged in his head. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to say it as soon as he could. 

Hyunjin’s eyes were still busy looking for you when suddenly, your face came in his peripheral vision, along with another face. The other person was lean, jet black hair with bangs and puppy-like eyes. The boy opened the door for you before Hyunjin could. 

Okay, step number one failed. 

“Hey, Hyunnie!” your voice chirped, getting into the car. Your hand moved to buckle your seatbelt before Hyunjin could. He was too busy analysing the stranger in front of the door.

“Hey,” Hyunjin replied nonchalantly, looking at the boy from head to toe. “And this is…?”

“Seungmin. And you?” the boy said, tilting his head. To Hyunjin, he was being challenged. Seungmin’s tone was more daring than he liked, so he felt an urge to one-up the guy.

“Hyunjin. Been friends with Yn since were in diapers.” he replied, the extra detail a pathetic attempt at one-upping Seungmin. 

Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, nodding as he shut your door, “Uh. Cool? Bye, Yn. And the friend since diapers.” 

Oh, Hyunjin really didn’t like him. 

“Wait, Seungminnie!” you called out just as Seungmin was walking away. He looked back at the car, raising an eyebrow. You turned to Hyunjin with puppy eyes. “Can you give Seungminnie a ride? He takes the bus and I think the next one’s in an hour.”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, eyes fluttering from your pleading eyes to Seungmin’s figure outside the car. If it was all up to him, he would probably run the guy over. But God knew how much he cherished you, how he would rather cut his tongue than tell you “no,” so he agreed.

“Mm. Sure,” he replied, swallowing back a scoff. 

Your eyes brightened, “Seungminnie! Come, we’ll give you a ride!” you yelled, tempting Hyunjin to mock the nickname you’d given him.

It was going to be a car ride straight out of hell. 

Hyunjin’s knuckles were white against the steering as he pulled up to Seungmin’s residence complex. The building standing in front of him definitely belonged in a gated community, ritzy and luxurious. Somehow, that pissed Hyunjin off even more. He glanced at the unwanted guest sitting in the back seat through the rear-view mirror.

“Want me to drive you to the lobby, or what?”

Seungmin looked back into the mirror, peering at the reflection through his bangs. “Nah. They don’t let random cars in. Here’s just fine,” he mumbled, unbuckling the seatbelt. “Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.” 

The car door closed behind Seungmin, leaving the two of you in the car. Hyunjin sighed, feeling the nerves creeping up him again. Now that it was only the two of you, it was time for Hyunjin to confess his feelings.

Before he could, you spoke, “Seungmin’s my friend in the academy. He’s really smart,” your eyes didn’t leave the crossroad before you, watching as Seungmin walked. 

Hyunjin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tapped on your thigh, trying to gain your attention. It worked as you looked at him, batting your eyelashes. “Hm?”

He licked his lower lip, mustering all the courage in him. It was now, or never. “Look, I have something to tell you.” 

“Yeah?”

You shuffled in your seat, tilting your body slightly towards his way. Now that you had your full attention on him, Hyunjin felt even more nervous. He scratched the skin around his thumb, tongue-tied as his brain tried to form coherent words. He’s never done this before, always made fun of his friends for struggling to express their feelings but now that he was in the same place, he wished he could take back all the insults. The brown eyes looking deeply (and anxiously) into yours were profusely blinking, as though he was at the brink of tears. You grew worried.

“Hyunjin, what’s up?”

He scratched at the back of his neck. Why did his tongue feel so numb? Why did his brain feel empty yet so full at the same time? His heartbeats were so fast, he couldn’t quite catch up. Hyunjin was on a rollercoaster — you were waiting at the end of the ride.

Finally, he managed to muster words. “Look, I’ve pondered over —”

Two knocks on the window at the back. They’re followed by the door opening, an exasperated Seungmin popping his head into the car. Immediately, you both looked back, utterly bewildered. 

“Sorry. I left my bag. Thank God you’re still here,” Seungmin said, grabbing his messenger bag and slipping it onto his shoulder. “Thanks and sorry!”

The door closed, thus silence blanketed the atmosphere once again. This time, with unresolved tension. You looked back at Hyunjin, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You were saying?” 

Dazed, the raven looked at you. His face was a mixture of exasperation and confusion. His head? There was a storm raging, along with curse words aimed at Seungmin. 

“Um…” He licked his lower lip, racking his brain to find back the words he wanted to say. They were all lost. He was already at the end of the rollercoaster, the bumps along the way forgotten, and the thrill subsided. All that’s left was the remnants of anxiety. He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he’s forgotten the things he wanted to say, and the moment disturbed by your dear friend Seungmin.

So, he put the gear on to drive. He shook his head and made up a white lie.

“I think I want to try a new ice cream place today.”

four.  

The taste of cookies and cream could not beat the bitterness on Hyunjin’s tongue. 

It may be because the bitterness has seeped into his head. 

“I’m going to your room,” you announced, swinging the front door of his house open. “Hi, Mrs Hwang!” you cheered, running up the stairs after. 

“I’m going to talk to my mom a little bit,” Hyunjin said, hanging both your coats on the coat hanger. 

Nothing could’ve prepared Hyunjin for what was to happen next. 

Both his parents were crowding the kitchen countertop when he walked in, skimming through a piece of paper. They were beaming, eyes crinkled as they smiled. A reminder that Hyunjin resembled both his parents. He blinked in confusion as to why his parents looked so happy. He didn’t think he'd seen them this happy before.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, peering over their figures to look at the paper. 

On the paper were words he’d only seen in his dreams. Never in a million years he would’ve thought it’d manifest to life. His heart skipped a beat as he read the words over, and over. 

“You made it, sweetheart,” his mother’s soft voice spoke, confirming his suspicion. “You got accepted. Beaux-Arts de Paris.”

“Eomma,” he mumbled, as if he was pleading. Pleading for this dream to stop. Somebody’s got to wake him up from this nightmare of a day. “There’s no way.” 

Hyunjin picked up the letter, inspecting it closer. As though if he looked any closer, the words on the pristine white paper would change. Reject him. Or maybe, the logo of the prestigious school would magically transform into a logo of a school in Seoul. Anything, anything, that would keep him here. In Seoul. With you. 

“You did it, sweetheart. Your dreams are coming true,” his mother keenly said, pulling him into a side hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

His dream? It was his dream, and, yours. No, scratch that — it wasn’t truly his dream. It was yours. His dream had always been to be wherever you are. 

He didn’t think he would be accepted. When you told him you were rejected from the Paris Ballet School, he told you that he was rejected, too. He didn’t tell you that he was waitlisted, under the impression that he was never getting out of the waitlist. What was he to tell you now? 

Hyunjin hid his sadness, wanting to make his parents proud, “Yeah. I did it. I’m so happy, eomma, appa.” 

A series of praises left his parents, and he allowed for them to engulf him in a hug. 

“Don’t tell Yn, ‘kay?” he muttered, before excusing himself to go upstairs. The acceptance letter was neatly folded, tucked into his pocket.  

When he swung his bedroom door open, you were standing in front of his full-length mirror. Clad in only his t-shirt, you inspected yourself. 

“Hey, Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered, turning your body. “Your clothes are bigger than me now. You used to be so small.”

You looked at him, mock dismay in your face. “I was so much taller than you before. You were a dwarf.” 

How was he meant to tell you about Paris?

“I was never a dwarf. You were just too busy looking down on me.”

Giggles left both of you. Silently, he observed the way you were examining yourself. You had the mannerisms of a ballerina, each gesture as gracious as your dance. Hyunjin adored the curves of your body, but God knew he loved that of your smile even more. 

Later, you were both laying on his bed, you in a starfish position. Hyunjin was at the edge of his bed, trying his best to not fall. 

“Ballet was so hard today,” you sighed. You turned your body sideways, burying your face into Hyunjin’s chest. He could smell you in this closeness.

“Are you wearing my deodorant?” he queried, bowing to clasp his nose onto your shoulder. It felt like a kiss to him. “This is literally the smell of my deodorant.” 

You shrugged. “Yeah? What about it? You should’ve gotten used to me taking your things by now, Hwang Hyunjin. I’ve been doing this our whole lives.” 

Touché. The boy sighed, letting you fill in the silence with your babbles. Wordlessly, he listened to your words, letting it be the white noise to his thoughts. 

His head was clearly not there. Unbeknownst to him, you knew of this. He’d been off all day. You’ve picked up on each signal, knowing him like the back of your hand. As much as you wanted to know what was wrong, you knew not to pry. You resorted to comfort instead. 

Your fingertips met at the back of his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He was never one for physical touch but sometimes, it helped. You leaned your head into his neck. 

Gingerly, you whispered the words you thought he would need. 

“You’re always here, around me. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

The exact words he did not need to hear that day.

How was he meant to tell you of his feelings now? 

Especially when he was leaving — oceans away. 

five.  

Hyunjin had always loved soccer.

Whether it be being in the bleachers, or playing in the field. He loved doing both. There was something about the thrill of watching people play, and the adrenaline as he chased around the field. 

Sitting in the bleachers, Hyunjin watched as his soccer team played. The sounds of his teammates laughing made the blazing sun a little more bearable. He lowered his cap to prevent the sunlight from getting in his eyes, chuckling when he saw Beomgyu falling face-first onto the grass.

He loved his soccer team. Every time he observed them play, Hyunjin’s heart always got overwhelmed with pride and joy. At that moment, he felt melancholy taking space too — the thought of not being able to play with them anymore hurting him more than he thought it would. 

Hyunjin allowed for the melancholy to take space, allowed himself to feel — so much so that he didn’t feel Minho’s presence. Not until the older cleared his throat. 

Minho sat beside him, “Why the long face, Hwang Hyunjin?” 

“Huh?” startled, he looked up, face softening when he saw Minho. “Oh. Nothing. You’re not playing?”

“Nah,” Minho replied curtly. He silently analyzed the younger’s facial expressions before speaking up again. “For someone who’s going to Paris in two weeks, you sure don’t look too happy.”

Of course, Minho out of all people would notice the change in his mannerisms. Always the analyzing one, quick to notice changes in demeanour. There was no point in lying, not with Minho — so he let out the sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“It’s bittersweet, you know?” he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.

“It’s Yn, isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You don’t want to part ways with her. It’s what’s holding you back.” 

Right on. It was as though Minho was a mind-reader. A heavy weight pulled on Hyunjin’s heartstrings, made his heart even heavier than a few minutes prior.

“Yeah,” he didn’t lie, again. He looked at Minho, and the older could clearly see the uneasiness written all over his face. “If you were me… would you tell her about your feelings?”

“The fact that you like her?”

“Yeah.”

Minho fell silent. He pondered over the question, looking at the sight before him. The sun was setting, orange hues painting the sky. Hyunjin wondered if Paris sunsets would look the same.

“I think…” Minho turned towards the younger. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell her.” 

“Why?”

“Won’t benefit you, I don’t think.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Listen. If you were to tell her, and she accepted, do you think you could get into a relationship with her?”

“I mean —”

Minho cut him, “Realistically, do you think the relationship would succeed? I mean, the time zone between Seoul and Paris is pretty big. The distance, too. I don’t think it would work out. And that’ll be bad, you know? You’ll both be left wondering what could have been.”

The truth hurt. The distance, the time — none of them were on Hyunjin’s side. 

“And, if, God forbid, if she were to reject you… do you really want your last memory with her to be the hurt you’ll feel?”

Hyunjin shook his head. The other sighed, and patted him on the back. 

“There are things better left unsaid. You should take her out. Spend your last time with her nicely.”

Despite Hyunjin’s stubbornness, he took Minho’s advice. It took him a lot of contemplating (and crying), but he followed it anyway. Whether he liked it or not, Minho’s advice had a lot of truth in it. 

Bitter truths, but true regardless.

six.

“Where are we going?” you whined, trailing behind your dear friend. The sun was setting in two hours, orange hues were beginning to paint the sky. “Hyunnie, if you don’t tell me where we’re —”

“Please, stay patient. Will you?”

Hyunjin looked behind. He was wearing a blue knitted vest. In one hand, he held a picnic basket. The other, is your handbag. You never have to carry your own with him.

“But we’re literally in the middle of nowhere!” 

“Please just trust me,” he pleaded. One hand was stretched towards you, a silent offer to hold his. “Come. If you’re too tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

Ever the opportunist, you took up on the offer. Alas, Hyunjin was left walking the remaining distance, you happily singing road trip songs while clinging onto his back. To butter him up, you told him that he must’ve been a blessing sent to you by God. Although he groaned at the remark, you couldn’t see the small smile on his face.

After a few minutes, you understood why Hyunjin was adamant about going out that day. Before you, green plains stretched as far as your eyes could see. Scattered across viridian shades were wildflowers. Some yellow, some pink. 

Hyunjin had brought you to a flower field.

The picnic basket, and the Polaroid camera finally made sense. 

Without any more words, you jumped off his back and ran into the field. The yellow sundress you wore matched that of the wildflowers. In Hyunjin’s eyes, you blended right in. 

You were as pretty as the flowers. 

“Careful, Yn! Don’t fall!” He called out, his voice echoing in the space. He watched you from afar. There was an urge to run among the flowers too, but he was much more content with watching you. 

From a distance, in silence, he observed your every move. He couldn’t help the giggles that left his lips. The smile that lingered on his lips. He wanted this memory to last, to be ingrained in his brain forever. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to witness your happiness. 

“Hyunnie, you need to come here! It’s so nice!”

Chuckling, he carefully placed the picnic basket on the ground. Hyunjin was done with setting up the picnic spot. He ran towards you, lifted you off the ground and twirled you around. You broke out into giggles and held onto his arms. 

Among the flowers, two silhouettes danced with each other. Swaying to the same melody as the peonies. Despite being a ballerina, you kept stumbling onto Hyunjin’s feet, giggling each time he elicited an “ow.” 

Like a scene from a movie.

Like he wasn’t going away soon.

Before the sun could set, Hyunjin convinced you to sit on the picnic blanket. He wished to dance with you longer, but alas, time awaits for no mortal. 

“How do you want me to pose?” you asked. You were facing him, legs tucked sideways.

Hyunjin scooted closer to you, and wiped breadcrumbs off your lips. He commented on you eating messily. “You can pose however you want.”

You nodded, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Okay. Make sure you get my good angles, yeah?”

“You look good from any angle.” 

Crimson crept up your face. You hadn’t expected that remark. You hoped he wouldn’t see you blush, you would just tell him it’s the sun then. 

“Okay…”

Two clicks, then a flash went off. Your eyes widened, caught off-guard.

“You didn’t even count to three!” 

Your whines were responded to with a giggle. The camera whirled, apprising you of a Polaroid developing. Hyunjin took it, fanning the Polaroid with a grin. He was excited to see it.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Candid photos are better,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? Everything’s prettier when it’s genuine.”

“So you’re calling me pretty?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Have I ever said you’re ugly?”

Right. He has never. 

You prayed to God the heat on your face was from the sun and not from blushing.

Once the Polaroid fully developed, Hyunjin made sure he was the first to see it. To your dismay, he held it close to his face, shielding it from you. His cheeks dimpled, illustrating his happiness. You looked so pretty, the sunlight on your face giving you an angelic glow. If he looked closer, he was sure he’d see a halo. 

Hyunjin wanted to keep this forever. 

If he couldn’t freeze the time, he figured he’d trap the memories in photographs.

“Let me see!” you whined. “It’s a picture of me! I have the right to see it.”

Scampering towards him, you waved your hands, trying to get the photograph off his hand. To no avail, Hyunjin had quick reflexes much thanks to his soccer experience. 

“No! You can’t — it’s for my eyes only!”

“Ridiculous! That’s my face, Hyunnie!”

“It’s my camera film. So it’s mine!”

Neither one of you would let up, legs entangling against each other as you fought over the photograph. He was determined to not let you even see the picture. One of your palms pressed against the picnic blanket, the other reaching up towards his hand. Hyunjin used his free hand to push you gently but alas, he underestimated his own strength. In one swift move, you lost your balance, toppling over him. 

“Ow,” he fell back and winced in pain. He looked up, and all the back pain was suddenly replaced by shyness. There you were, on his lap — face just as flushed as his. 

Hyunjin didn’t know what to do now. 

Pathetically, he just stared into your eyes, finding himself getting caught in them. He could feel your hitched breaths against his chest, he was very aware of your trembling fingers on his arms. There was a strong urge to kiss you as his eyes fell onto your lips. He wondered how they’d feel on his lips. He imagined it in his head — missing the way your eyes stared at his lips too. 

If you were a flower, Hyunjin would be a bee. He desired you, eyes tracing the shape of your lips. Over, and over. If he kissed you, would your lips taste like honey? 

He ought to find out. Hesitantly, he inched his head closer to yours. The warmth of your breath against his skin marked the closeness between you.

Numerous scenarios flashed in Hyunjin’s mind. Of him kissing you senseless, then whispering a love confession in your ear. Of your cold fingers pressing into his skin as he tells you each perk of yours that he loved endlessly. The more he imagined, the closer he was. You shut your eyes, waiting for his lips to finally press onto yours. 

Paris. The one-way plane ticket to Paris.

Against his heart’s desire, his fingers cupped your chin instead. Subtly, he pulled back, eyes trailing back up to your eyes. He ignored the look of confusion in your eyes.

Reaching down, he pocketed the photograph. His heart clenched as he spoke, but he did anyway. 

“I win.”

The two words pulled you from your trance — they tore off your heart like paper. You blinked, watching the playful smirk that graced Hyunjin’s porcelain face. 

“Oh.”

The whole journey home, bitterness sat on Hyunjin’s tongue like the aftertaste of tangerine pulp. Did you want the kiss too, or had his libido fabricated things? 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t kiss you. Not when he had suitcases packed for Beaux-Art de Paris. Not when it’s all his parents could talk about. 

Minho’s words played in Hyunjin’s mind like a broken record. They served as a reminder of what could not be. For the sake of his heart, he told himself that it had all been a figment of his imagination.

Tension cloaked the front door of your house. Neither of you made a noise, save for the jingling keys in your carabiner. You observed Hyunjin, who was busy looking at his shoes. Once again, his mind wasn’t in his head. It had been that way for a few weeks. 

“See you soon?” you mumbled. 

Hyunjin looked up, nodding at your words. He pulled you into a hug, one that almost crushed your bones. Shakingly, he nuzzled his head into your neck, burying his face into the skin like you would dissolve if he didn't. It must’ve hurt his back but you made no comment, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, in hopes it'll give him solace. By the front door you held him, so tight that it was as though the two of you were one, the curves of his fingers burning through your skin.

You didn’t know that it was a goodbye. It had to stay that way. 

Once more, his heart clenched in his chest. Two hands cupped your cheeks, as gentle as he could be, like you would break. He engraved this version of you into his memory — kind eyes boring into his with a soft smile plastered across the face he'd grown to adore. He vowed to always remember this face. 

Deeply, he inhaled his breath. Preparing the next words — lies to say to you, no matter how tight his chest felt.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The last words Hwang Hyunjin muttered to you. 

seven.  

One day before your birthday. 

It had been two days since Hyunjin brought you to the meadow. You hadn’t seen him much, just glimpses of him as he played around with Kkami in his backyard. You figured that he was busy.

“Hello, I’m home!” you said in a sing-song voice as you stepped into the Hwang household. Kkami who’d usually greet you wasn’t in his usual spot, so you trudged straight to the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s mother was sitting. “Hi, Mrs Hwang.” 

She looked up, lips twitching into a smile, a cookie-cutter of Hyunjin’s. Under the kitchen light, you don’t miss the dried tears by her eyes. You pursed your lips, wondering if she was watching a sad drama. Hyunjin inherited his trait of easily crying from his mother, after all. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” she looked at your outfit from head to toe. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Oh,” you muttered, giving her a little twirl. “My birthday outfit! Is it pretty?”

“Of course.”

You smiled at her, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. Keenly, you looked around the kitchen for any traces of Hyunjin. You realized that the house seemed much quieter than usual, emptier than normal. 

“Where’s Hyunjin?” you asked. The reason why you’d come over was to show your best friend your birthday outfit. Now that you were there, he was nowhere to be seen. “Is he home?”

Sympathy materialized in the mother’s old eyes. She tilted her head at you, lips pursing as she thought of the correct words to say. 

“My girl, did he not tell you?”

Confusion would be an understatement. Hyunjin told you everything, everything — from pointless thoughts to his deepest, darkest secrets. You were his secret keeper, his companion — there was nothing he wouldn’t tell you.

Was there? 

It had to be something unimportant, right? Perhaps he was off to an art workshop and forgot to tell you. But looking at his mother, it felt like something big. You grew anxious under her sympathetic gaze. 

“Tell me what?” you questioned, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“We just came back from Incheon Airport. He’s on a plane to Paris,” the lady replied. She stood up, inching closer towards your trembling figure. “Did he not tell you, Yn? I thought he did.”

“Paris?” you asked, blinking. “Like. For a vacation?”

“No, sweetheart. Beaux-Arts de Paris. He got into the school.”

The words felt like bullets on skin, penetrating and chagrining you deeply. It felt unreal — a hoax.

You scoffed, “What? He wouldn’t go without telling me.” Your eyes searched for humour in his mother’s eyes. “Is this like, a birthday prank?”

Her eyes saddened even more. “No, sweetheart. He really went.”

Another betrayal came in the form of tears cascading down your eyes without warning. The emotions hit you faster than your brain could process things. Speechless, you took steps back from his mother, before running up the staircase to his room. 

He had to be there. Sitting in his swivel chair and laughing at your face. He’ll tell you it was a prank and wipe away your tears. 

Hyunjin was your best friend of a lifetime. He wouldn’t do this to you. He had to be there.

When the door to his room swung open, a sob was knocked out of your mouth. 

All traces of life in the bedroom were gone, save for the soft purrs of Kkami sleeping on the bed. The bed was stripped of its bedsheets, and the towels hanging behind the door were gone. The laundry bag was empty. 

All traces of Hyunjin were gone. 

The realization hit harder than his mother’s words. If the words hurt like bullets on skin, the sight of Hyunjin’s lifeless room felt like a knife twisted in your gut. It felt like sanguine dripping from wounds, and Hyunjin’s holding the knife. It felt like a betrayal. 

“Hyunjin,” his name slipped from your lips like a plea. “Hyunjin.” 

More choked sobs escaped your windpipes as you searched around the room. First, it was his wardrobe. The oak material was practically empty, all that remained were a couple of sleep tees and the shirts you’ve left over the years. You rummaged through the hangers, finding that he had brought one of your sweatshirts along. 

The confirmation of his departure was the emptiness of his study table. Each nook and cranny of his table used to feel like Hyunjin, from the stacks of sketchbooks to eraser dust. Everything was Hyunjin — but at that moment, there was nothing. There was only a void — that of his desk and your heart. 

Your best friend was truly gone. 

“Hyunjin,” the name wrestled its way past your lips again. This time, it was out of longing. “Hyunjin.” 

The manner in which you walked to his bed echoed your feelings. Quivering, like a toddler’s first time walking. Your body fell onto the bed, earning a soft whine from Kkami. Gently, you held Kkami in your arms, letting a stream of tears cascade down your cheeks. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to cry, to feel, to mourn. 

If someone were to tell you that Hyunjin out of all people would make you cry that much, you would’ve laughed. Never in a million years, you’d say. The only times he had made you cry were from laughter. 

“Kkami,” you cried. The chihuahua nuzzled its head into your arms, as though it could feel your sorrow. Perhaps it could. “I miss Hyunjin.”

The dog whined. It looked up to you, placing its paw onto your arm. You cried even more. 

“I wanted to tell him about how I feel today,” through sobs, you managed to speak. “How could he make me feel so many things in one day and disappear the other? He didn't even say goodbye.”

It felt like the chihuahua was mourning with you — the way it nudged its head onto your arm, letting out soft whimpers. As though it was telling you that things will be okay. 

You weren’t sure that it would. You spent your whole life with Hyunjin by your side, you had never known life without him. Now that he was ripped from your grasp, you didn’t know how to go on. No — he voluntarily released himself from your grasp, without warning. It was worse. 

Physical traces of Hyunjin in his room were gone. There was only his scent — the smell of his shampoo, and his cologne. It lingered in the room, mocking you.

In your melancholic state of mind, you could only weep.

eight. 

“Coffee, or tea?”

A female voice broke Hyunjin from his trance. He looked up at the stewardess standing by his seat, the sweatshirt doused in your scent crumpling in his tight grip. 

“I want to get off this plane,” sat on his tongue and dissolved. He took a deep breath. 

“Um,” he looked at the cart, “Plain water, please?”

Coffee would only force Hyunjin to stay awake, forcing him to listen to his own brain’s torments for 14 hours straight. Tea reminded him too much of you, of the times when you were little and would make him play tea party with you. He’ll think about the times you’d cheekily kiss his cheek, an attempt to woo him into playing with you. It worked each time. 

The stewardess nodded, handing him a water bottle branded with the aeroplane’s logo. He muttered a thank you, yet the stewardess still didn’t walk away. She looked nice, her eyes analyzing Hyunjin told him that he must’ve looked like the epitome of a wreck.  

“First time flying?” she questioned. It wasn’t his first time, having gone on many vacations before yet he nodded. “I see. It’ll be fine, just sit back and relax.”

The woman, whose name tag said Chaewon flashed Hyunjin a hospitality smile — one he didn’t think he deserved — then walked away. Hyunjin pursed his lips, wishing that she hadn’t walked away. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to be in this plane — there were a lot of things he didn’t want to do, but had to do. 

Hyunjin wanted to turn back.

Silently, he looked out the window, watching as the landscapes of Seoul grew smaller, slowly becoming covered with clouds. He desperately wished to get out, praying to God that the plane would miraculously turn back and the tableau of Seoul would become bigger. Had he told the stewardess named Chaewon he wanted to get off, would they have let him? Had he told his parents he didn’t want to go to Paris, would they have understood?

If he tells you he’s sorry, would you forgive him? 

Regrets and memories clouded his mind, tears making their way down his cheeks. Each thought strangled his heart, and he could feel it physically aching. In a melancholic state of mind he sat, clinging onto your sweatshirt like it was his lifeline, allowing slumber to slowly take over. 

The break from his own thoughts did not last long enough.

Seven hours later, Hyunjin woke up to dried tears on his cheeks. He straightened his posture and glanced at the window, feeling a wave of emotions at the change of landscapes. Hyunjin wasn’t sure in which city they were flying over, but he could say with certainty that it did not look like Seoul. It did not feel like home, it did not feel like you. 

Unable to fall back to sleep, he couldn’t help the thoughts that poisoned his mind. Looking over the landscapes, he came to a realization much too painful for his heart to bear. 

You and him — you were the Sun, and he was the Moon. Two people of different circumstances, who’ll never meet, ripped away from the merciless hands of time. For your timezones were different — horizons even more. 

As a wave of new tears descended, Hyunjin wondered if he would ever forget about you.

The answer came to him one afternoon three years later, as he laid on the couch in his Parisian apartment. 

No, he’d never forget about you. At least not in three years. Maybe not even in five. 

Sunlight seeped in through the balcony, providing Hyunjin the warmth he wasn’t able to receive from a person. His roommate was a French guy who was always out and about, leaving Hyunjin to soak in his own company for hours on end. Sometimes, for days. Hyunjin loved and hated it at the same time. 

His limbs stretched across the burgundy couch, a yawn eliciting past his lips. Brown eyes stared at the canvas in front of him, black and white hues scattered on white, forming a half-finished painting of you. 

Years later, and you remained at the back of his mind — his muse.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

nine.  

There are five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance. Denial was the hardest for you, having spent your entire birthday staring at the front door of your house, praying Hyunjin would walk in. When your friends sang you a Happy Birthday, it sounded like a morose ballad playing from a broken record. Without Hyunjin, gloom sat at the centre of even the happiest things. 

Then came a sixth stage — one that seemed to exist for you.

Motivation.

After coming to acceptance that your best friend had gone, without any farewell, you spent many hours a day in the ballet studio. Pirouette, arabesque, plié — you managed to polish each move with the amount of time you spent cooped up in the studio. You weren’t born with ballet feet, but the times spent in pointe shoes had somehow moulded you into having them. 

Perhaps, it was distraction, disguised as motivation.

Nevertheless, the tireless hours of practice granted you a position in the Paris Ballet School.

Paris felt bittersweet when you first landed. It was the city of your dreams, but the reminiscence of the person it took from you made you loathe it. 

Withal, life had to go on. To cope with the Parisian lifestyle, you managed to get a job at a cafe near your academy — Desir Cafe. You worked night shifts as a kitchen crew but if traffic was overwhelming in the afternoons, your shitty excuse of a boss would make you come in anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it was one of those days. Clinks and sizzles reverberated in the kitchen, the peg board overwhelmed with sticky notes of orders. You were everywhere in the kitchen, from piping icing on cupcakes to sprinkling chocolate rice on pastries. 

“Yn,” the main baker yelled, “Tell Double C’s we can’t stock up on macarons! We’re out of almond flour!” 

The Double C’s — Charlotte, and Colette. They were a duo who worked as waitresses, always gossiping. Birds of the same feather, attached by the hip. 

Exasperated, you headed to the front, swinging the kitchen door open to see the duo gossiping. Charlotte was leaning in towards Colette, whispering into her ear, earning giggles from the other. You sighed, wondering what the topic was that afternoon. Curious as to who they were gossiping about, you looked towards the direction they were looking. 

Seated alone at the corner of the cafe was a guy, blonde hair gleaming golden from the sunlight seeping through the big window. His utmost focus was on the sketchbook in front of him, frail fingers dancing across paper, entrancing any eyes which fell upon him. You couldn’t help but stare, your face gradually contorting into disbelief.

He resembled too much like Hyunjin — your Hyunjin. 

Your gaze lingered on the man, analyzing each crease of his face, matching it with the one you had in mind. He looked just like Hyunjin, from the shape of his nose to the mole under his eye. The only difference was the hair. Hyunjin’s hair was raven black, but the person in the cafe had golden blonde hair. You felt your throat tighten. If the man sitting at the corner was him, then time had done good on him. He was beautiful, face sculptured beautifully by time’s gentle hands.

“Ooh, look who’s ogling!” a high-pitched voice interrupted you. You looked up to see the Double C’s looking at you, wiggling their eyebrows mischievously. Charlotte smirked, “Think the guy’s cute?”

“Huh? What guy?” you lied, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

Colette rolled her eyes. “The dude over there! Don’t lie, you think he’s cute.” The brunette wiggled her eyebrows even more, subtly pointing at the man. 

You didn’t say anything else, but your eyes travelled back to the familiar silhouette. The sense of familiarity tugged on fragile heartstrings the more you looked at him. Colette could sense your curiosity, so she parted her lips to speak.

“That’s Hyunjin. He’s a student in Beaux-Arts de Paris,” she muttered, unbeknownst to her the mixed emotions that dawned upon you. “He comes here almost every afternoon. Maybe that’s why you’ve never seen him before. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Excitedly, Charlotte nodded her head. “A total heart-throb, honestly.”

“I mean…” your voice trailed, “He’s quite alright.”

How were you supposed to react to finally seeing the one who got away? Were you supposed to feel excited, or upset? It was like the moon had suddenly dropped down onto your lap. 

You were confused.

Charlotte continued speaking, not realizing the mixture of emotions in your face. “Sometimes, the students have exhibitions about ten minutes from here. His artworks always make it to the exhibitions. I’ve seen them, and they’re really beautiful.”

You turned towards her, “Exhibitions?”

She nodded, still naive as to your shift in behaviour. “I think the school has an exhibition every three months or so.”

Unfaltering, your eyes bored holes in Hyunjin’s back. He was in his own little world, evidently absorbed in whatever piece he was working on. Just like that, the memories you spent years suppressing came rushing back. 

It was unfair, the impact he had on you. There he was, lounging in a corner while your heart grappled in your chest. He looked older, better — and you were still the little girl in the tree house. Swaying your feet as they dangled, as though you had all the time in the world.

Charlotte and Colette exchanged looks as you stared at him. To them, you were simply developing a crush on a stranger. They wouldn’t understand the conflict brewing in you, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the ache that stirred in the depths of your heart.

“What? You’re interested in him?” Charlotte spoke, breaking you off your trance. You looked at her, blinking. “Don’t even try. I’ve tried. I think he’s gay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“He’s not gay — oh my god, Lottie!” it was Colette’s turn to speak. Playfully, she smacked the other’s arm. “I asked that guy he’s always with, the songwriter — Felix. Cute guy, that one. Felix told me that he’s got a secret lover or something.”

“Secret lover?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he likes to draw this one girl. His sketchbook’s filled with her,” Colette murmured, glancing at Hyunjin. “Felix asked her who she was, and he said it’s a girl of his dreams.”

Your heart dropped. You weren’t sure to which news you should react first, either Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin, or that he has a secret lover. Either way, it made you pathetically jealous. Your heartstrings thrummed in anger as you imagined a beautiful French girl spread out on his bed, and Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin.

How could he go on with his life when you spent years mourning him?

Crimson tainted your lip as you bit on it hard, the taste of metal at the tip of your tongue. 

Perhaps, you never made it past the anger stage of your grief.

ten.

You truly tried to be happy for Hyunjin.

For days, weeks — you spent convincing yourself that you had to be happy for him. Sure, he hurt you three years ago. Sure, you spent years in agony, regretting not telling him how you felt earlier, wondering what could’ve been. Sure, you hoped that you’d see him in Paris and he’d tell you that he’s in love with you and kiss you senseless — but those were just desperate prayers, weren’t they? Those were simply hopeful scenarios. You hadn’t expected them to come true, had you?

Hyunjin was your best friend of years. He deserved happiness, even when you didn’t feel happy. You had to let things go. You had to be happy for him.

Clearly, you failed at convincing yourself.

In front of a building you stood, the sound of people walking past becoming white noise. You stared at the banner standing in front of you, the words Autumn Exhibition displayed, with the logo of Beaux-Arts de Paris at the top. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

A week ago, Charlotte told you that the university would be holding another exhibition, and Hyunjin’s artworks most likely made it into the exhibition. You knew then, that you had to go. If you didn’t get to see him, then you at least wanted to see his pieces. To not be a part of his life was devastating, you wished to at least witness glimpses of it. 

9:45 p.m. was displayed on your screen, people were beginning to leave the exhibition. There weren’t many people around, which was what you were hoping for. Visiting the exhibition in daylight meant potentially bumping into Hyunjin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

One day you ought to meet him, but not today. Not when the fragments of your heart have yet to be mended.

After taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to step into the exhibition. A gust of wind hit your face, and you shivered, clutching your coat tight. The art display seemed to be painting-themed, the way frames of canvases were scattered around the building. Baroque paintings were displayed all over, each piece as beautiful as skies at dusk.

The tapping of your heels against the ceramic tiles sounded as you walked, the romantic lighting of the room providing you with a sense of comfort. Wildly, your eyes observed each piece, letting your heart be swayed by the beauty. 

They were all beautiful — but they didn’t feel like Hyunjin. 

Until your eyes trailed to a certain piece.

It was the centrepiece, the piece — little bulbs of lights were installed above the frame, making the piece feel alive. The moment your gaze fell on the artwork, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, taking hurried steps towards it. You stared, unable to take your eyes off the hues on the canvas.

There weren’t many hues, just black and white. It depicted two figures on swings. You couldn’t see the figures clearly but you could tell they looked happy. You could see through the strokes of paint that they were happy — though the artist not so. There was a certain sadness in the painting, one that screamed nostalgia. 

The longer you looked at the piece, the more you realized. 

It was a fragment of your memory. 

Your breath hitched. In came a memory of you and Hyunjin — running around the park before playing on swings. It was a particularly memorable day, you could recall falling off the swing and Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, kissing the bruises on your knees with the tenderness of a feather. It was the first time you felt so protected, and so loved. 

A rush of emotions overcame you, you wondered if that was how Hyunjin felt when he painted it. Had he thought of you, and wept by his easel? Had he stained his cheeks with charcoal as he wiped stray tears off his face? 

You wondered, so much so that you failed to realize a silhouette entering the display. 

Hyunjin didn’t enjoy art exhibitions in daylight. They felt pompous. The people who visited the exhibitions would usually walk around casually, and took photos. They didn’t harbour any sort of deep appreciation towards art, they didn’t sit and admire.

Therefore, Hyunjin loved revisiting exhibitions in the comfort of twilight. When the expositions were empty, he enjoyed revisiting them, taking his sweet time to admire each piece. 

When he spotted a figure standing before his piece — his most vulnerable piece, he felt his heart drop. He watched from afar as this person observed the artwork, body as still as a mannequin. He had never witnessed someone admire a piece this intensely, especially with it being one of his pieces. He felt flattered, his heart swelling in pride and joy. 

Silently, Hyunjin approached the figure. Usually, he was shy, not the type to approach people first but somehow, he felt the strong urge to this time. Fate was pulling him by his heartstrings.

“That’s my painting,” Hyunjin spoke, ensuring his voice was as soft as possible. 

The sudden voice startled you. You whipped your head towards the source of the noise, eyes widened in shock. They widened even more at the sight before you. 

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. His heartbeats escalated, taking in the figure standing in front of him. His fingers dug into the skin of his thumb, lips quivering. Brown doe eyes mirrored yours.

“Wh — what?” he spoke again, breathless. “Yn?”

A few steps were taken, inching closer towards you. His eyes scanned your face, lips quivering even more when he realized that it was you — you were real, and you were standing in front of him. You looked the same as you did three years ago, except more beautiful. How’d you get more beautiful? The passage of time had seemingly been good to you, the way it had carved your face into one Hyunjin could imagine himself filling his canvases with.

“Hyunjin,” you willed yourself to speak. You ignored the way your eyes watered. “It’s you.”

“It’s you, too. You’re here.”

Another few, brave steps were taken. You, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch. 

“I hate you,” the words spilt past sanguine mouth before you could stop them, its venom contrasting the hushed tone of your voice. They crushed Hyunjin’s heart, though he knew he deserved them. “But I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” was all that he could say. Hyunjin meant it. He really was sorry. He was sorry as he sent you back from the meadow, too cowardly to bid you goodbye. He was sorry when he packed his bags, stealing one of your sweatshirts for solace. He was sorry when he was on the plane, wishing he could turn back time. He was sorry when he painted numerous portraits of you. He was sorry as he stood before you, watching tears flow down your cheeks because it was the least he could do — a form of punishment for what he had done to you.

You shook your head, palms rushing towards your face to wipe away tears. 

“It’s not enough, I know,” he mumbled, moving closer towards you to wipe your tears, like it was instinct, feeling his heart clench when you took steps back. “But I truly am sorry.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” you sobbed, vision blurry. “You didn’t even contact me.”

“I know, Yn, I know — I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t,” he rambled, cupping your cheeks and rubbing on the skin. You allowed him to. “I swear, I wanted to write to you, but I was too embarrassed, and by the time I had enough courage it was already too late.”

Sobs wrestled their way past your lips, barely able to form coherent words. You kept shaking your head, blurting out the words you’ve kept for years.

“You just left me, Hyunjin — you left me. A day before my birthday,” your whimpers got louder, “I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you, on my birthday. Hell, three years later and I’m still in love with you.”

Hyunjin’s face paled. He had expected curses, and cries — but he hadn’t expected that. Anything, but that. His limbs moved before his brain could process things, lifting your chin to meet eyes. Your eyes were tinted with tears, but you were still beautiful. You’re always beautiful.

“What?” he squeezed your cheeks, “Yn, what?”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again. It's fucking pathetic.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Hyunjin knew he was supposed to feel remorse, but God — his heart bloomed at the words you had whispered to him. You’re in love with him. You’re in love with him, the same way he was in love with you. “Fuck, Yn. You can't just say shit like that.”

Feather-like touches grazed your lips. There was a certain look in Hyunjin's eyes, one that you couldn't quite figure out — they were a look of longing. How could you know it was longing when you had never bear witness to them? You could feel his breath against your face, warm like his fingertips.

“You have no fucking idea how long I've been in love with you. You have no idea how much I missed you. Fuck, I think about you every fucking day,” he whispered, “You have no idea how much I regret getting on that plane.”

At that moment, all you could feel was Hyunjin. His deep, brown eyes staring into yours and his thumb pressing onto your lip.

“Kiss me,” you whispered back, “Kiss me, Hwang Hyunjin.”

And kiss you, he did. His lips crashed against yours with fervour, moving his lips to the same beat as his racing heart. You kissed back in the same manner, letting out the emotions you had bottled up. 

I love you, I love you — each movement of his lips was a love confession, etching his adoration onto the curves of your lips. You caressed his cheeks akin to holding stars in your palms — careful, precious.

Finally, you pulled apart to catch your breaths, bodies heaving against each other. 

“Please, give me a second chance.”

It’s odd the way human minds work, because at that very moment, you were reminded of Colette's words. Ones that mentioned a rumoured secret lover.

“But,” you felt silly for saying it, “Your secret lover?”

“My secret lover?” the boy's eyebrows furrowed. He then chuckled upon realization. The rumour must've spread to you. “Ah, that secret lover. It's you, idiot.” 

He smiled. You didn’t think anyone could look as beautiful as he did.

“It's always been you.”

eleven.  

“Careful — come on, get under here.”

Giggles echoed in the alleyways as two shadows lingered in the darkness of midnight. It was raining, the pavements darkening with wetness and the wind howling a sweet melody. At that particular hour, under the moonlight, Paris looked like the city of love. 

You rushed out of the exposition hall, getting under Hyunjin’s leather jacket. He’d promised you the date of your lifetime that night, and he wasn’t one to break his promises. 

Hyunjin’s back was damp from the rain, but it didn’t matter as long as not a droplet landed on your body. It only took a few minutes (and a lot of giggles in between) to reach Hyunjin’s so-called secret spot. 

Streetlights shone on a bench, and clusters of flowers surrounded a little pond. The spot overlooked the city, you could see the city lights from all the way up here. You gasped in awe, it’s no wonder Hyunjin insisted on coming here.

“So beautiful,” you whispered. Hyunjin smiled softly, moving closer towards you on the bench and wrapped an arm around your waist.

While fondly looking at your visage, he muttered. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“I found it while I was walking one night,” he explained, resting his head on yours. You could smell his shampoo in this closeness. “I was sad. This garden reminded me of the one we used to go to when we were kids.”

Your heart swelled at the confession. 

“It does resemble that one a lot.”

The skies were still drizzling rain, but you were both a little sheltered much thanks to the oak tree above you. Only droplets dripped, falling onto your head but it was a nice sensation. Besides, you couldn’t feel the cold when you’re nuzzled in Hyunjin’s arm, blanketed in his familiar warmth. You allowed silence to third-wheel you, eyes busied with observing the sight. Silence was always comfortable with Hyunjin. The time spent apart hadn’t changed that. 

He wouldn’t leave you alone, his skin constantly touching yours. It burned against you. You didn’t mind it. Instead, you basked in his love, listening to the sounds of his heartbeats as your head rested on his chest. He intertwined your fingers together, his thumb rubbing against yours. He wouldn’t let go of you, not even when he bent down to pluck a flower, slipping the daffodil onto your ear. 

“I missed you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure how much he’d repeated that phrase but you liked it. “I truly did.”

For the thousandth time that night, you responded. “I missed you too.”

The conversation changed into one about your lives, catching up on each other’s shenanigans. It was comfortable, being with Hyunjin. Topics changed seamlessly. You didn’t have to put much effort into talking to him, you just had to be there.

Softly, his hands moved towards your feet, taking off one of your shoes. He held onto your ankle, tracing his pointer across your sole. You giggled, the feather-like touches tickled. 

“You still have the feet of a ballerina.”

“Of course, silly,” you scoffed, “I am one after all.”

“I’m so glad that your dreams came true,” he whispered, putting your leg down. He cupped your cheek, showcasing a fond smile that stretched to his ears. “I’m really happy that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you repeated. “You told me you’d be wherever I am. It’s only fair I returned the favour.”

The words knocked out Hyunjin’s breath, and it filled his soul with so much adoration, he felt like he could burst. A pleading expression was written all over his porcelain visage, the way in which he squeezed your hand expressing his feelings even more.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I need to be yours.”

You kissed him, for the second time that night.

“I’m already yours, Hyunnie.”

twelve.  

Things with Hyunjin had been going exceptionally well. 

After the fated night, you carried on with so much happiness that you practically beamed everywhere you went. One time when you clocked into work, the Double C’s made kissy noises at you, and Charlotte had whispered, “You must’ve had crazy good sex last night.”

You couldn’t deny it, of course.

Date nights with Hyunjin happened thrice a week, with coffee runs in between classes. The Paris Ballet School and Beaux-Arts de Paris weren’t that far from each other, allowing you to sneak lunches together almost daily. Though you had to admit that even if the universities were far, Hyunjin definitely wouldn’t mind spending extra time just to see you. Sometimes, he’d watch you dance, and sometimes, you’d watch him paint. 

It was like you were both making up for the lack of each other the past three years.

After just two weeks of your relationship, you were acquainted with the comfort of Hyunjin’s home. His roommate was barely home, so you felt comfortable with coming over often. Most weekends, you’d spend the night over. 

Morning birds chirped a jolly ballad, waking you from your slumber. You stretched, feeling the heat of Hyunjin’s skin against yours. You couldn’t help the smile that grazed your face when you looked at him, fast asleep under the duvets beside you. Sleepily, you pressed a kiss onto his bare shoulder, then traced the memories of last night, tattooed on his skin in the form of bruises. It pulled a whine from him, moving under the duvet to press himself impossibly closer towards you.

“Flower,” he mumbled, morning voice husky, “I'm cold.”

“Then come cuddle.”

He did as told, wrapping strong arms around you. You felt his fingers ghost against your naked spine, sending heat straight to your core. You couldn't help the whimper that left you, earning a playful grin from your boyfriend. 

“It's too early to get in the mood, no? Baby?”

Flushed, you smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Hyunjin giggled, leaning towards you to press kisses onto your face. Mornings with him were often spent like this — limbs entangled, as if you were one. 

“Need to shower, baby,” he sighed, “Have an exhibition today.”

To your dismay, he slowly pulled away from you, missing the warmth of his body. 

“You coming to the exposition?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “Go shower. Can I borrow your laptop while you're in the shower?”

“Yeah, baby. The password's your birthday.”

He got up from the bed, and you flushed as you looked at his bare body. Unluckily for you, your boyfriend quickly noticed your flushed face, taking it as an opportunity to throw a pillow at you and call you a pervert. You rolled your eyes, watching him enter the bathroom before getting up, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. 

You walked towards his study to retrieve his laptop, smiling at the artworks displayed on his peg board. One was of you — a painting of the Polaroid he took of you back in the meadow. The Polaroid itself sat at the back of his phone case. He had never taken it out since the first time he put it in back then.

Whilst humming to a melody, you kicked in the digits of your birthday. The laptop unlocked, showcasing the unclosed tabs. 

Your eyes widened at the words written on the screen.

Congratulations, you've been chosen for a student exchange programme to Rome.

Your heart skipped a beat. Repeatedly, your eyes skimmed the words on the screen. You didn't mean to pry but you scrolled through the email, feeling your heart sink upon seeing the date it was sent.

Over a week ago. 

Yet Hyunjin hadn't told you anything. 

After all these years, he was still keeping secrets from you. You couldn't handle it, and so for the sake of your heart you exited the tab, and shut down the laptop. Careful as to not make much noise, you got dressed. 

“Hyunjin,” you knocked on the bathroom door. “Need to be at the academy now. Bye.”

You needed to be away from him — you needed to clear your head.

thirteen.

You hadn't seen Hyunjin for a week.

The texts from him you didn't avoid, responding each time he sent a message. However, you'd been dodging his requests of meeting, under the guise of practice when in truth, you hadn’t gone for classes in a week. You spent your days moping in your apartment. 

Perhaps it was a little childish of you to do, but you couldn't bear the thought of going through what you did before. You'd tasted a life without Hyunjin, and you were certain you didn't want to live through it again. This was your way of mentally preparing for that life again. 

Your limbs lazily stretched across the cotton duvet as a vinyl played in the background. A melodramatic song played, matching the current tune of your heart. You weren't entirely sure what time it was, but the sound of the apartment bell ringing hinted that it was afternoon. It must be the takeout your roommate ordered.

“Reine,” a familiar voice reverberated in your apartment. “Where's Yn?”

“In her bedroom,” your roommate, Reine replied in her thick French accent. “She's been in there moping all week.”

Damn you, Reine. 

Quickly, you buried yourself in your duvet, anticipating the footsteps which approached your room. Soon, your door swung open, and you could smell the white gardenia in his cologne.

“My flower,” his voice tempted you to look, “What’s going on, sweet girl?”

It didn’t help that each syllable that slipped past his lips felt like honey.

You felt his hands pull down your duvet before you came face to face with your boyfriend. He stood before you, hair slicked back and the white blouse he wore accentuated his shoulders. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, patches of peonies and daffodils peeking from the wrapper. 

You didn’t utter any words, simply looking at him with watery doe eyes. He didn’t miss the glint of tears, immediately setting the bouquet on your nightstand to get onto the bed. Tenderly, he pulled you onto his lap.

“You look so sad,” he mumbled, “Can my sweet girl please tell me why she’s so sad?”

Damn, him. How were you supposed to stand a chance when he was so ridiculously handsome and sweet?

Trembling, you parted your lips to speak. 

“You’re hiding things from me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What things, baby?”

Your eyes shot daggers at him, bottom lip forming into a pout. Hyunjin had to stop himself from leaning in and biting it.

“You got offered to an exchange student programme,” you finally bit the bullet. “You’re planning on keeping it a secret and just leaving me again, aren’t you?”

Ah.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened. He sighed, caressing your cheek in his hand. He shook his head as his free hand rested on your thigh, massaging the supple skin.

“No, I’m rejecting it,” he answered. “I didn’t tell you because I thought there was no point in telling you if I didn’t even want to go.”

“What?” you responded, voice a little higher than you intended it to be. Your eyes scanned his for any lies. “Hyunjin — it’s a good opportunity.”

“What, you don’t want me here anymore?” he joked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Baby, Paris is already enough for me. I don’t really want to move again.”

You nodded at his words. A huge part of you felt relieved — and you felt awful for feeling that way. 

Love, sometimes, is about being selfish after all.

“Were you sad because you thought I was going?” your boyfriend queried, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You shrugged. “A little. I was more mad that you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I just didn’t mention it because it felt insignificant.”

“I want you to tell me things,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck. It left goosebumps in its wake. “I want to know these things.”

“Okay," he mumbled. Something about his compliance made you feel fonder of him. "I'll start telling you these things."

A sigh of relief left your lips. You had known Hyunjin for years, but being with him was different. A good kind of difference. It would take you a while to adjust to these changes — but it was the kind of changes you'd want to adjust to.

Hyunjin's fingers trailed to your hips, ghosting over your skin until they reached your thighs. He traced the stretch marks there, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You couldn't help the whine that left your mouth, and the heat that arose, tainting the tips of your ears in crimson. Hyunjin enjoyed this — flustering you with his ministrations. He allowed you to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering as he felt your lips litter kisses on his most sensitive spots.

"I love you," he confessed, like honey dripping from lips. "Promise I'll be wherever you are."

disclaimer — © 2024 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

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[luveline]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie ends up being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general loneliness, mentions of a shitty/traumatic pregnancy, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, you wash eddie's hair!!!! this was low-key requested by anon

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie opens the door and finds a little girl on the steps of his house. Little girl feels generous – she's barely more than a baby. In a set of tiny matching pajamas and white socks stained green from the morning grass, she looks up at him with wide, sad eyes. 

"Hey," he says carefully. "Hey, sweetheart." 

"Good morning," she says, though it comes out blurry.

"Good morning," he repeats with a breathless laugh, instantly endeared.

He curls his hand around the railing and squats down. She really is very cute and obviously well looked after, although he realises upon closer inspection that she's been crying. 

"Where's your mommy?" Eddie feels silly as he asks, but what else do you say when you find kids by themselves? 

He's not really expecting her to know the answer. She pouts her small mouth and Eddie freezes up. 

"Mommy.” Her breath quivers. 

"Don't cry," he says very gently.

It doesn't work, obviously, and she starts whimpering in a way that turns Eddie's heart entirely. 

"Let's find mommy, okay? Do you wanna do that? Wanna come and find mommy with me?" 

"Yes," she says, though it quickly draws up into a sharp cry. 

Eddie treks down the stairs and turns back, waiting. The little girl looks down at the steps and her eyebrows furrow as she places one foot after the other, looking like her socks are stuck to a fly trap. 

He holds his hand out. "You got it," he says encouragingly, wiggling his fingers. 

Her relief is palpable. Her brows smooth as she takes his hand, so small he can cover her entire palm with the meat of his thumb. She wobbles down the steps and then hesitates at the damp ground awaiting. 

Eddie drops his gaze to her wet feet.

She looks up at him. Eddie doesn't think she means to but her eyes are pleading,and he's already moving to pick her up when she lifts her arms into the air.

She's heavier than he anticipates. He quickly gets used to the weight, shifting her against his side with his arm under her butt, her damp foot digging into his abdomen. She rests one hand on his shoulder and the other reaches for his hair. He can't help smiling at her as she pets the dark mess, hand clumsy but well-intentioned. 

He walks down past the van and onto dark asphalt, looking up and down the road to see if anyone's around. He figures she has to be a trailer park kid – she can't have walked very far, and she'd been waiting outside. She must've gotten mixed up and thought his trailer was her own, which hopefully means her mom lives close. 

The steps up into his trailer are on the right side. Eddie guesses she's come from the right. It's not a great assumption — he's grasping at straws. 

"What's your name?" he asks. 

She's taken a lock of his hair into her hands. Eddie worries for a second that she's going to try eating it but she only waves it around, looking pleased. 

"I'm Eddie." 

"Dee," she says. 

"Almost. Eh-dee," he spells out, again not actually expecting her to understand what he's saying. He's unsure about kids her age – he's unsure what age she even is. 

She babbles something unintelligible and Eddie hikes her higher up his chest. He strides out of the cool shadow and blinks, shielding his eyes against the yellow-white glare of sunshine. The little girl hides her face in his hair. 

He hasn't walked very far when he sees you behind the trailer three doors down, pinning clothes that look the same size as the girl's pajamas to a clothesline with unhurried hands. The front door is wide open. 

"Your poor mommy," he murmurs as he approaches, "out here doing the laundry by herself and you're halfway to Indianapolis. Musta got turned around, huh?"

You drop a small light blue dress on the floor and cuss just loud enough for Eddie to hear it. You pick it up fast and brush it down, looking over the fabric worriedly. 

Eddie cuts over soft grass, giving the baby's waist a pat and holding her ears away from his mouth as he raises his voice. "Hey, is this your kid?" he asks. 

You flinch toward him and your eyes go wide – wide, your lips parting and your brows jumping down like you might start yelling. 

You're really fucking pretty. 

Eddie’s quick to placate you. "She was sitting on my front steps." 

You still don't look very happy though your suspicion melds to confusion and then a stab of too-late worry. You rush towards them and Eddie turns his body to encourage the girl's gaze to you. His chest warms when she perks up. 

She wriggles in his arms impatiently and Eddie's surprised by how quickly she starts to cry, reaching out for you with insistent grabbing hands as he passes her over.

"It's okay," you say softly, tucking her into your chest. 

The difference in body language is unmissable. Where she'd been restless (though more than pleasant) in Eddie's arms, she completely melts into yours. Her little face presses into your neck and her legs curl up. You pat her butt soothingly. "It's okay, baby. Where have you been?" You look up at him for an answer with concern lining your pretty features. 

"I'm only three down," he says. 

 "Oh… Thank you," you say roughly.

Your gratitude is unnecessary. "That's okay. She's real sweet. I opened the door and the first thing she said was, 'good morning,'" he recalls with an easy smile. 

Joy lightens your entire face. He feels his breath catch in his throat. 

"She did? She said that?" 

"Yeah, she did.” He tries not to sound as confused as he feels.

Your eyes close with the force of your smile. You encourages your toddler’s face back and drop your chin to plant kisses all over her tiny cheeks. Eddie feels something foreign yawning in his chest as she starts to laugh, a tinkling sound that's sugar sweet. 

He scratches his neck and pretends to look over his shoulder, tamping his smile back into a neutral expression. 

"She's having trouble talking," you say, lifting your head as the baby's giggles taper off. "She can talk, she says 'mommy' all the time, but she's s'posed to be saying more 'cos she's almost two and I know she can do it, she's so smart, but-" You cut yourself off and laugh all breathless and sheepish. "Sugar, I'm sorry. I mean- Sorry. Thank you," it almost bursts from you, "for bringing her back. I don't know…" 

"You just moved in, right?" You nod. "The lock on the front door- they're all exactly the same, you just gotta shake it and it unlocks. Even someone small as her can could get it open with enough determination." 

"She can be very determined," you say ruefully, voice hushed. You're still patting her butt, swaying her from side to side. Eddie's in awe at how quickly she's settled, her button features crumpled by a big yawn. "Always gets what she wants."

"I bet she does, she's a total heartbreaker." 

You take a step towards him, your beat up sneakers half a foot from his converse. "She can't help it, she was born this pretty," you say. He loves how braggy you sound. 

"I can see where she gets it." 

As soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back. Not because he doesn't think it's true – you're really something else – but because he doesn't want to creep you out. 

Luckily, he's rewarded for his bravery by another beaming smile, your words warm as you tell him, "They said she was the prettiest baby they'd seen in twenty years up in Eskenazi general." 

The name pricks his ears. "You're from Indianapolis?" 

"Kind of." You tilt your head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name." 

"Eddie." He could applaud himself on how normal he sounds and how not normal he feels. 

"Eddie, I'm Y/N. D'you wanna come in for coffee? Or I can make you some breakfast? To say thank you for taking care of my Junie."

"Junie," he repeats, surprised. 

You shift from foot to foot. "She's a June baby. And she's getting kind of heavy these days, so. Breakfast?" 

He follows you up the steps and through the back door. 

"You can leave it open," you say over your shoulder. 

He catches an eyeful of your bathroom, an organised chaos that smells intoxicating, the rich scent of jasmine heavy in the humidity chased by something softer. Talcum powder, he thinks. 

You murmur something to Junie too quiet to hear and she rouses from her dozing, grizzling weakly. 

"It's breakfast time! Is that what you tried to come and find me for, some breakfast? So impatient," you scold her lightly, smiling all the while as you set her into a bright blue high chair with a big yellow duck with orange flippers printed on the cushioning.

You squeeze one of her feet and frown. "Your socks are wet. Did you go swimming in the grass?" 

Eddie leans against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He doesn't have any experience with kids. You make it look easy, pulling off her stained socks while she wiggles her protest and tickling the soles of her feet with the tip of your finger until she's happy again. 

You turn back to him, socks clutched in your hand. "I'm gonna make oatmeal. Is that something you…" 

"I'm an oatmeal fiend." 

You grin and do a lap to close the front door. "Sit down. I'll get you some coffee? I got milk and brown sugar." 

He throws himself into the seat next to the high chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Brown sugar? Sweetness, you're spoiling me." 

Junie laughs. Eddie pulls himself up into a proper sitting position and gawps at her exaggeratedly. "What's funny, little lady?" 

She giggles some more. Eddie leans his elbow on the tray of the high chair and pretends to glare at her. "I can already tell you're trouble." 

"She likes you." 

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You're half obscured by cabinets as you poke your head out, an open sack of rolled oats in one hand and a small pan in the other. You nod happily and move to the sink. He can hear the sound of the faucet and the burner clicking on, the saucepan sliding over the stovetop. 

"I like you," he says to Junie quietly, rapping his knuckles on the tray. "But don't tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation." 

"So, uh, how long have you lived here?" you call, almost smothered by the rushing sound of oats tipping into hot water. 

Junie makes a funny face like she might sneeze. Eddie watches. "Since I was a kid." He's smiling as he talks, amazed when Junie starts to smile back. He nods his head gently up and down to encourage her. "Too long. Not that it's not nice here."

Junie looks like she agrees. 

"For sure, but..  not always where you picture yourself," you say tentatively. 

He hums his agreement. "Whatever though, right? A roof is a roof. Even when the roof is made of cardboard and corrugated metal. I mean, all things considered, this is a well kept vessel." 

He's not just trying to make you feel better – you really are making a go of it. There's not nearly as much clutter or decoration as his own home but it's twice as clean and every surface brags a clear affection – you fucking love your daughter. There's a framed photo of her as she looks now at the mantle without a single fingerprint on the glass, baby photos in smaller frames hang on the wall. 

Smallest of all, a photo of the two of you together. Your hands on her shoulders, your lips and nose pressed to her forehead. You're not looking at the camera, but Junie is, and she's exuberant. 

Toys, though few, are arranged neatly under the TV. It's really the type of clean that takes hours. He wonders how you'd ever make time for it. 

"You got a job?"  

"Yeah, I'm waitressing at Benny's?" You say it like a question. "The burger place?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Randolph Lane, near the laundromat. Does Junie go with you?" he asks. He cooes Junie's name and feels very happy when the girl in question smiles some more, reaching out with her hands. Eddie offers up the same palm she'd taken before and lets her squeeze his fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. "She looks like a working girl." 

"Benny said I could bring her with me until she starts daycare next week, so she really is a working girl." You giggle madly and Junie loves the sound, her chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles. 

"I knew it," Eddie whispers conspiringly. "You have the face for it." 

Junie laughs like something is truly hysterical and Eddie can't believe it, squeezing the small girl's smaller fingers in his and waving their joined hands together.

"She really likes you," you say, closer now. 

You set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He pulls his hand from Junie's and moves the hot mug away from the high chair though she'd never be able to reach it as you set your own mug and a pint of milk half-full across from him, the brown sugar you'd promised in a pink and orange ceramic dish with a lid that clinks as he pulls it off. 

You double back into the kitchen. This time you bring a baby bottle full of what he guesses is diluted juice and two teaspoons, handing him one with a quiet, "For you." 

"Why thank you," he drawls. 

He spoons a generous hill of crumbly brown sugar into his cup and swirls. 

"The oatmeal needs to soften. Is there anything you want with it? I've got lots of options," you tell him, pouring milk into your own mug. When you're done you and Eddie swap.

He thinks maybe you sound a little nervous and wonders if he's the first neighbour you've met. Or maybe you're still freaked out about Junie. 

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't look at you as he splashes milk into the dark recesses of his coffee, watching as it bursts back up to the surface and turns the drink a more acceptable brown. "What do you usually have?" 

"Junie gets peanut butter and blueberries." 

He tilts his head toward his shoulder just slightly and plants his elbows on the table, the rim of his mug held in tenuous fingertips. 

"What do you get?" he asks, thinking that if the baby gets such a sweet treat you must get something equally impressive. He thinks of raspberries and chia seeds, flakey sea salt and bitter dark chocolate. 

You blink. "What?" 

"What do you have, on your oatmeal?" He punctuates his question with a sip. 

"Salt. Sometimes raisins." 

You make a nice cup of coffee. Eddie holds it in both hands and leans into the table. "That's it?" 

You shrug. Junie starts to whimper about something Eddie doesn't understand. You reach out to hold her hand. "She loves blueberries. Don't you, Junie?"

"Blue," Junie says. 

You're smiling as you take another small spoonful of brown sugar. You lick the tip of your finger and dip it into the well of the spoon until a few grains are sticking to you and hold it up to Junie's lips. "She loves sugar, too, but toddlers aren't s'posed to have it. Or so they say." You smile as she sucks the sugar off before wiping your spit wet finger in your pants. 

Daughter appeased for a moment, you hold your chin in your palm and turn your attention to him. "Where do you work?" 

He imagines this is how a plant feels when the sun comes out. "The Hideout, for now. I'm a very essential and irreplaceable bus boy." He nods very seriously.

"What's after?" 

"Music." 

Your lips curl into an interested smile. "Music? You a singer?" 

"I have a great set of windpipes," he says agreeably, grinning. "But I'm a guitarist." 

"And you're in a band?" 

"I- I was. Yeah, we were good, too, but everybody graduated and our drummer skipped town. I just sub rhythm guitar for whoever wants me to." 

"At the Hideout?" 

"At the Hideout." He decides on his next words carefully. You could come see me play. Weak. You're welcome to come see it for yourself. Too strong? You're welcome to come by one night. Bring Junie. 

He's not asking you on a date; he's a new acquaintance extending an invitation for you to get out and see a new place. That's all it is. 

He opens his mouth to try and suddenly there's a loud clattering. Eddie flinches, blinks, finds that Junie has thrown her bottle of juice across the room. 

Eddie waits for you to maybe tell her off like some of the mom's he's seen at Bradley's. A glare, a hissing remark to be good. 

You reach over and your shirt rides up your back. Eddie averts his gaze guiltily.

You put the bottle back on the tray, giving him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Junie has recently discovered that every time she drops something I'll pick it up for her." 

"Smart Junie." 

The bottle falls to the floor again. "She's a genius." You don’t sound entirely pleased, picking the bottle up again and holding it just out of Junie's reach. You shake it up and down. "S'juice. You like juice," you try to reason with her.

Junie reaches for it. You purse your lips. "Be good," you say softly. 

Junie takes the bottle and shakes it. 

It's a small victory and still softens every feature. Your eyes squint, your bottom lip juts out a touch, your nostrils flare with a pleased inhale. 

"Thanks, junebug."

"Tanks," Junie says. 

"Thanks," you repeat, bubbly baby talk. "Thanks. Say thanks, Junie." 

Eddie watches you encourage her over his coffee. It's quiet, peaceful here in a way nowhere else in his life has ever been besides quiet Sunday mornings with his Uncle. There's only the sound of the gas stovetop burning and your happy, patient voice. 

Junie says "Tanks," a couple more times. You don't give up. When she finally says something that sounds almost like a "Thanks," you whip your gaze to his. 

"Did you hear that?" you ask. Your pride is evident. 

He puts down his half empty mug. "She said it." 

"She said it," you repeat, your shoulders moving in the tiniest happy dance he's ever seen. You stand up and take her face into delicate hands. "She's my smarty pants. Aren't you, baby?" 

You dot a kiss over her head and head back into the kitchenette. 

"Tanks," Junie says animatedly, running on an affection high. She accidentally knocks her bottle over.

"Thanks, Junie," Eddie corrects, righting it. 

He finds it easier to baby talk than he imagined. Being nice to little kids – that's easy. Especially as he gets older. When they hit the pre-teen mark is when he starts to steer clear, but even then he can't help doting on them sometimes. Like his club – idiots, annoying idiots, but his annoying idiots. He doesn't hold back with them. He doesn't feel like he's holding back now, either, it's just different. 

Baby's want love. Care and affection. 

And to pull Eddie's hair, apparently. 

Junie's reaching over the gap with a fierce look on her face. Eddie pulls his chair closer and decides to let her try it out. She hadn't given him any reason to worry before, and she doesn't now as she takes a chunk of his hair into her hand. She pulls very gently, likely more that her fingers have gotten caught in his messy curls than any maliciousness. 

"What's your fascination with my hair?" he asks her. 

In her own home Junie's very noisy. When he'd found her outside she hadn't done much besides whimper weakly. Now, she's a riot of gurgling and humming. 

"Are you a singer, Junie?" he asks. 

"She sings all the time! She loves the Muppet Babies on TV, but I- uh, I haven't been able to actually get cable, yet. But when I get paid next week…" You come back into view with two bowls in hand. "She'll be in her oils." 

Eddie says thanks as you put a bowl down in front of him. There's a smiley face there made up of berries with banana slices for eyes. He feels something crawling up his throat and has no idea what it is, and then something completely different when he sees your own bowl, a stretch of plain oatmeal with no delicious adornment. 

You leave and quickly return with a smaller bowl, a baby spoon and a jar of peanut butter.

"Do you want some?" you ask, opening the jar to push the baby spoon inside. "I would've just put it in anyway but then I worried you were allergic." 

You hand it off to Junie and she licks at it happily. 

"Sure, I'll have some. Where's your smiley face?" he asks. 

Your eyes widen slightly. Eddie's not academically inclined but he's never been stupid, and he sees it for what it is, something he's seen in himself and in every other poor kid who didn't bring lunch to school.

"I don't really like bananas," you say. 

Whether you're lying or not isn't something he needs to know.

"Well, you're gonna have to share the blueberries with me, I can't eat this much fruit. I got a hearty diet of chips and microwave oven dinners to uphold." 

Eddie shovels half of the smile into your bowl. You clutch your spoon in your hand like you want to protest, but no way is he gonna watch you miss out on nice things in your own home. 

You smile and don't say anything for a while, rubbing the edge of the bowl with your spoon, your thoughts somewhere else. 

Junie's food sits billowing steam in the middle of the table, which annoys the poor girl endlessly. She wiggles and murmurs and sucks at her empty spoon with a growing line between her brows. 

Eddie eats and feels much better when you finally start to eat your own meal, leaning back in his chair heavily to loll his head towards Junie. "Your mom makes amazing oatmeal. You're really missing out." 

You choke on a laugh and grab her spoon to load up with another small heap of peanut butter. "That is so cruel to lord over her,” you say. “I can't give it to her yet! It's scorching. She has a fragile mouth." 

"I'm sure." 

He picks one of his blueberries out of the bowl and offers it to Junie, who takes it slowly despite her previously rabid hunger 

More oatmeal eating. Eddie ends up giving the rest of his fruit to Junie, your generous dollops of peanut butter more than enough to enjoy the oatmeal. He might argue it doesn't need any adornment at all.

You stir peanut butter into Junie's bowl and wrestle the baby spoon out of her tight grip.

It's a process to watch. You scoop up oatmeal, blow on it until you're sure it's cool, and push it into Junie's mouth efficiently. There's a method to it, the way you lift the handle of the spoon so oatmeal doesn't drip straight back out of her mouth. When it does you scrape the lip gently against her chin to catch it before it ruins her shirt. 

It starts to rain. Hard not to notice, a light drizzle opens and sprays down against the windows and for a moment there's no reaction. Then, gasping, you drop Junie's bowl back onto the table in stress. 

"Shit, the laundry. Are you okay to watch her please? Sorry. I'll be five seconds," you say, already heading for the back door. 

"Sure.” He sounds about as startled as he feels. 

The back door shushes open and your feet dip down the steps. Junie is not very pleased with her breakfast getting put on pause, her face growing as unpleasant as the weather outside.

"Mommy," she says, unhappy and loud.

Eddie doesn't think about it as he picks up her bowl. It's more a pulse of feeling than a thought. Feed her and she won't cry. 

He blows on a spoonful of oatmeal with likely too much vigour. 

Junie's still complaining as he holds it in front of her face. If she's surprised to be fed by somebody who isn't her mom she doesn't show it, her sticky face growing suddenly slack as she realises her oatmeal is back in play. Her lips part.

He feeds her oatmeal, does a very bad job, and tries to gather what's escaped with the spoon as Junie waves her hands around and pokes at spilled food on the white tray in front of her. By the time you come back damp and breathless with the cold chasing your heels he's successfully managed to feed her what was left of her breakfast. He's embarrassed to be caught but tries not to show it. 

"You okay?" he asks, looking you up and down amicably.

"S'only a little rain." You push the laundry basket onto the sofa and smile sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that." 

"And have the precious little lady starve?" 

"Starve!" you repeat, a feigned incredulousness to your tone. 

"She was giving me the puppy dog's," he says, shrugging as he takes the spoon out of Junie's wet fingers. 

She whines for a second at his robbery but seems to realise she's full, picking her juice back up to shake some more. 

You exhale through an open-mouthed smile.

"Thank you. She's gonna love you now, she loves anyone who gives her food. She's a real cadge at the diner. Never seen so much free cherry pie in my life," you remark, turning to what looks like your diaper station. You wade through a mess of things he doesn't recognise and pull out a packet of baby wipes. 

"And her mom? Is her affection so easily garnered?" 

"Takes more than a cherry pie to win me over," you joke, sitting down in your chair in front of the high chair with a soft sigh. You pull out one of the wipes and take Junie's wrists into your hand, wiping her fingers clean methodically. "I need at least a squirt of whipped cream on top before I consider any fondness." 

He chuckles and you laugh too. It's short-lived, your lips pursed as you wipe Junie's face clean. She hates every second of it, writhing in her chair like she's being tortured as you clean a mess of brown and blue from her round chin. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry. Done, done," you say, holding your hands up in surrender. 

She pouts. 

"Don't be like that," you scold her mildly. "Look how lovely and clean you are now! Eddie can see how pretty you look again." 

You slide your hands under her armpits and pull her out of the highchair, groaning. 

"Oh, there you go. Where's Mr. Bear gone, baby? You can play sticky bricks with him so I can get ready for work." 

Work. Work. Where Eddie was going. Where Eddie is very likely supposed to be. He checks the time and his eyes flare, standing up abruptly. You turn  toward him with Junie anchored on your hip, both wearing matching expressions of curiosity.

"Sh-“ Don’t swear around babies. “I'm sorry, I got somewhere to be that I totally spaced on."

You blink. "That's okay." 

"It was sick to meet you," he says. 

You blink some more and walk to the front door, pulling it open as an understanding smile curls your lips. "Super 'sick,'" you say, bemused. "Thank you so much for bringing Junie back. Really, I mean, if anything ever happened to her." You don't finish because it's obvious, your bright tone underlain with a burning fear.

He walks sideways out of the door and down one step, knowing he's super fucking late but not caring too much as he says, "Listen, I can bring you a deadbolt." 

"You could?" 

"Sure thing. Make sure this little lady," and he says it chidingly, directing his gaze at Junie who goes all shy and smiley from the attention, "doesn't go on anymore morning adventures. Especially without her shoes." 

"That would be… that would be awesome, Eddie. Thank you." 

He waves his hand and descends the last of the steps. "I'll come around tomorrow?" 

It's a Saturday today. He's not surprised that you're both working the weekend, but he is surprised that you're working Sunday too when you say, "Would after five be okay?" 

"That's more than okay. Bye, trouble," he says to Junie, bringing a hand up to shield his hair from the drizzling rain. 

You look lovely on the stoop, fresh-faced and in your lounge clothes. You tug Junie up your chest and take her hand into yours. "Say 'bye', Junie," you tell her, waving her hand. "Bye! Bye-bye, Eddie." 

"Bye Junie!" he calls, waving at the little girl with great fervour.

"Bye!" Junie calls back. 

You both grin. 

-

You're super tired from work and exhausted from an upset daughter. Even now Junie fusses. She hasn't been getting her naps because you can't set her down anywhere that isn't the wooden high chair in Benny's restaurant, which is months of a routine disrupted. 

You're not mad at her – the opposite, you feel awful to mess her up like this, awful that she's so upset. Trying your very best to calm her down, you're swaying her from side to side in the middle of your messy living room with your hand patting a steady rhythm into the narrow breadth of her back. 

"I know, baby, I know. I'm sorry. You'll get your nap tomorrow, I promise," you say, trying for softness and missing, desperation eating at your tone.

You try not to have a heart attack at the thought of her first day at the new daycare. I can't think about it, you tell yourself, moving your thoughts onto the Sunday checklist. 

Junie's been fed. Unfortunately, she's the kind of wound up where the only solution you can think of is to get her in bed. If you can get her down soon she'll sleep until maybe 4AM. Not ideal; you'd prefer she slept later tonight and woke up at a healthier 6AM with you. When she does wake, no matter the time, you'll have her eat something substantial for breakfast and take a much needed bath. 

Laundry, bills, cleaning, it all runs through your head. Junie's hair, her snacks for daycare, her clothes. Does she have clean socks for the week? Does she have a vest top for tomorrow? 

Her crying grows loud and you can't think of anything except how overwhelmed you feel. 

"It's okay, baby, just go to sleep." You shush her softly.

Somebody knocks the door. 

You and Junie are similarly nonplussed. Her crying ceases for a second and her head turns in tandem with yours. 

"Oh. Oh, you know who that is, huh?" you ask her, making for the door while her cries are still on pause. "That's our new friend Eddie. You remember Eddie?" 

You pull open the door. There he is on the porch with a bag and a plastic case, wearing a shirt with short sleeves. You realise for the first time that he has tattoos. 

"Hi," you say. 

"Hi. Hi, Junie," he adds, looking at her tear-stained face. "Have I come at a bad time?" 

"No, you're good. You're great, thank you for doing this." You lean back against the door and Eddie skirts past you. That close, you can smell the heavy sage and sandalwood of his cologne and see the beauty mark under his ear, dark hair tucked behind the shell. 

He stops in the middle of the room and puts down the plastic case. "I'm gonna try to do it. Try being the essential word, and I make absolutely no promises." He makes a small cross with his hands leading out and the bag falls from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. 

It sounds like more than a deadbolt. Eddie sees your gaze and jumps into theatrics that hook Junie's attention straight away, ruffling through the bag. He pulls out a VHS tape and then a second, one old and one newer. 

"For your consideration." He presents them grandly against his check, his eyes flitting from your daughter to the tapes in wait of her reaction. 

Junie has no clue what a VHS is. She thinks the TV is magic. 

You swoop in and gasp loudly for Junie's sake, having identified his proffered tapes immediately. 

"You know what that is?" you ask her, pointing at the slipcover. "Muppet Babies! There's Kermit and Fozzy and Rowlf and Gonzo." You touch your finger to each puppet in turn as you reel off their names. 

Junie looks up at you like maybe she remembers, so you start to sing the theme tune for her. "Muppet Babies, they make their dreams come true. Muppet Babies, they'll do the same for you!"

The song jogs her memory. She starts her nonsense singing in a valiant but juvenile effort to recreate the music, dancing in your arms. 

You sing it again for her as you lower her to the floor. She doesn't whine to be picked back up, a great sign that her mood has turned, instead walking to the TV, a small silver combi with a bubble screen. She raises her arms up high and starts hitting the TV stand with her palms flat. 

Eddie looks to you as if he's checking that it's alright before crossing the small space and turning on the TV, your relieved smile more than enough encouragement. He's careful not to step on Junie's feet, surprised when she walks into his leg. She grabs onto his jeans and looks up at him with wide eyes. 

Eddie visibly softens. 

It's kind of crazy to see him, this metalhead dude covered in dark tattoos and wearing safety pinned jeans looking down at a toddler with nothing but patience in his eyes.

He drops his hand very lightly to her tiny back and pushes in the tape. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Junie says. 

She doesn't let him touch her for very long, falling to her knees to pull out the bin of stickle bricks hiding underneath as Eddie fast forwards through the adverts and then turns up the volume until the Muppet Babies theme is echoing against the wood panelled walls.. 

Junie's eyes dart up the screen, two bricks held in her hands and a great smile on her face. 

"Where did you find that?" you ask, in awe. 

He steps over her and comes back to your side, crossing his arms over his stomach with a smug smile. "Not telling. Ruins the magic. Got The Bugs Bunny Show for when she gets bored of Miss Piggy." 

You smooth down your rumpled black work skirt and smile shyly. "I can pay you back… Next week." 

He looks lost for words for a split-second. It clears fast, and he says, "Tell you a secret. I have a friend down at good old Family Video that let me have 'em for nothing." 

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. You worry he's lying to make you feel better. 

"Uh-huh. Friends in high places," he brags sarcastically. 

You turn to watch Junie smile for the first time in hours and have to scrub your face to hide how shattered you feel. It's been a really long week. Your relief is a physical thing, a hand on your shoulder. You feel yourself deflate. 

"You okay?" Eddie asks. 

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks. "Thank you. Really. You saved me." 

"Yeah?" he asks, dialling up the drama. He lifts his chin high. "Would you say, oh, I don't know, that I'm your hero?" 

It's his clear joking tone that saves him. If you'd detected even a smidge of genuine expectancy from him you likely would've shoved him out the door. 

"Mm-hm. My hero," you croon, both of you grinning. 

He turns back to the grocery bag and pulls out a bottle of juice. "I was gonna bring coke but I didn't want Junie to feel left out." 

You move to the cabinets and can't believe how nice he is. You get a little warning stab, that feeling of if it's too good to be true… and shake it off. Maybe it'll turn out that way and you're not gonna do anything stupid to chance it, but he seems like a normal guy. A good neighbour who wants to be your friend.

You're in dire need of one of those. 

"What was wrong with the little lady?" 

You pour juice into a glass for him, less into a glass for you, and a half-inch into a clean baby bottle. "I can't get her down for a nap when she's with me at work and it really caught up to her today. She-" You yawn so wide it hurts your cheeks, covering your face with your arm. 

Eddie looks up from where he's kneeling in front of the open plastic case he'd brought with him. "Caught up to you too, I think." 

"A little." You smile ruefully. 

He holds something red and black in the air. "This'll wake you up," he says. 

It's a small hand drill. He presses down on the trigger twice in quick succession and Junie lies down on the floor to look backwards at him. 

“Woah,” you say.

Junie rolls onto her knees and then stands. She's in that stage of walking where she can mostly do it but has a great tendency to trip over anything that might be in her way, and she stumbles as she approaches. Eddie moves the drill away from her and opens the case wide to show her his array of drill bits. 

"How'd you like them, Junie?" he asks. "Pretty cool, huh?" 

"What do they all do?" you ask. 

"I don't have the foggiest," he says, grinning up at you. "And I really wanted to be cool and pretend that I did. I was going to, but you asked me that and now we're sunk." 

Junie pokes at all the silver metal and turns away, bored, to return to her cartoons. 

"I'm sorry," you say, not sorry at all. 

"You should be." He shakes his hair out. "Can't say woodshop was something I ever paid much attention to in school." 

You squat down beside him where he's counting the screws out for the deadbolt he'd acquired for you, your small cup of juice in hand. The deadbolt isn't new but it's clean of rust and that's all you care about. It doesn't need to do anything besides work. 

"It can't be too hard though, right?" you ask quietly. There isn't any need to talk loudly this close to him and your head is starting to hurt from a long day. 

"I hope not." He passes you the drill. "Hold onto that?" 

He stands and you follow, the deadbolt frame in hand. He turns to your front door and holds it up to the frame, far from the door knob. "Where'd you want this thing?" 

"Wherever you think is best," you say quickly. 

"Got a pencil?" 

You don't. You're ashamed to offer him a cyan blue crayon from Junie's arts and crafts. He takes it with a gleeful smile and uses it to draw a line under the deadbolt's two parts to make sure they fit together once they've been drilled in. 

Junie starts fussing and you squint at her, trying to guess what's wrong. You leave the drill on the small table by the door.

"Junie, you want some dinner?" you ask, walking up behind her where she's stood watching TV. You rub her shoulder and lean over her, your face upside down in front of the TV. "I don't think you're hungry. Let's change that diaper." 

She certainly doesn't want you to. You turn to Eddie where he's making clumsy crosses on the door in place of the screws, his brows furrowed. 

"I'm gonna go get her some jammies," you say, and then wince. "Pajamas." 

"Jammies," he repeats. You hate how happy he looks. 

A hot flush washes over you. "She's the only one I talk to." 

Again, that awful softening of his features. He's got the biggest, brownest eyes you've ever seen. "Why don't you get changed, too? I'm gonna start drilling." He waves the drill and you don't like how loosely he holds it. 

"Please don't ruin the door." 

A wolfish smile. "No promises." 

You leave all the doors open. Eddie's nice but you're not stupid – if he plans on kidnapping her or something evil this is the perfect time. Though, you suppose, he could’ve abducted her when he found her outside.

You shed your uniform and pull on a pair of loose fitting pants. You can't find a clean t-shirt, probably because you own a grand total of three, and you get distracted when the drill starts whirring and Junie screams. 

You know in your heart that it's just a baby scream rather than a sign that she's in pain and you still can't let it lie, rushing down the hall. You can see her, see that she's uninjured, only looking at the drill.

She's excited. 

"You like that?" Eddie asks her. "Is that funny?" 

Junie claps her hands together and reaches for the drill. 

Eddie frowns. "Sorry, you can't have it. I gotta finish the door for your mommy. Why don't you build me something with your bricks, yeah? Something big." 

Junie reaches up for the drill again. 

"I can't, Junie, it's too dangerous. Don't want you to get all mutilated." You wrinkle your nose at what he's saying. He turns the drill towards his chest and touches the drill bit to his collar. "Look, see this? It's not for little hands." 

Junie steps over the case of things on the ground and leans against Eddie's legs, insistent. 

Your mouth drops open as he starts the drill and puts on some fake anguished screams. "Ah! Oh my god, it's eating me!" 

Junie starts laughing at his fake screaming. Her eyes widen, her hands clinging to a rip in his jeans. 

"Think that's funny, do you? Heartless girl. Where's your juice gone, hmm?" He holds the drill behind his back and points to her bottle on the side of the couch where you'd left it. "You want that?" 

He goes over her head to grab it and encourage it into her hands. "Yummy," he says, his eyes moving to where you stand in the door past the kitchen, eyebrows jumping up. "Everything okay?" 

"Screaming," you say, awkward in your breathlessness. 

Eddie's eyes stay resolutely on your face. "She's okay. The drill is exciting. You're shirtless, you know." 

You spin on your heel and back into your room. Your heart a jack hammer, you sieve through clothes until a rumpled t-shirt that smells of deodorant but not sweat appears and shrug into it. 

Junie has a much better selection of clothes. You pick out some matching pajamas for her and a thick pair of socks and tuck them under your arm with her changing matt.

When you return this time, Eddie's drilling a third and fourth hole into the wall next to the door and Junie's watching with the teat of her bottle in her mouth, chewing but not drinking. You lay her mat down on the floor and grab her with a big sigh. 

"Alright, Junie, let's get you all fresh for bed." 

You change her diaper and she doesn't misbehave too much, Eddie's general presence a distraction. Soon she's sitting in your lap, dressed in new pajamas and smelling of talcum powder and baby creams, her wool socks soft as you rub your thumbs into the instep of her feet. 

You sit on the floor watching Eddie drill the screws into the deadbolt frame. Junie slouches against you, her head digging into your chest and her tired arms struggling to hold up her bottle. You hold it up for her, watching Eddie's hands and his arms, how they move. Muscle and ligament tense under the skin, tattoos warping, his bats propelled into flight. 

"I like your tattoos," you say. 

Eddie stops drilling to look over his shoulder. "What?" 

"I- I like your tattoos." 

He lights up. His back straightens out and he turns back to the lock, giving the last screw a final good twist. The door makes a groaning protest and then it's quiet. Just Muppet Babies, Junie's soft suckling and the compliment you'd given adrift in the room. 

"They're pretty sweet," he allows. You can hear how pleased he is though he won't look at you. 

"They're cool. Have you had them long?" 

Eddie starts to tell you all about them, fiddling with something you can't see on the door. 

Junie decides that she doesn't want to be sitting anymore and turns in your arms, hands coveting your neck. You lift her into your chest and rub circles in her back, the weight of her emptying bottle on your shoulder. Soon, her small arms go lax. There's a rush of air as her lips open from the teat and the bottle tumbles to the rug with a dull thud. 

He pulls open the door.  Cool air rushes in. He closes it, slides the deadlock into place, and then pulls hard to make sure it won’t come free. 

It’s solid. 

He laughs triumphantly and Junie stirs. You pat her back and make some quiet shushing sounds and Eddie turns around, a slip of his teeth on show as he grimaces. 

"Sorry," he whispers. 

You shake your head. "You're amazing. Thank you." 

If his cheeks weren't pink they are now. He leans into it, hiding one cheek behind his hair. "Stop," he says, exaggerated. 

"I'll make it good, I swear," you whisper, covering Junie's ear with your hand. "I'll make you the best dinner ever. I'm the best at Kraft's mac and cheese, or-" You flush hot, realising that mac and cheese might not be the treat you think it is to him. "Or we can order in," you say, doing the maths in your head. You can't afford it, but maybe Benny-

"Kraft's mac and cheese? You're spoiling me." 

You beam. 

Eddie cleans up the small mess he's made. You're afraid to move quite yet in case Junie's not really sleeping, though she's a dead weight in your arms, and you watch Eddie walk through the room with both caution and ease. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that,” you say. 

He folds the baby blanket in his hands and puts it back on the armrest of the couch before moving on to the stickle bricks, not looking at you as he says, "Just earning my wage, doll." 

You can't watch him clean your home. You wrap a tight arm around Junie and rise to your feet. Eddie sees your approach and his movements grow faster, rushing to clean up the mess before you can stop him. You don't know who starts first but you're both laughing as you grab his wrist. 

"Stop!" you whisper, mock-furious. "Stop cleaning." 

"Sh, you'll wake the baby." 

You shake your head in bemusement. "I'm gonna go set her down. Then mac and cheese." 

"Take your time. Lots of things for me to clean up out here," he says with a mock sincerity. 

You drift down the hall and turn back to sneak a glance at him. He's pulled Muppet Babies out of the TV and is rewinding it around his thumb, a small smile on his lips as he hums the theme tune to himself. 

With Junie finally in bed for the night you take a quick peek at yourself in the mirror on your nightstand and cringe. You look tired. You give yourself a big smile and feel better; a smile makes even your most exhausted features look pretty. 

You slap on some chapstick. You know, to counter your dry lips. It shines. 

Slipping out of the bedroom, you close the door as quietly as you can manage. 

Eddie's standing at the end of the hallway. You expect to feel scared. Instead, you’re perplexed.

"Hi?" you whisper.

"Can I use the bathroom?" 

You laugh. "Yeah. Course you can." 

You have to pass each other in the hallway. His hip bumps your hip, a short rub of fabric. 

You're still thinking about it when he finds you behind the stove, half asleep with your face in your hand. It's the kind of tired where your eyes keep slipping shut, not aching so much as blurry with a heavy head. 

"You okay?" he asks quietly, sitting down at your cramped table. 

You hum. "Hm. Just tired." You give him a guilty smile as you tip the bigger portion into his bowl.  "Sorry. Mac and cheese with bacon bits for you, my hero." 

"Thanks, sweetheart." 

The fatigue ebbs a little. 

Eddie’s easy to talk to. He makes you laugh. When you say goodnight, he looks back over his shoulder twice.

-

It's a funny coincidence that Eddie sees you Friday night. He never grocery shops on a Friday but he knowd when his uncle gets home in the morning there won’t be anything for him to eat after his shift. He takes a sharp turn towards the TV dinners and there you are at the bottom of the aisle with Junie in the seat of the cart. You're talking to her like you'd talk to anyone, though you didn't sound so saccharine sweet over mac and cheese. Close, but not quite. 

"What do you want?" you're asking. "Ham and pineapple or mini pepperoni?" 

Junie holds her hands out for both boxes. You let her take them and the two of you puzzle over the pizzas, heads bent together. 

"Pepperoni, right?" you ask her, quietly enough that he almost misses it. 

"Peroni," Junie agrees. You let her keep the box and put the other one back in the freezer. 

"Pepperoni," you correct, absentminded. 

"Peroni." 

"Pepper-roni." You sound it out slow, looking at a scrap of paper in your hand. 

"Pepper."

"You'll get there. Do you think we need shampoo this week?" You start jovial, but quickly lose your sprightliness. "Maybe I can put some water in the bottle and just… shake it up. No, we definitely need it." 

Eddie watches you look over the cart. He knows exactly what you're thinking, What can I put back?

"Hey!" he calls, walking a little faster to try and hide how he'd been listening. 

You turn on the spot and smile as soon as you see him. Junie, to his delight, is even more excited. 

"Hi," she says, hands thudding along the cart's handlebar. 

"Hi, Junie. How's my favourite neighbour?" 

She babbles. 

"I'm psyched to hear it. How about you, sweetheart?" he asks, parking his cart next to yours. 

You're looking very tired. Still in your work uniform with a hoodie thrown over the top and your smart flats swapped for a pair of converse with the laces undone. You pinch your cheeks up into a big smile. He guesses that with a baby you've gotten very used to hiding how you feel.

You don't hesitate to lay it down thickly. "I'm really good." 

"Yeah? How's Junie liking daycare?" 

You cover your hands with your sleeves. "She loves it. Loves napping again. She-" You frown. "She doesn't like the mornings. Dropping her off. But after." You nod with a tentative smile "Yeah, it's nice to pick her up." 

"Uh-huh. How's work?" 

"What?" 

"How's work for you? How's Benny's?" he prods. 

"You're asking me about work?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Nobody ever asks about work," you say. 

You can't look at him as soon as you've said it, your eyes moving back to the grocery list in hand. It's an old envelope, and it crinkles under your squeezing fingers. 

"Sorry," you mutter. 

Eddie bites back a frown. "Well, I'm asking." 

He holds out his hand for the list and you give it without thinking. He adores your handwriting the second he sees it, scanning the list for anything in this aisle.

"Hey, tell me about it," he prompts at your silence, pushing his cart. It takes you a millisecond to catch up, but when you do you're near frenetic. 

"Well, I messed up like, five different orders today. And when I had Junie it was like they didn't care 'cos she's cute, but now she's not there they get pretty angry pretty quickly." 

"She's like a magic item." 

"Right," you say, sounding like you have no idea what he's talking about. "She was my lucky charm. 'N now when I mess up I gotta practically beg some of those guys to leave Benny alone. He's too nice to me already."

"Are they all terrible?"

"No, the regulars, guys in there everyday, they're all great. They're too generous. Benny's too generous. I know he's fluffing up my tip jar. I hate that. I don't want him-" You flinch. It's strange. Eddie takes a small step closer to you and waits for you to continue, but you've lost all steam. "Sorry, I don't mean to weigh you down with all of this." 

"I asked. And I get it." 

"I don't want him to feel sorry for me." 

"Hey," he says, reaching out for a box of cereal on your list. He presents it to Junie and shakes it around, "who said anything about all that?" 

"No, I know, I just-" 

Junie smiles her approval and he chucks the cereal in your cart with a rattle of metal. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I swear. I get it. I- You said he's a nice guy, right? So maybe he doesn't feel sorry for you at all. Maybe he just likes you. He owns that place. I don't think it hurts him to put an extra twenty in your tips." 

Junie reaches up. You turn to her and lean down until your face is a few inches from hers. "I wish I didn't need it," you say quietly. 

"I know." 

Junie puts her hand on your cheek. 

You sniff, not crying or anything like that, only breathing. "Thanks, Junie," you murmur. 

"Mommy," she says. She sounds a little concerned. 

"Let's go get something yummy, baby." You stroke her face lightly. "I'm thinking canned peaches. Or pears, um. Fruit cocktail. And condensed milk," you add, sounding unsure.

"I got a can or two of that laying around," Eddie says, because he knows that shit is expensive. "Wayne hates sweet stuff." 

"I couldn't-" 

"You let me come over for one of those mini pizzas and I'll bring the dessert," he says, like he knows you'll say yes. He doesn't know. Eddie Munson’s an expert in pushing his luck. 

Junie starts clapping her hands together. 

"I think she's decided," you say. 

-

You're terrible with a can opener. You whine to yourself as you struggle to get open the second can. Eddie had insisted on peaches and pears and fruit cocktail, because he wanted to try them all apparently. And then some dramatic speech about little kids getting spoiled.

You can hear him now in the living room with Junie. They're laughing in a way that you're worried about, that guilty, hushed giggling that raises your hackles. 

"Shush," Eddie says, faux-angry, "your mom's gonna hear." 

"Shush," she repeats with much more enthusiasm. 

"You shush! Look, don't do that, Junie, you're gonna get it tangled in your hair," he says. 

You carry the can and can opener with you into the living room. Something about tangled hair gets your heart racing. 

"Eddie, please don't let her get stickies in her hair," you say quickly. 

"They're called stickles," he says, dropping back onto his hands, head over his shoulder to give you a bright-eyed smile. 

"I know what they're called. Junie can't say stickles." 

"Stickles," she says. 

"She couldn't when I got them," you amend. 

He's up quicker than you can really take in, hands extended. "Let me do it," he says. 

He works the can out of your fingers. It's more contact than you've had with somebody who wasn't your daughter in a very long time and it leaves you shell-shocked. Eyes on his nice hands, bigger than yours with thicker fingers and his riot of rings. He presses the can to his chest and hooks the opener, peeking between it and you intermittently. 

"Go see what we made for you," he encourages. "I'll do it." 

His arm brushes yours as he moves to the kitchen and that's worse than his fingers. You rub where he'd touched and drop down on your knees next to Junie, looking over the stickle bricks with a smile. It's a heart, poorly construed and of tens of colours. It falls apart when she tries to pick it up so you help her remake it, cooing. 

"Thanks, baby. This is for me, huh? You're so sweet." Your voice drops to a murmur. "My sweet girl. Wanna cuddle?" 

You open your arms out and she doesn't seem very interested. "Please?" you ask, vying for her waist. 

She lets you pull her into your lap. When you actually start to hug her she does her lovely melting thing that she always does, a floppy fish in your arms but with tiny squeezing hands. You giggle at her antics and lift her up so her face falls into your neck. 

"Thanks for my heart, Junebug." She snuggles her head into your neck, hair squished to your skin. "I love you," you whisper, rubbing her back. 

"The works," Eddie announces grandly as he appears, two bowls in hand.

"Eddie, that's too much for her." 

"She's a growing girl." 

"A growing girl with a tiny tummy," you say turning her around in your arms. "Tell you what, you have that one," you point to the biggest one, "and we'll share that one." 

"How about you share the big one?" he asks, though it hardly sounds like a question. He sits down and places the bowl in her lap. 

You grab the spoon before she can and stir up some of the fruits. "Wow, look at this! You gonna say thanks? Thanks Eddie.”

She doesn’t say thanks — her mouth is too far open to form words. You make quick work of shovelling fruit and condensed milk inside, chilled enough that she shivers in your arms. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” you say agreeably.

She gets enthusiastic enough to take the spoon and you let her, even when she totally mauls the food, eating so loudly that Muppet Babies becomes inaudible. 

Eddie eats slowly. You can feel his gaze. “You’re not gonna have any?” he asks. 

You’d felt it coming. Your answer is clumsy anyways. “No, I will. I just… I always have her leftovers,” you say, sheepish. 

He stands up. 

You’re gonna ask why when Junie tips fruit down your legs, cold on the naked skin of your ankle. You dab at your pajamas with a small sigh. There’s no point in getting upset. She’s a messy eater but they all are at this age. Honestly, it’s nice to see her attempting to use a spoon rather than her hands. 

“You’re doing a good job,” you say. You’re not totally sure who you’re talking to. 

“Tada!” Eddie cheers, wielding a third bowl of fruit. “Swap with me?”

“What?”

“You think Junie’ll come sit in my lap?” he asks. He doesn’t wait, really. He holds out the bowl and you take it on impulse as he sits down heavily. 

He takes her into his lap with a cheerful groan. “Oh, c’mere, sweetheart. There’s enough milk on your chin to bake a cake.” He wipes it with his hand. He doesn’t so much as wince at the mess. 

You stare. He eases the spoon out of her grip and scrapes up a half-spoonful of what looks like pear and feeds it to her with the same kind of deftness of hand that’d taken you months to learn. 

He can feel your gaze, evidently, because he looks up. There, you catch it, that slither of insecurity he hides well. 

You pick up your bowl and start eating. It’s the nicest thing you’ve eaten in almost two years. You’d die for Junie. You’d do worse. But to eat, to know she’s fed — gorged — to know you can sit here and eat this whole bowl of fruit all to yourself and you won’t have to put it down, that’s heaven. It’s better, because you never let yourself have anything nice if you can help it. 

The fruit turns to a lump in your throat and you swallow it, sniffling. Your lashes grow heavy with unshed tears and you keep your gaze resolutely on your dessert. When was the last time you had something this nice all to yourself? When was the last time somebody ever went out of their way to be this nice?

It’s a small gesture and a huge one. A tear dribbles down your cheek. You lick it away and keep on eating. 

-

Eddie starts to come around every Friday. It’s a good deal; you make dinner and he makes dessert. After that first time he makes it his mission to give you heaping bowls too much to eat most of the time. Soon, he’s coming a few days a week, not always long, sometimes until the late hours, though you tell him desserts are a Friday only occasion. He complies grudgingly. 

You make your first friend in years, and it’s so sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

Or what possesses you to offer to cut his hair. 

Eddie's sitting on the couch with Junie, his big thigh to her little one and a picture book spread between them whilst you clean the kitchen. He's not reading to her – she's trying to read to him. She can't read, of course, but she can remember some of the words in relation to the pictures. She pokes at the blue cat and says blue. She pokes at the blue dog and says blue. She also points at the red cat and says blue. It's a learning curve. 

Eddie gives corrections and encouragements just as you would. You smile at him from behind your cup of water. 

"He's red, sweetheart," he murmurs, arm around her shoulder to hold the book's edges. "Red cat." 

"Red cat," she repeats with enough accuracy to make you choke on your water. 

Eddie gasps almost as loud as you do. "Right! Red cat! You're so smart, junebug, I can't believe it," he praises, squeezing her shoulder. His gaze meets yours and he smiles. 

You send him back your sweetest smile. If he wasn't always so nice to you you'd like him anyway because of how he treats Junie, like she's the fucking sun. 

She gets so excited when other people are happy that she starts laughing, standing up and trampling all over his legs to give him a hug. She's given him half hugs, she's fallen asleep by his side and loves to pet his hair, but this is a proper, tactile hug. Her arms wind around his neck with purpose and as soon as his surprise has faded he brings his arms up to hug her in turn, laughing delightedly. 

"You're such a smarty-pants," he praises, rubbing her back with a boyish brashness. 

She squeals as he squeezes her, his fingers digging into her ribs. Never cruel, only tickling her. She eats up every second of it and buries her face in his neck, laughing her wound up baby laugh that always brings a smile to your face. 

"Ooh, she's so smart. First blue, then red. Next you'll be saying indigo, and vermillion, and-" 

He cuts off when Junie gets one of her nails caught in his hair. She jolts and whines like it hurts and he goes rigid. You move forward to play mediator but he's already pulling her away gently and making small shushing sounds. "Chill out," he chides lightly, "I got it. Here." He pulls the hair from under her fingernail and rubs the pad of his thumb over her hand. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he apologises, pouting at her scowl. He envelops her hand in his and waves it around. "Forgive me?" 

She doesn't learn her lesson, pushing her hands back into his hair, probably less kind than what’s ideal. Eddie doesn't flinch. 

You sit on the armrest gingerly. "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie looks over Junie’s head. "What's that?" 

"Have you always had long hair?" 

He doesn't balk. "No, of course not. I fu-" He clears his throat. "My mom was the best, and I fit in just like everybody else growing up. When I ended up with Wayne I was-" He smiles. It's the kind of rueful grimace that says, You didn't ask for this.

You smile encouragingly.

He drops his gaze to Junie, worming his arms around her in a loose hug as she continues to play with his hair. "I was mad about everything, and I remember him asking when I wanted to get my hair trimmed and I said ‘never’. Took a few years for it to grow past the awkward stage," he bares his teeth and nods toward his shoulder, as if allowing his past misdemeanour. "But now I'd say it looks pretty sweet." 

"I love your hair," you say. 

Eddie beams. "You don't think it's too long?" 

Emboldened by his reaction, you slip off of the armrest to sit next to him, turning in until your knees touch. Junie, loyal as she is, climbs straight into your lap with a babble. 

You pat her back with one hand and raise the other cautiously for permission. Eddie flares his eyes wide, as if to say, You want to? Go on. 

You take a lock of his hair between your fingers like Junie had moments before. "I like it like this." 

"But?" 

You look at the ends, an inch of limpness where the rest curls. "You haven't had it cut since you were a kid?" 

"Maybe not that long, but it's been a while. I do it myself sometimes." He gestures to his bangs. He speaks quietly. A rarity though not unknown for him to be so hushed. 

You tuck the curl you'd been examining behind his ear carefully. 

"Do you think my hair looks good?" you ask. 

"Sh- Sorry, of course I do. I swear I was gonna-"

You shake your head, laughing. "Not like that. What I mean is, I cut my own hair. I cut Junie's, too, and I could do yours if you wanted me to." 

He goes quiet. 

"Only if you wanted. I know it's a lot of trust, so-" 

"Would you do it now?" 

You hold Junie's head away from yours to prevent a loving headbut. "Right now?" 

"I'm in dire need." 

He throws his big brown puppy dog eyes your way and you couldn't say no if you wanted to. 

You explain how he needs to get it wet first and how the shower head in the bathroom doesn't detach. "It's, like, built into the wall." 

"I could go home, come back?" he suggests. 

"I can do it over the sink?" 

-

Eddie can't remember the last time somebody washed his hair for him. He knows there must've been a time, some place in his life where his mom or dad had done it for him. He thinks that, if he'd asked, Wayne would've tried it once or twice growing up, but now Eddie's most definitely at the age where having his hair washed is a foreign luxury. 

And it does feel luxurious.

It shouldn't; the sink basin is very small as they tend to be in the trailer kitchenettes – small sink, small stove, small small small – and Eddie has to crane his neck. Already the space between his shoulder blades aches from being bent over, and he can't breathe well, smothered by steam. 

But your hands. One shields his eyes from run off, a gesture unnecessary and far from lost on him, while the other massages shampoo into his scalp. He'd been surprised when you started because you hadn't mentioned washing his hair, and he'd said, "You don't have to do that." 

You'd hummed. "Well, it's kind of a waste not to." 

That was that. 

Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and if his eyes weren't already closed they would've fluttered shut. He nibbles his lip and tries very hard not to show outwardly how nice it feels. Your left upper arm rubs against his back as you scrub at his roots, your right soaking wet beside his face, covering his eyes uselessly. He doesn't mention it. All this touching, he doesn't want it to end.

Your proximity honest-to-God sets him on fire. Your body pressed to his is a flame over his ribs. 

"Maybe we shouldn't cut it at all," you say, stroking wet bangs away from his forehead. "It's soooo long." 

"Can’t do it?" he teases.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay? I'm gonna rinse." 

It's a comforting process. You dip your cup into the water. It fills with a wet glug, the rim shushing against the basin's bottom. You hold it over his head and pour carefully, heat caressing his scalp as the soap is washed away. 

It's over too soon. You grab the towel you'd procured and tuck it around his shoulders, wringing all the excess water from his curls back into the sink. You encourage his head up wordlessly and he stands there, arms useless against the countertops edge, water sloughing down his face as you press the ends flat between your hands. 

You lift his head and push his hair back with your hands, raking your fingers through it and laughing as soon as his face appears. "Eddie! I'm sorry, you're totally drowning." 

He chuckles. They fade away as you pinch the corner of the towel and start to dab his face dry, dragging the rough material over his cheeks with an expression he can't read on your pretty features. Almost pensive, not quite. 

"There," you say under your breath. "Saved you." 

"My hero." 

You smile at him softly before spinning on your heel. "I gotta find the hairbrush. And the good scissors." You look into the living room quickly and then turn to the hall leading to your bedroom. 

Eddie looks into the living room too. Junie's not upto much, only watching TV, unusually subdued. He doesn't disturb her despite the itch to go over and play.

One of the muppets starts laughing about something and she laughs too. 

"What are you smiling about?" you whisper from behind him. 

"Nothing," he says quickly.

You raise your eyebrows. "She has a nice laugh, right? Doesn't matter how bad I feel, she laughs and everything's okay for a little while." 

He feels a fond stab in his chest. "Her laugh's like yours." 

"I guess we do sound the same." 

You do, but it's not really what he'd meant. 

The metal sound of scissors snapping. You wield them at him faux-threateningly and shepherd him into a chair you've dragged to the middle of the kitchen. 

Eddie fights goosebumps as you pull a brush through his hair, loses when you take a lock at the front between two fingers and stop about an inch and a half from the end. 

"I'm gonna do that much, okay?" 

You're a quiet hairdresser. Eddie doesn't care, he can talk for Indiana, but there's something so sweetly simple about the quietude, just your hands in his hair, the snipping of your scissors and Junie's occasional excited chattering. You start to hum a song Eddie doesn't recognise about halfway through. It's melancholy. He doubts you realise what you're doing. 

You draw silent as you round to the front. Eddie watches your hands work for what feels like hours. You have really pretty hands, not perfect, burnt fingertips and neat little nails. They smell like honey hand soap.

You pull two locks from the front together to make sure they're the same length. His curls will hide any discrepancy, he knows from experience, but he doesn't want to tell you that. Selfishly, he wants that extra time with you this close. 

You work your way between his legs to comb his half-dried bangs. Eddie looks up at you with wide eyes.

"You want me to trim these, too?" you ask quietly. 

"If you please." 

You huff a laugh through your nose and start to trim his bangs carefully. He closes his eyes, and maybe it's the fact that he can't see you that gives him the confidence to reach out for your hip, a touch that can't be defined as amicable. He curls his fingers into the soft material of your shirt and feels the heat of your skin underneath. 

You draw closer, as close as you can be. 

"What made you decide on bangs?" you ask. 

"Zits, mostly." 

He can feel your laugh under his hand. 

"I used to… I used to powder my face," you confide, a murmur, "like, an inch thick to try and hide everything. Being pregnant makes you so-" You pause to snip some hair, comb it away. It tickles his face. "Well, it makes you spotty. Or it made me spotty. It actually made me really sick." 

"That's must've sucked," he says earnestly. 

"It- Yeah. I guess it did. I don't know." 

He hadn't meant to bring up something unhappy, but he's hungry to know. "Were you on your own?" 

"Mostly." 

"What was the worst part?" 

"Being scared all the time."

He'd been expecting morning sickness or aching feet. "You were scared?" 

"I honestly thought I was gonna die, Eddie." 

He opens his eyes and leans back in his chair, hand flexing over your hip, as he tries to tamp down his surprise. 

"It was," you mess with his bangs with the tip of your ring finger, "hard. I felt sick all the time, and when I didn't I would make myself sick worrying about her. What if I eat something or I catch something and it hurts her? What if- what if it all works out perfectly and then I can't look after her?" 

"Did it work out perfect?" 

You rub your lips together. "Uh, I guess so. It took a long time, and it hurt," you sound especially unhappy with that part. 

He strokes up your waist, wanting to soothe the small crease between your eyebrows. "By yourself?" 

"Yeah, by myself." 

"I'm sorry." 

You tuck his hair behind his ear and grin at him. "Now what are you sorry for?" Your hand lingers near his cheek. Slowly, you turn it, pressing the knuckle of your index finger into the skin under his eye and rubbing a small line. He worries he’s in love with you right then and there. "Not like you're the one who knocked me up." 

You drop your hand and Eddie really doesn't want you to go anywhere, his grip kind but steadfast, bringing the other arm behind your back in a loose hug. "Who was it?" 

"Just some guy. Nobody. Nobody worth thinking about." 

"How old were you?" he asks. 

"Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"I wanna know about you." 

You bring your hands to the towel around his neck and pull on it mildly. "I was sixteen. Seventeen when I had her." 

He drags his fingertips up and down the small of your back lightly, almost like he's playing guitar. "I'm sorry you were all by yourself. That young. When I was sixteen I was still watching The Bugs Bunny Show."

You giggle and your hands move up to the side of his neck. He can hardly breathe, afraid to dispel whatever enchantment it is that he's under. 

"Could be worse, huh? I'm nineteen and I still watch Muppet Babies," you joke. 

"Why wouldn't you? It's the pinnacle of modern television." 

"Yeah?" 

Your beaming smile hits him straight in the chest. He thinks about how beautiful you look and can't stop, hiding his face in your stomach to stop from saying something stupid, laughing loud. You laugh in tandem, hugging the back of his head until your giggles peter out. 

A small hand on his arm. You both turn at the same time and find a very unhappy Junie.

"What?" you ask her. Then, teasing, "Are you jealous?" 

You lean down to pick her up. Eddie's gutted to lose your touch and then quickly exuberant when Junie ducks out of your arms to grab at his legs. 

"Oh my god, yes," he says, holding out his hands. 

Junie tries to take them and he slips them under his arm, pulling her onto his thigh with a big sigh. The sigh is half the fun, a theatrical reluctance when really he's always happy to have her climbing on him. 

As soon as she's in his lap she's pleased, turning her head so she can watch the TV across the room. 

You roll your eyes at his smug smile. "Shut up. She just wants what other people have." 

"And you had me?" 

"Shut up, Munson, seriously," you say. You don't sound half as mad as you're trying to. 

Eddie takes a drying curl between his fingers and pokes at the side of Junie's face. "Whatever you want, sweetheart," he says, grinning when your daughter starts to squirm on his thigh. 

He grins at her and tickles her until she's curling in with her chin dropped to her chest, smiling despite herself. 

His fondness colours every word as he croons, "I got you." 

Junie sounds about as outraged as a toddler can be when he tickles her nose and then drags the tip of the freshly trimmed curl under her eye. He draws a big circle around one of her cheeks until it's kissing her chin. She dissolves into giggles while squirming to get away from him and so he stops, only for her to blink and tug at his wrist. 

He tickles her until she's screaming. 

You pause on your knees where you'd been sweeping up his trimmed hair to look up at her and he's struck with guilt. "Y/N, you don't have to do that. I'll do it." 

"No, you're okay." 

Eddie finds his gaze drawn to your thighs, spread out as they are in your kneeling position, and then stolen by Junie as she almost topples off of his lap. 

"I think…" he begins quietly, speaking to Junie though it's just as much for you, "that your mom deserves something nice for my haircut. What do you think?" 

"I don't think that," you say. 

"Wasn't asking you," he says seriously. Back in baby mode he continues,  "What's mommy like, huh? What's her favourite thing in the whole world, besides you?" 

"Sleep," you say. 

"Well, I can't help you there." 

"You help me there all the time. Junie sleeps like a log every Friday." 

"Food coma," he says knowledgeably. 

"You really don't have to get me anything, Eddie. My services were administered charitably." 

He pushes his hands behind Junie's back and pulls her to his chest before standing. When he has her secure in one arm he pulls the chair back to your small table and tucks it in.

"Get up," he says to you. "I'll do it, alright? Swap with me." 

You ignore him until he starts kicking you in the leg. "You're ridiculous!"

"You're ridiculous. Seriously, get up. You're not a serf." He returns your glare. "I'm a big boy, I can clean up after myself." 

"It's my house." 

"If you don't let me-" 

"Christ! Okay." You drop the dustpan and brush sullenly, wiping your hands together as you stand before taking Junie out of his arms. "I'll make dinner." 

"No you won't! I'm gonna order takeout," he says factually, already on his knees and sweeping. 

"No you're not." 

"I am. Me and June already talked about it. She's craving Marino's pizza." 

"I'm not gonna let you use the phone." 

"I'll walk to my place and order the pizza to here." 

"Eddie-" 

"Why are you being a hardass?" he asks. 

"Fine! God, clean up your gross hair and order your stupid pizza. You're making me crazy," you say, collapsing onto the sofa with a little oomf, Junie's weight hitting you hard in the chest. She moves into a sitting position and pulls your shirt up, hands moving across the space under your chest. 

Eddie throws himself into cleaning all the mess you'd made for him, the hair and the towel and the sopping wet draining board. He washes the dirty baby bowl on the side and fills up one of Junie's bottles with water, then a glass for you. He hasn't seen either of you drinking a thing since he's been here, likely his fault for distracting you. 

He's about to call for pizza when he peers past the cabinets and sees you dozing on the couch. He decides pizza can wait until tomorrow; it's later than he realised. 

Junie's halfway across the room with Mr. Bear playing make believe. She talks and talks and talks, gibberish to him but what's likely an unending, complicated storyline, no doubt. 

Eddie approaches with the bottle already outstretched. "Junie," he says, and when she doesn't answer, "Junebug. Junie. Junie." Each iteration of her name softer and sweeter than the first, hoping to entice her in. 

He holds the bottle in front of her face.

She finally looks up with a pout. 

"For you," he says, offering the water. 

She seems mildly interested as she takes it, turning back to her teddy and talking around the teat like it's not there. 

You're struggling to keep your eyes open. Eddie gives the room a quick once over before kneeling down in front of you, tugging your shirt down to cover your exposed tummy as he says, "I should head home." 

You blink at him and turn onto your side, cheek squishing into the couch cushion. 

"Okay? Why don't you and Junebug head to bed?" he asks, using a tone not far from what he'd use with your daughter. 

"You know, her full name's Juniper," you whisper. 

He didn't know. "Really? I love that." 

You wrinkle your nose, sounding very tired as you continue, "But someone told me it sounded like a name for a cat. So I've called her Junie ever since."

"It doesn't sound like a cat's name," he placates. "It's beautiful. You chose well." 

"Yeah?" 

Eddie smiles at you fondly, eyes tracing down your nose to your lips, shiny with balm. He tilts his head to the side to mimic yours. He could kiss you. 

"Sounds like the name of an elf. Juniper Lightfoot, or… Goldwind. She could even be a mage. Juniper the Brave." 

"Juniper the Loveliest," you say, and then grin. "Juniper the Hungriest." 

"Juniper the All Great and Hungriest," Eddie says decidedly. 

"Would you make her a hero, in your game?" you ask. 

"Of course I would. She wouldn't even need to divide, she'd just conquer." 

"What about me?" 

"What, would you be a hero?" 

You nod. He doesn't know why, but he thinks his answer is going to hold a lot of weight with you. 

"You would be," he starts quietly, words painted slowly as he raises a hand to rest on your wrist, pinky finger spread over the hill of your thumb, "a fighter. With insight and survival." 

"I don't know what that means," you say. 

He leans in. "It means yes, you'd be a hero. You'd save kingdoms. Slay dragons." He squeezes your wrist. 

"I think I better leave all that stuff for Junie. I'll just cheer you guys on from the sidelines." 

"You're her mom, she can't do it without you. And even if she could I bet she wouldn't want to. Where's all the fun in guts and glory if you can't share it?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

Your eyes shut. Eddie doesn't know if it's from fatigue or a want to end this conversation. He feels marginally embarrassed for descending into nerd metaphor with you, but he thinks it's the kind of thing you needed to hear. He thinks if Junie could understand how often her mom prioritises her and misses out for her she'd want to fix that. Eddie doesn't know you half as well as she does and it breaks his heart sometimes to watch you insist on a smaller portion, to watch you put things back at the grocery store because she wants a box of milk duds, even to watch you wear yourself out ironing baby clothes in the only pair of pajamas you own. 

"Make sure you lock the deadbolt behind me," he says carefully. You hum. He gives your wrist one last squeeze. 

Junie looks tired in that she's getting agitated, whimpering under her breath. Eddie ducks down to give her upper arm a good rub. "Why don't you go cuddle with your mom?" he asks her, turning her by the shoulder so that you're in her eye-line. "Go have a lie down." 

He doesn't know whether what he says makes any difference but you extend your arms out and Junie walks towards you, big staggered steps that make him laugh to himself as he pushes into his unlaced converse. 

"Don't forget to lock up," he says in place of a farewell. 

"Goodnight, Eddie," you say. 

He waves. You're both too tired to wave back. 

He's surprised to find his Uncle Wayne still home when he gets in, shoving into his work boots with a grunted hello.

"Hey." 

"Did you cut your hair?" Wayne asks, perplexed, a little gruff. 

"Junie's mom did it for me." 

"'Junie's mom,'" Wayne quotes dryly, slugging his bag over his shoulder. He's heard all about Junie's mom.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and splutters when a big hand claps his back, a demonstration of Wayne's pity as he passes through the open door. 

Eddie spins to watch him jog down the steps. "We're friends," Eddie calls. 

"Don't be dumb," his uncle says without turning back. 

"I'm not exactly known for being smart," Eddie says to himself, cheeks heated by a furious blush. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter

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#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

[angelwonie]

ME AND THE DEVIL || coriolanus snow

PAIRING: coriolanus x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers, angst (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Coriolanus Snow is a difficult man to please. And yet you have overtaken his mind—you, the only person in the academy who seems to have no interest in him. But he is also a persuasive man, and he usually gets what he wants. There's only one problem: falling in love wasn't a part of the plan.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degradation, praise, overstimulation, manhandling, edging, crying, breeding kink, brat taming?, coryo is mean but down bad], canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and guns, morally gray coriolanus

It started with a change of seats.

In the academy, students were assigned a study partner meant to last throughout the year. The partners were to sit together in the lecture rooms, write each assignment together and support the other in weakness. The goal of this premise was to keep all students attentive and growing—the academy hardly accepted laziness and not at all incompetence. In the top class which consisted of, as the name suggests, the academy’s finest students, the hunger for success stood stronger, and tolerance for failure—lower. Therefore study partners were as close to a lifeline as a student could come.

Coriolanus had no problem with that. Working with others, as vexing as it could be, brought on more pros than cons, especially when he was allowed to take the lead. And if anything went wrong, he was free to blame someone else for the outcome—though Highbottom never really believed him. 

The Problem, which currently he referred to with a capital P in his mind, had begun when Dr. Gaul suddenly announced a change in the seating arrangement. 

It came as a shock to everyone and frankly, turned the whole orderly system on its head. Livia was moved away to sit with Festus; Gaius with a clearly disdainful Arachne; and he—with you, a girl just recently having joined the top class and taken the spot of a guy who had moved down in ranks. 

Originally, you had seated yourself next to Sejanus, in the only empty seat in the room. When Dr. Gaul walked into the room, they all stood. She told them not to bother sitting again and began reading the names of what was to become new partnerships.

Coriolanus could hear Clemensia letting out a groan of frustration upon her name being read out alongside Sejanus’. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at the misfortune he had evaded.

But it didn’t last long, this state of contentment, because soon his own name was read aloud—with yours. 

Your face, as he noticed upon looking in your direction, had no distinctive emotion written across it. Your brows were ever so slightly raised, the corners of your mouth straight. You spared a single glance in his direction—glimmering eyes meeting his blue ones—then, without much reaction, strolled towards the seat which Clemensia had yet to vacate. 

“I think you’re in my seat.”

It was the first time he heard your voice. It was far from gentle, but not exactly rough; clear, but not exactly loud. You were standing with your back straight, your bag at your side. 

The sound brought Clemensia’s attention to your figure for a solid second before she turned to Coriolanus, brows furrowed. 

“This is so stupid. Why would she separate us when she knows how well we work together?” 

He didn’t have time to answer before you took a step closer, this time letting your lips spread in a smile. It revealed your teeth, but no cordiality. “You’re still in my seat. You can question the authority of our teachers another time, right?”

Clemensia, a little stunned, stood unmoving until Dr. Gaul shouted at her from the other side of the room. She took her things and with a last look of disbelief cast Coriolanus’ way, moved towards her own designated seat.

You placed your bag by the desk and sat down, legs crossed at the knees. Coriolanus did the same, although his eyes drifted to his right just a little. You looked a bit like a Greek statue, with your posture and expression so much like his own. 

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands anew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce yourselves!”

Coriolanus cleared his throat and you turned to him, a somewhat bored look in your eyes. 

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said, extending a hand. 

You didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.” 

You didn’t speak to him any more that day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

All he had was your name and the (maybe feigned) looks of boredom you seldom sent him. And a growing annoyance which came about each time he politely told you good morning and you replied in a dull tone. 

Nobody knew much about you, which resulted in what students do best when met with lack of information—they make up their own. Livia Cardew claimed you were from district 1. Clemensia whispered to Coriolanus about how your place in the academy was most certainly bought by your parents. Festus Creed was utterly convinced your arrival was a test to see how long they would last alongside a girl who showed no interest in anyone and yet walked with her head high.

But the only rumor which held any truth to it at all was Arachne’s hesitant scoff about how she knew you before. 

Livia immediately picked up on the statement and leaned forward in her chair. “You did? So she isn’t from district one?” 

“No. But she might as well have been.” Arachne looked to the rest of them for a dramatic effect. “She’s a total bitch, anyway. That’s all there is to say.” 

That ended the discussion. 

One day, perhaps a week after you and Coriolanus had become study partners, you walked into the academy wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. It was the academy’s uniform, only altered to be shorter and tighter, framing your hips perfectly and ending just about halfway of your thigh.

Coriolanus heard Clemensia scoff from where she stood by his side. 

“Attention seeker.”

“Is that even allowed?” Festus asked, though it was unclear whether he meant vandalizing the academy uniform or how otherworldly your legs looked in the skirt. 

Whichever it was, the answer was probably no. 

On a daily basis, you were already pretty. He knew it and he was well aware the other boys also knew it from the way they eyed you like hawks when you weren’t looking. And, let’s be honest, you were never looking at any of them. So there was a whole lot of staring which Coriolanus caught every time, while you remained either oblivious or too stubborn to acknowledge the attention. 

Now, he thought, you must be aware of it—at the very least.

He, personally, was painfully aware of it. Like an embarrassing Victorian man whose mouth waters at the sight of a woman’s ankles, he felt his pants were suddenly too tight. It was in a state of panic that he adjusted himself, clearing his throat. His hand squeezed the desk he was leaning against as he mumbled an incoherent reply that was just enough for Festus and Clemmie to continue their conversation without his input. 

From over Clemensia’s shoulder, he could see Volumnia Gaul and Casca Highbottom strolling into the room. 

“Dr. Gaul’s here,” he said, pointing with his jaw.  

“Oh, right.”

The two of them walked away and Coriolanus closed his eyes, rubbing his nose bridge. 

Once he opened them again, he was met with your frame approaching—and he almost jolted in surprise. Your hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders, pinned back on one side to reveal golden earrings. You took a step in his direction and he wondered what for—the distance between you was close to nothing. 

“Move.”

Taken aback, he fought the urge to look around and see if anyone else had heard. But no, you were too far and class was almost starting; everyone was busy with themselves. 

“Sorry?” he asked with a strained smile.

You sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. “You’re blocking my way.” 

He grit his teeth, moving aside. You sauntered past him and into your seat, which he only now realized he had been standing in front of. Your skirt flowed behind you; when you bent down to place your bag on the ground he almost caught a glimpse of your panties. Almost. But what he saw was enough to fill him with rage that didn’t subside for the rest of the lesson—along with his boner. 

“I personally think she’s nice,” Sejanus offered when Coriolanus mentioned your poor behavior towards him during lunch. Of course, he said nothing of his dick hardening—oversharing wasn’t his forte. 

“Well, you don’t sit with her.”

“I did. And she was nice to me.” 

He sent Sejanus a death glare which worked effectively to shut him up. 

Coriolanus didn’t really care about your demeanor. It didn’t mess with his work—when you had to be cooperative, you were. And outside of class, Clemensia was more than happy to cling to his arm like a koala. The same went for Sejanus. What bothered him was that look—of disdain, boredom—the lazy way in which you displayed your distaste, like he wasn’t even worth an effort to hate. Because you didn’t hate him.

You just… didn’t care. 

You terrified him. You made him see red. You made him react physically, for God’s sake. And he had spoken to you all of twice. How pathetic was that? Enough to stay forever in his thoughts, that much was certain. He was never going to say a word about this to anyone. 

But worst of all was this: you liked Sejanus. 

Whenever he saw you talking to anyone, it was either your friends from your old class or him. Sejanus Plinth, from district two, with nothing but irritating opinions and a fortune to offer. He saw you laugh at his half-developed jokes, look at him in total focus while he spoke. 

One day, about a month after it all, when Highbottom showed no signs of letting them switch seats ever again, he decided to ask you about it. Dr. Gaul was currently strolling about the lecture room, monologuing, which gave him enough time to lean to the side, towards you. 

“Seems like you and Sejanus have gotten quite close,” he said, loud enough for only you to hear. 

If you registered his words, you made no signs of it. His eyes trailed lower, to your tiny, tiny skirt and the plushness of your thighs which he was free to look at but not allowed to touch. He clenched his jaw and tried again. 

“What is it you want? His money?”

At this, your head whipped in his direction. His cool, blue eyes bore into yours and he could see anger, clear like black on a white piece of paper, in your gaze. Your shoulders were tense, lips barely parted. But this only lasted a brief moment—a glitch in your composure—before you straightened your back and grit your teeth into a feigned smile.

“And you? What do you want from him?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Dr. Gaul’s piercing voice. 

“Miss L/N and Mr. Snow! Perhaps the two of you will answer my question since you’re so deep in discussion.” The woman looked at the two of you sternly. “What is the point of the hunger games?” 

You looked at Coriolanus, who seemed perfectly content in his seat. He had no intention of answering. Bastard. You folded your hands into fists and stood up. Everyone was looking, but only Coriolanus’ gaze made your heart thump against your chest. It felt as if you had something to prove. 

“To keep the districts at bay.” With a glance towards Sejanus, you bit the inside of your cheek. “In a highly unethical way, of course. It hardly takes killing twenty-three children to prove a point.” 

“District children. Remember that,” said Dr. Gaul. “You may sit.” 

You obeyed, suppressing a sigh of relief. 

At least it was relief until you felt a hot breath on the side of your neck, paired with Coriolanus whispering, “Liar.” 

You looked at him, seemingly unphased, and let out a soft scoff. “If you didn’t like my answer, you should have said something instead.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was a lie. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think Sejanus can tell.”

Your jaw tightened indiscernibly. The boy whose curls were falling into his forehead gave a smirk, eyes trailing to where Sejanus was sitting and then back again. You just looked at him, unwavering. 

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me,” he said, lips spreading to reveal his teeth. “Now we’re both liars.” 

***

On the third of the month, the Plinths threw a party.

It was a large gathering, consisting mainly of the academy’s students and their immediate family. The occasion was unclear—unofficially, it was said the Plinths wanted to scout the students to see who was fit to win the Plinth prize. But it was just rumors. Officially, it was a celebration of the academy’s fiftieth anniversary.

After all it had endured—the rebellion, the war, Coriolanus Snow—a party seemed in order.

On the topic of Snow—you were terribly irritated by the way his words were swarming around your head like bees. Somehow, you had managed to remember his voice down to every shiver and for whatever reason, your brain wouldn’t let go of it. Even as your mother, with her eyes fixated on the mirror, smoothed out the length of your silky dress and asked if you liked it. Even as the two of you left the apartment. Even as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the academy’s ballroom. 

“Nervous?” your mother asked. 

“No.” 

She pushed the doors open. 

Coriolanus had showed up to the party in a fitted, dark suit along with his grandma’am right on time. Upon his arrival, he had scouted Sejanus somewhere in a corner with his overbearing parents, while Clemensia stood with Livia and her sister. You were nowhere to be seen as far as his eye could reach. His grandma’am dragged him around the room in search of conversation partners and somehow ended up deepening into a discussion with Mr. Plinth, leaving her grandson to fend for himself with Sejanus by his side. The farce lasted for about half an hour; he felt himself growing weary. 

Then, you came in.

Fashionably late, as always, with your mother at your side, you strolled in like the entire party was thrown in your honor. And truly—he might’ve believed you if you said so, with the way your strapless dress sat around your curves.

In his peripheral vision, he could glimpse Sejanus swallowing hard. Coriolanus fought the urge to outright laugh at the ludicrous hope swimming in the eyes of his ‘friend’. He was reaching too high. Way too high. 

“Y/N! What a relief, you’re here!” 

It was the voice of Strabo Plinth that made you turn your head in the direction of their little clique. A smile spread over your face, but disappeared as soon as your gaze landed on Coriolanus. He watched carefully as you approached with your mother, the pearls on your neck glistening in the overhead light. Sejanus was still staring like a fool; Coriolanus felt his blood turn the slightest bit warmer, the tips of his fingers tingling. 

“Mr. Plinth, Sejanus.” You sent the two of them a sweet smile, then cast a look at Coriolanus with your lips pulled tight. “Coriolanus.” 

He nodded at you. “Sweetheart.” 

You didn’t comment on his choice of word, but he could see your jaw tightening and your chest fluttering, pressing against the restraints of your dress.

Thankfully, it seemed nobody else had heard—Mr. Plinth was too busy gushing over yours and Sejanus’ friendship to notice anything else. Coriolanus’ shoulder bumped into yours and you shuddered. The conversation dragged on until Mr. Plinth was beckoned over by another group of people who looked like politicians, and wandered off with a cranky Sejanus in tow. 

Left alone with Coriolanus and his grandmother, you began to plot your and your mother’s escape. 

“Look, mom, there’s Livia. We should go say hi.” 

You had taken less than five steps before Dr. Gaul’s voice reached your ears. 

“Not so fast, miss L/N,” she said, a menacing smile on her face. She waved you and your mother over to where she was standing—right between Snow and his grandmother. “Surely your mother wants to meet the only gentleman whose grades are as good as her daughter’s.” 

Your mother took the bait immediately, forcing you to follow her back to where you wanted so deeply to escape. “Oh, gosh, really? Coriolanus Snow, is it?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, sending your mother one of his disgustingly gorgeous smiles. 

“Now, Coriolanus and Y/N are my best students.” Dr. Gaul, more enthusiastic than you had ever seen her, pulled you and Coriolanus to either side of her, squeezing your shoulders. “And study partners, too. They work so well together. How about the two of you go for a dance?” 

“Oh, I don’t dance—”

“Yes, Y/N,” your mother obliviously interrupted, “don’t let those five-year dancing lessons go to waste.” 

Your face formed into a half-smile, half-frown. “Right.”

Coriolanus sent you a triumphant smile as he stuck out an arm for you to take. You hesitantly snaked yours through it, heart hammering as he led you onto the dance floor.

The song playing was irritatingly slow, and Dr. Gaul’s smile too wide for all this to be a coincidence, but you decided to let it slide—it wasn’t like you really had a choice. Coriolanus positioned you in front of him. From over his shoulder, you could spot Sejanus, to whom you mouthed a silent plea for help, but the boy proved useless when all he did was send you a smile and a shrug. 

Coriolanus placed his hands on your waist appropriately and you hesitantly placed your own atop his broad shoulders. Although you made sure not to touch him more than you had to, the hardness of his muscles was prominent against your fingertips.

The distance between you vexed Coriolanus to no end—especially when he had seen you in a skimpy, tiny black dress all pressed up against Sejanus at Arachne’s birthday party. His fingers harshly tugged at your waist and he smiled in satisfaction at the way your body pliantly molded into him. A gasp threatened to escape you, but you held it back, instead swallowing quietly. 

It turned out both of you were excellent dancers. Coriolanus sensed exactly when you were to make an unexpected move and was always able to maneuver you however he wanted. 

Finally, you decided to speak—a five-minute song danced in silence would last an eternity. “Clemensia’s staring daggers into my back. Am I in danger?” 

The blonde smiled. “Not at all.” 

“How come?”

“I’ll protect you.”

You smiled incredulously, shaking your head. “I hope you have a knife underneath your blazer, then, because she looks dangerous.” 

“I could snap her neck in half with one hand.” 

The way he said it—no hesitation and total seriousness—made you choke on the laughter that was supposed to come out, replacing it with a burning sensation somewhere in the depths of your stomach. His hand, on the small of your back, fiddled gently with the lacing of your dress, then lazily moved back to your waist. 

You cleared your throat. “I heard your father was a great man.” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve also heard he was a terrible person.” You tilted your head to the side, putting on a curious expression. “So, which one is it?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” 

At that, you laughed. Real laughter, with your head tipped back—laughter he had never heard before, not even when you were around Sejanus. Something swelled proudly inside his chest. 

“Only you could say something so bizarre. But no, I suppose they’re not.” 

He swayed his hips along with yours, then brought your hand up, signaling he wanted for you to spin. Whilst he swirled you around, you felt the tips of his fingers against your cheekbone, tucking something behind your ear. Once you were in front of him again, you brought your hand to touch the soft surface that felt like a flower. 

“What is that?”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “A rose.” 

“And why, pray tell, are you giving me a rose?”

He swirled you again, this time his fingers grabbing at the flesh between your clavicle and throat, pulling you against him. You felt his very fingertips, cold and soft, against your muscle, his hot breath against your left ear. 

“To mark my territory.” 

With that, he swirled you back and resumed the ordinary dance, with a deadpan expression and shining eyes, emitting an unidentifiable emotion. 

Your cheek trembled, although you tried to hide it by tightening your jaw. “It’s picked from your garden, then, I suppose.” 

“Grandma’am’s.”

“Really?”

Before you could do anything, he leaned forwards so the tip of your nose grazed his pulse. You stood stunned, taking a breath and being met with the strong smell of roses. You caught a glimpse of his collarbones, peeking out from underneath the two buttons he had undone in his shirt. He drew back before you could think to push him away, lips spreading into a smile. 

“Those are also from our garden,” he murmured.

“Coriolanus…”

He liked the way you said his name this time.

Not arrogantly or carelessly, but like it was the most important thing in the world; a bar of gold in your hands. And the shiver in your voice—the thought it must’ve been the most delightful thing he had ever heard. He wanted— no, he deserved to hear it again, but it would have to wait. You were looking up at him the way he yearned you would, like he was impossible to ignore. 

“Hmm?”

You smiled a strained smile, chest heaving. “The song has ended. I believe I should go dance with somebody else.”

Without awaiting a response, you released yourself from his grip and turned your back on him. He stood in somewhat of a silent shock.

And he felt it again, this immense anger because how dare you wrap your arms around Sejanus and convince him to a dance, when he’s standing right here, ready to rip anyone’s throat open to feel your body against him again. 

After your dance with Sejanus, you scurried off to the bathroom, silently inspecting the rose sitting neatly in your hair above your ear. It was a piercing red, matching perfectly with your dress. You sighed into the mirror, rolling your eyes. 

The rest of the evening was spent drinking champagne—too much of it, definitely, but who was counting the glasses which you picked up and later discarded?

Coriolanus, of course, but he was much too embarrassed to say anything and much too agitated and proud to even consider asking Sejanus to look after you. No, he’d rather see you pass out drunk than have Plinth take care of you—he could do that himself. But he didn’t. Not that day, anyway. He left the party somewhat early, assisting his grandma’am down the stairs although she claimed she didn’t need his help.

“What has gotten into you today? You’re too eager to help and you’re looking around like a lost district child.”

“I’m not, grandma’am. Get into the car.” 

But before he could follow in her footsteps, he heard laughter—the same laughter he had heard for the first time just an hour earlier.

He turned automatically, without much thought, and felt rage well up in him as he saw you and Sejanus leaving the hall shoulder-to-shoulder, your respective parents in tow. You were clearly drunk, your steps unsteady. 

Sejanus said something to you, apparently something you found funny, because you slapped his shoulder and laughed again. Unfortunately for you, the heels you were wearing weren’t exactly wasted-proof and gave out from underneath you when you moved your ankle to the side. 

It took the slip of a second for you to tumble down the remaining four steps of the stairs, and another two for Coriolanus to catch you, his arms knitting tightly around your waist. 

“Coriolanus,” you mumbled, at a loss for anything better to say. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, but he went out of his way to sit you down on the stairs and inspect your ankle anyway. 

“Stupid girl,” he said, landing a barely discernible slap to the side of your thigh as he stood, having concluded you were alright. “Why drink more than you can handle?” 

“I have a habit of getting in over my head.” 

He looked down at you, the disheveled hair and still present rose which you hadn’t taken out yet, and smiled. Slowly, Sejanus and the rest of them descended down the stairs and Coriolanus turned to get in the car. But first, he sent you a smirk over his shoulder. 

***

Dr. Gaul’s experiments were always interesting.

In the best cases, they were innovative and in the worst—fatal. None of the academy’s top class knew which one this one would turn out to be when they followed Highbottom into the laboratory. 

“What if she kills us?” Livia, who wasn’t particularly fond of you but neither did she feel a particular distaste for you, whispered.

“She won’t,” you whispered back. “We have the president’s son in our class.”

“Right.”

The lot of you walked inside, scattered randomly until Gaul reminded everyone to stick to their partners. You heard Clemensia let out a prolonged sigh upon Coriolanus escaping her grip and approaching you instead. 

He smiled self-importantly. “Y/N.”

“Snow.” 

The smile faded marginally.

Dr. Gaul ushered everyone closer. A servant dragged off the thick, two-meter long piece of fabric covering what at first sight looked like an aquarium, but later revealed to be a cylinder of rainbow-colored snakes. Someone gasped.

You furrowed your brows and took a glance at Coriolanus, who in turn looked back at you. You were quick to avoid his gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss it. 

Dr. Gaul sent you a half-enthusiastic, half-manic smile. “Now, everyone give me something of yours. Come on, I don’t have all day.” 

Coriolanus moved first, which you didn’t mind until he grabbed hold of you and pulled you along. 

“What are you doing?”

“What, are you scared?” 

His eyes twinkled and you tore away from his grip. But it was too late; the two of you were standing right in front of the open snake habitat. You swallowed hard.

He reached into his pocket and fished out a pencil—golden and engraved with his last name—before handing it to Dr. Gaul. You followed suit, albeit hesitantly, and handed her an embroidered handkerchief. 

The rest of the class did the same. Dr. Gaul received all the items, stacked them and instructed everyone to sit. Then she gathered it all into one big pile and threw it into the cage. Immediately, the snakes swarmed around the items, licking and slithering. 

“These snakes,” Dr. Gaul said, “are lethal only when met with a taste they don’t know. Meaning right now, when they’ve touched your things, they are harmless. Come say hi.” 

Nobody, including you, moved a muscle.

Obviously, everyone was busy figuring out why this was even an experiment if they were harmless—from what Dr. Gaul said it sounded more like a visit to the zoo. Next to you, Coriolanus furrowed his brows and stared the cage down with his icy eyes, inspecting. 

“No volunteers?” Dr. Gaul sighed. “How about Y/N and Coriolanus?” 

You froze, looking at Coriolanus with wide eyes. “You first.” 

He tilted his head. “Ask nicely.”

Forcing a smile, you swallowed your pride.

“Please.” 

He stood from the seat and you forced yourself to disregard his grin and the way his uniform strained around his back muscles. 

Just then, as your eyes followed his steps, you saw something by Dr. Gaul’s feet, something shimmering in gold. You squinted at the object. It was barely visible, currently hidden in Coriolanu’s shadow. Coriolanus walked up to the cage and the overhead light fell onto the object, revealing what looked like something engraved. The letter S. The letter N. The letter… 

“Coryo, wait!” You shot up from your seat. Coriolanus looked at you in bewilderment as you grabbed his wrist roughly. “You can’t touch them. Your pen isn’t in there.” 

“What?” His gaze dropped to the golden pen at your feet. 

You looked at his face, as if to make certain he was whole, then at his wrist in between your shaky fingers. How embarrassing, the way your body had grown so hot and how tragic, the way you had made a scene. You wondered what Coriolanus was thinking, with his mouth parted and eyes on you. 

Dr. Gaul clapping her hands together brought you back to reality. “Quite impressive, miss Y/N. I must admit, your reaction time was even faster than predicted.” 

You turned to her in disbelief and maybe a bit of anger. “You did it on purpose? Why?” 

“Why, to see if you were willing to save Mr. Snow here.” 

“That’s absurd, I would have done it for anyone!” Your face grew hot as you ripped your hand away from Coryo’s wrist, as though burned by his skin. “And what if I hadn’t noticed?”

“Then I would have known I made a mistake letting you into the top class. Regard this as a little test, if you will.” She sauntered happily over to you, where she stopped to whisper in your ear: “And for your information, miss Y/N, yesterday these snakes got familiar with mr. Snow through an assignment. I would never put him in danger, so calm your heart.” 

Dr. Gaul proclaimed the class dismissed and left—left you to stand in utter shock for at least ten seconds. Then, before any words could escape Coriolanus’ mouth, you followed in her footsteps, practically running out of the room. 

After this incident, you avoided him.

He noticed immediately, the lack of you in the hallways when he walked through them and the tenseness of your expression in class. Every time you showed up in those tiny skirts and paid him no mind, he resisted the urge to throw you over his shoulder. You had to be put in your place, certainly so—with the way you were messing with his head. A threat, but he chose to look past that, just this once. What he couldn’t look past were your plush thighs, pretty lips and addicting aura. 

Once, after school had finished, he cornered you in an empty classroom in which you were rummaging through your bag, clearly searching for something. 

“Looking for this?”

You jolted back, looking at him over your shoulder and at the kays dangling from his fingers. As your face grew hot, you turned your back to him again, suddenly not so keen on finding the keys. 

“They must have fallen out of my bag,” you mumbled. 

He inched closer, until his chest was against your back and he could drop the keys into your bag. They rattled—the only sound in the room spare for your breathing. 

He craned his neck to mumble against your earlobe, “How come you’re avoiding me, my sweet?”

You turned again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” You huffed at him, raising your head high. “Why would I avoid you? I simply don’t care for your presence.”

The side of his lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have class. I need to go,” you said, before realizing in terror that you’d both just had the last lesson of the day—of which he was fully aware. “I mean…” 

He took a step and you went silent. His hand cupped your jaw harshly, pointer finger and thumb on each respective side of it. He pulled you closer by his grip. 

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he said, squeezing your cheeks. “Did it not register in that pretty head of yours?”

Your lower lip trembled deliciously, eyes tinted with a hint of fear. “Coriolanus…”

“Call me Coryo. Like you did that day with the snakes.” 

There was a change in your expression: widened eyes turning normal again, lips curving into a soft smile as you pried his hand off. He let you, god knows why. Maybe because everything turned uncalculated when he was around you or maybe because he wanted you to listen to what he said. 

But you just said, “I’ll call you that when you earn it.” 

His blood boiled. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“Sejanus is waiting for me outside, Coriolanus,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder teasingly. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.” 

He grit his teeth. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Is it?” 

He held his outburst enough for you to leave—then, he punched the nearest surface and let out a loud groan. A threat, definitely. A dangerous one. But he’d tear it out of you—these sensations similar to his that he knew you felt.

And how could you be of real danger to him when he was just as much of a threat to you? 

***

When Dr. Gaul and Casca Highbottom announced an ‘educational school trip to district eight’, everyone thought they were joking. 

They were, in fact, not. They took the train for almost ten hours—by the end of it, everyone was weary and irritable. Dr. Gaul told everyone to pay special attention and care to their partners and make sure they were safe, and despite the tiring trip, Coriolanus took on his task with the utmost importance. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him as he, for the third time, slung his arm around you to pull you away from passing wagons. 

“Protecting you, like Dr. Gaul told us to.” 

You snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t mean from horses.”

“Horses can be dangerous.” 

You just rolled your eyes. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders for the rest of the walk. When you arrived at the inn, Coriolanus leaned close to you abruptly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Before you got the chance to even think of protesting, he was gone. 

The next day all of you were to join Highbottom in his speech in front of the district people.

It was a simple stage made of wood—the people stood spread out on a small square in front. There were almost too many to fit. 

You, as students, were not supposed to do anything in particular other than stand there and look pretty. Coriolanus made the effort to assure you you were splendid at it already, his fingers fanning over your waist. It sent shivers down your spine, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. You cursed him for his perceptiveness as the two of you walked onto stage. 

Coriolanus was far from relaxed as his eyes scanned the crowd. You just had to wear that godforsaken skirt in front of a bunch of starved men. If he could, he’d tear all their eyes out. Starting with that brown-haired asshole in the first row. As Higbottom began his speech, Coriolanus walked up to you and stood purposefully a bit in front, as though to cover you. 

“Is it not impractical to wear a skirt today?” he asked, sending you a pointed look.

“It’s quite warm,” you replied, blinking up at him. “Do you not like it? I wore it for you.” 

He clenched his jaw, heart swelling in pride. Of course he liked it—a little too much to be considered appropriate—but not for everyone to see. He leaned down almost indiscernibly, but you felt his hot breath fan your lips. 

“When I’m president, nobody is going to see you in that skirt except for me.”

You grinned. “When you’re president? What exactly is the extent of your ambition, Mr. Snow?” 

“You are.”

His pupils were expanded, fingers snaking to hold you by the waist. If anyone noticed, he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter anyway. His fingers found their way under your uniform and he observed attentively as your eyes widened, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he caressed your bare side. 

“Okay, everyone, let’s go,” Highbottom said, signaling his speech was finished. 

Coriolanus let go of you. The lot of you moved, surrounded by peacekeepers until you reached the truck ramp. You walked first, carefully placing your steps. 

But you only managed to take three of them before something—someone, to be precise—pulled your leg to the side and you fell.

Your brain barely registered the pain of your bare knee hitting the ramp before you were no longer on the ramp, but the ground. An ache spread along your side. Coriolanus shouted your name as he jumped down from the ramp, despite Highbottom’s screams at him to stay but.

The man who had pulled you down, who Coriolanus recognized as the hungry-eyed man from the first row, pulled out a knife from his pocket. He lounged just as you froze, unmoving spare for the trembling of your lips. Coriolanus grabbed him and pushed him down; but not before he had managed to sink the knife into your calf. He heard you scream. 

“Help her!” he roared at the peacekeepers, who had their weapons raised at the man who was trying to get up from the ground, but weren’t firing. 

Coriolanus, enraged, ripped out the gun from one of the peacekeepers’ hands. He heard some words of protest but ignored them entirely as he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. And again. Until the man was more holes than flesh. 

“Help her, for fuck’s sake!” he roared again; this time they listened and gathered around you. 

He spared only a glance at your bleeding figure, then turned to the rest of District eight’s crowd—the part of it that hadn’t thought to flee the scene—and fired again. He heard Sejanus shouting, he heard Highbottom shouting, he heard Dr. Gaul shouting, and the peacekeepers gathered around him like flies, but he listened to none of them. He fired and fired until the magazine was empty and someone tore the weapon out of his hands. 

“Coriolanus,” you whispered. 

Only now did he fully look at you, at the cut in your leg and at your frightened face. He ran over, relieved nobody tried to stop him, and kneeled next to you along with a clearly useless peacekeeper. There was blood on his white shirt, but not on his fingers when he ran them over your thigh gently. It didn’t look like a deep cut, but it was bleeding a lot. 

“It’s okay, Y/N, you hear me? Listen to me!” He grabbed your tear-stained face with one hand and turned it so you were looking into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t close your eyes.” 

When you didn’t reply, he shook you a little bit. “You’re alright, okay?”

“Okay, Coryo,” you said meekly. 

He nodded and tore a piece off his shirt to wrap it below your knee. He was angry, unbelievably so, and felt if he didn’t look at your face now and then he might kill all of them: the peacekeepers, his fellow students, Highbottom. He bore a hatred for them all. But you were the priority; you needed saving.

He heard you whimper, using one hand to hold at his shoulder. 

“Why did you…”

He cut you off. “Don’t talk. I’m gonna fix this. You’re okay. Keep your eyes open.” 

You obeyed for as long as you could, for as long as it took for the medics to arrive and carry you away; then, you let yourself drift off. 

***

When you first woke up, you were met with Coriolanus’ perceptive eyes staring back at you.

“Coryo?” you asked. 

“How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

You wanted to answer, but your mouth felt as if it were made of lead. Coriolanus shouted for the nurses to bring you water, yet before he had even turned his head to you again, you were fast asleep. He sighed. 

***

The cut wasn’t deep. 

That’s what the doctors from district eight said, their heads hung low in shame. You were alone upon waking this time, spare for the nurse they had left to take care of you. 

“Coriolanus,” you said. “Where is he?”

“He just left to get some rest, ma’am. We sent him away for an hour fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sitting here all night.” 

“I want to see him.”

“It would be unwise to deny him his sl—”

You stood up and walked out, much to the nurses’ dismay. 

After a ride to the inn in which all of you were staying, you walked into the hallway that you knew belonged to the boys.

You had no idea where Coriolanus’ room was, but thankfully you met Sejanus just as he was leaving his room. 

His eyes lit up as he saw you. “Y/N! You’re okay, thank god. I was so wor—”

“Where is Coryo?” 

He stopped, smile falling the littlest bit. “Last room to the left.” 

You smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

You knocked on the door three times and stood silent, waiting. After half a minute, you heard his voice—husky and deep—telling you to come in. 

He was standing by the window, looking out at the desolate district eight. The back of his new shirt was just barely holding out the strain his muscles created as he crossed his arms. 

You cleared your throat. “Coriolanus.” 

Clearly not expecting it to be you, Coriolanus turned on his heel, sporting a smile as he saw your face. You had changed clothes—another tiny skirt and shirt adorned your body. You were walking without difficulty, just like the doctors had foreseen, perhaps even more confidently, with your head high.

He expected you throw yourself into his arms, or maybe pull his hair and kiss him, but he absolutely didn’t expect you to cross your arms over your chest and ask him: 

“Have you lost your mind?” 

“Sorry?” he asked, frowning. 

You took a step back, biting the inside of your cheek. “What have you done? What have you done, Coriolanus?” 

He looked into your eyes in search of disgust, terrified, but found only worry. You were worried for him. Not them, not that man, not your reputation and the rumors—you were worried for him.

His gaze flicked down to your bare legs, no scar left from the incident, and then up to where your stop was squeezing your tits together. Did you come in here to scold or seduce him? He really could not tell. 

He took a step in your direction, reveling in the way your resolve was starting to fade, lower lip trembling. “I was protecting you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! You didn’t have to kill them all like animals!” 

At this, something switched. He snorted, almost mockingly. Against your will, you felt your panties getting sticky when he walked closer and closer, until he had you backed against the wall. One of his hands rested next to your head while the other he ran over your cheek, stopping to cup your jaw. 

“You don’t think he would have aimed higher if he’d gotten the chance? You don’t think you’d be dead if it weren’t for me?” His hot breath landed on your lips and you swallowed. He dragged his finger along your lower lip and you opened your mouth obediently, making his lips curve into a smile. “Now be a good girl and say thank you.” 

Your legs rubbed against one another subtly. “Thank you, Coryo.” 

“For what?” He slapped the inside of your thigh, making you jolt. 

“For protecting me.” 

His fingers crawled up your thigh to soothe the place he had slapped, rubbing small circles against your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing, how damp your panties were and how you had to press your lips together in order to avoid letting a whimper slip. The poor lighting cast shadows on his face, blonde curls falling just above his eyes.

He was devouring you even though he’d barely touched you. 

“You’re trembling,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

“It’s the cut.”

He tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Liars don’t get rewards, sweetheart. I thought I’d made that clear.” 

He saw your nipples straining against the thin fabric of your shirt and tightened his jaw. You were here to seduce him, definitely. His desperate little girl. Funny how you had such a dirty mouth until his hands were on you—then, you seemed to go entirely limp and thoughtless. One of his hands snaked to the back of your head, the other stayed touching your thigh—too far away from the place you wanted it to be. 

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, standing on your tiptoes to reach him, but he just pulled you down by your hair. 

“No. Not until you beg me for it.”

You scoffed shakily, reclaiming the very remnants of your dignity. “I won’t beg you for a kiss.” 

He pressed his chest against your sensitive tits, pulling at your hair so your noses were touching. 

“Don’t I deserve it after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“But you liked it,” he remarked, sliding his warm hand up your shirt, until he could fiddle with the hem of your panties. His fingers tapped against your clothed pussy only once, making you jolt, before returning to the spot between your hip and leg. “You liked having someone kill for you. Just as you like when I touch you and when I care for your attention.”

“I don’t—” 

“I think you’ve had a little too much being a brat, though. Now it’s my turn.” He slapped your pussy through the fabric and this time, you didn’t manage to hold back a whimper. “Beg. Me.” 

“Please,” you whispered, face hot. 

“What was that?” He pretended not to hear, leaning down even more. You wanted to punch him for his self-importance, for his cruelty, but it was what you craved, too—you’d take everything he gave you, although you’d never say it out loud. 

“Please kiss me.” 

His hands left you entirely before they cupped either of your cheeks. Your heart hammered in excitement watching Coryo’s eyes feeding on the sight of you. He lowered his head slowly, connecting your lips so softly you almost didn’t feel it. You tried to grab his collar and bring him closer, but then he just pulled away and sent you a pointed look which made you retract your hands. 

Then, he kissed you again—this time pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut. His fingers held you softly, as though you could break any moment, but his lips enveloped yours like he had been waiting for the opportunity for years. 

You opened your mouth immediately as he licked at your lower lip and he hummed in appreciation. His fingers tilted your head as he slipped his tongue inside. He was hot against your own tongue, swirling and exploring, not letting you breathe out anything except small, timid whimpers. He smelled like roses, tasted like them too.

Your hands wandered to his broad shoulders, then down his clothed chest, his solid muscles against your fingertips. They flexed underneath your touch, a throaty groan of Coryo’s disappearing in your conjoined mouths. Your mouth watered at merely the thought of seeing them bare, seeing him. 

Coriolanus pulled away only when he had to take a breath—angry at this humane obstacle in his way but soothed upon seeing your swollen, parted lips.

“You’re nothing without me,” he rasped out, trapping your jaw between his thumb and pointer. “Say it back.”

You looked at him through hazy eyes. “I’m nothing without you.”

He pushed you against the wall, lips against your jawline. He sucked a mark into your neck and you mewled out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair. His tongue ran over your throat, then swirled around your collarbones as he pressed wet kisses to them and your stomach. 

Once he reached the waistband of your skirt, he dropped to his knees, looking up. You felt something turn in your stomach; the heat between your legs intensified tenfold.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs languidly. Once gone from your body, he picked them up and dangled them in front of your face. You tried snatching them from him, but he just stuffed them into the pocket of his pants. 

“For later,” he said, smiling. “To remind me what a desperate little girl you are.” 

“I’m not—”

He cut you off by bunching your skirt up around your hips. The cold air made you shiver lightly, but his eyes set on the most intimate part of you like he was about to eat you didn’t really help, either.

Before you could look away from embarrassment, he dragged his nose through your slick folds. You let out a choked gasp as he came in contact with your clit. His hands slid up to your upper thighs, squeezing and prying them apart so you weren’t in the way for him to take his time. And he did take his time—painfully so. 

After almost five minutes of aimless fingers trailing over your cunt but never touching for too long and never on your clit, you let out a loud whine, legs fighting against his grip to close. To no avail, of course—Coryo was much stronger than you and very intent on keeping you in place. 

“Be patient,” he murmured into your heat. His eyes flicked up as a warning and you instantly stilled. 

His tongue finally touched you in the form of small kitten licks on your clit that made your breath ragged and fists tighten. He saw you tightening around nothing, heard you whining pathetically for more and mercifully let his tongue enter your warmth. You clenched around him immediately. 

He pulled his mouth off of you momentarily to look up at your pretty face twisted in clear rapture. 

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” 

When you didn’t answer, he brought down his hand to swat at your clit disapprovingly. You squirmed at the contact, slick practically dripping out of your cunt. His eyes met yours and you quivered, suddenly afraid he’d stop. 

“Yes,” you whimpered. “So much.” 

As a reward, he pushed two fingers into your pussy, watching as you gasped for air, furrowing your brows. He scissored them a little bit, then dipped his thumb into the arousal coating your cunt and let it rub small circles into your already puffy clit.

Your legs felt weak already and he must have sensed this, because he grabbed your thigh and positioned it on his shoulder. This way, he could curl his fingers enough to hit the spot which made you whimper so loudly it was shameful. 

Soon, his thumb was replaced with his mouth that sucked your tiny clit into his mouth.

He heard you moan his name and felt his pants tighten significantly. Part of him hoped everyone could hear the noises you were making, while another part of him felt the urge to murder anyone who dared even overhear these sounds that were innately his possession.

From his position, he could see your tits brushing against your thin shirt and cursed himself for not being in a spot that would allow him to play with them. He’d have to settle for playing with your cute little cunt. 

Your legs started shaking when he added another finger to pump in and out of your dripping hole. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face. “Feels so good, Coryo, thank you.” 

A guttural moan of his vibrated through your body and you cried out his name. A warm coil began tightening in your lower stomach. It was clear you were close—from the way your whimpers had grown unabashed and squeaky, the way you clenched around his long fingers, the way your hips stuttered against his tongue. 

“Oh my god, Coryo, I’m so close— Can I come?” 

So polite, he thought. Shame you only acted like this when his tongue was flicking at your clit. 

His eyes glimmered as he looked up at you. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, let me come, please, Coryo.” You let out a broken moan as his teeth grazed your clit. “Please.” 

Your legs spasmed around his head as you felt it close, so close, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure.

But then it was ripped from you, this bliss, as Coriolanus pulled out his fingers and retracted his tongue, leaving you empty and stunned. You stared at him, lips parted, and at the self-satisfied smile adorning his features. 

“What, you really thought I’d let you come when you’ve been acting like a brat?” He licked his fingers and something throbbed between your legs. “Stupid girl.” 

He stood up, turning his back on you. You couldn’t see it, of course, but he was silently counting the seconds it took for you to protest against the treatment. Finally, you retrieved your consciousness in full and pushed yourself off the wall. 

“Wait, Coryo,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He turned, raising his brows. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a good girl now, I promise.” Your lower lip quivered; he saw the promise of tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

At this, you sank to your knees—a sight which made his adam’s apple bob. But he was getting impatient; his cock was aching painfully and when you looked at him with eyes widened and teary like this, he was willing to give you anything in the world. 

“Get up,” he demanded. 

You did as told, thighs trembling slightly, and his hands cupped your cheeks. Coriolanus led you to the bed in the middle of the room, hovering above you with his forearms on either side of your face. His hardened cock rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He laid it against your plush thigh for relief, but all he got was a slutty mewl from you and more precum leaking from his tip. 

“Sejanus is next door, you know. You don’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head eagerly. “I don’t care. Just want your cock.”

The side of his mouth lifted as his hands slipped under your shirt. You gasped as his fingers found your nipples and pinched them, tantalizing your poor clit to start throbbing harder. He pulled the skimpy shirt over your head and threw it away somewhere, letting out an audible groan at the sight of you. Next to go was your skirt. 

He stayed staring at you for some time before he suddenly landed a slap to your cunt, making you jolt with a whimper. Then, he leaned to press open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking the skin that covered your pulse into his mouth. 

His lips grazed your jaw. “You want him to hear, then? Is that it?”

“N-no,” you whispered shakily, feeling the tips of his fingers teasing your perky nipples. “No, Coryo, just want you.” 

“Say it again.” 

“I want you, Coryo, only you. I’m yours.” 

Coriolanus let your fingers slip under his shirt, letting out a shaky breath as you traced his abdominal muscles. He helped you pull it over his head, then he pulled down his pants and briefs as well. You watched hazily at his cock free from its restraints, certain if he’d tease you anymore you would start drooling for real. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing—he slapped his dick against your clit once, twice, watching you squirm, then positioned himself at your entrance.

Your foreheads touched as he pushed inside agonizingly slowly.

“I’m yours, too,” he whispered against your mouth. 

He was decently thick and longer than average—even lying still in your cunt, he reached places your fingers couldn’t dream of. Your eyes had a hard time staying open in facing the fullness which came with having him inside, but he was having none of it. 

“Look at me when I fuck you,” he said.

“But you’re not even fucking me.” 

You felt his cock pulse inside you before his hands roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest. This newfound angle was overwhelming in itself—when he additionally began thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt, you saw stars. You let out small noises, but he paid them no mind, leaning forward to have a good look at your face.

“Who knew the academy’s best student was such a fucking slut?” he tilted his head, ignoring your nails clawing at his biceps. “Guess words aren’t enough, hmm? I need to fuck that arrogance out of my sweet girl?” 

You didn’t reply; he didn’t expect you to. His cock found that spot that made your toes curl faster than you could have expected. When he hit it for the first time, you let out a whimper close to a shriek in volume. Instead of slowing down, he just went harder, his hips slapping against yours in the otherwise silent room. He thought Sejanus probably was able to hear it all. 

It was easy for him to slip his thumb between your parted lips; even easier to coax you with a gentle slap to your slack jaw to suck on it. Your mouth wrapped around it and he groaned, pushing your thighs further against your tits. He saw your eyes glossing over, felt your poorly suppressed moans against his finger.

And god, you were so compliant to his touch, so perfect. 

“Spread your legs,” Coryo said, moving his hands away.

You obeyed to your best ability, practically letting your thighs fall limply at your sides. He spread them further and sank deep into your dripping pussy. Your slick had made a mess of the sheets below, creating a small puddle in the white material.

His fingers grabbed both of your wrists and placed them on your lower stomach. One of his hands kept them in place while the other played with your sensitive nipples, twisting them until a couple tears escaped your eyes. 

“Don’t move your hands.” 

When you nodded weakly, both his hands grabbed your waist, guiding you back and forth to meet his relentless thrusts. He could see the vague outline of his cock in your stomach, your tits bouncing deliciously before him with each abusing rut into your cunt. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled, lightly tapping at your clit. 

Your walls sucked him in like it was all you were made for, fluttering around his cock and leaving a creamy ring at the base of it.  He wanted to fill you up—not only with his cock, but with his cum, wanted to watch it leak out onto this bed, wanted to hear you beg him to stop. Him, only him. He wanted you forever. 

Coryo leaned down to connect his lips to yours, teeth napping at your lower lip. You were whimpering, mewling his name, and he tightened his grip on your waist. He pushed you further down on his cock, again and again. 

“How does being the first lady of Panem sound, huh?” 

You just nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks in reaction to his cock bullying the gummy spot in your cunt.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, rubbing tight circles into your clit. “I’d give you everything you want. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything.” 

His hips rutted into you so roughly your vision was hazy, but clear enough to grab at his sturdy shoulders. You had disobeyed what he said, but it seemed he was unaware, chasing his own high.

His cock was thrusting into the right spot repeatedly, fingers maneuvering your clit so that you almost screamed, slick practically gushing out of your hole.  

“Fuck,” you whined out, feeling your pussy pulsating. “Coryo, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know. Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You let go and so did he—seed spilling into your cunt as you clenched around him. You sobbed his name and in an attempt to soothe you, he planted kisses along your collarbones. He let you ride out your orgasm against his hand before he pulled out.

Vaguely, you could see his cum spilling out of you and onto the sheets. 

Before you could even make an attempt at calming down your heart rate, he stuck two of his fingers into you again. 

“Too much,” you whimpered, but he paid you no mind, stuffing his cum back into your swollen cunt. Too tired to move, you let him do it, only mewling his name softly from time to time.

Once he was done, he licked his fingers clean and smiled alluringly. You scooted closer to kiss him—he tasted of you and him combined. His hands cupped your face as you both lay down, facing one another. 

“You’re nothing without me, either,” you said, running your finger down his exposed chest. “Mr. President.”

His grin widened. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST: @peterpan-neverfails @urfavevirgoo @sayyysss @hwajin @hoshiseon @atrwriting

also big thank you to kathy, kiza and lex for being my enablers! ilyy

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x reader

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 3

pt 1 / pt 2 /pt 4

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Slowburn romance, we will get there eventually)

Description: Reader and the ghoul navigate their new, unconventional friendship on their way to Filly. 

TW: Mentions of emotional abuse and bad parenting, slight angst slight fluff, reader has no social skills.

After the ghoul defended me in town, I felt much more comfortable in his presence. I had a new vigor for the adventure in front of us. It was much more exciting than anything I would do on my own. After a couple of hours on the trail, I decided to try and talk to him. However, his demeanor hadn't changed much.

"My name is Y/n, by the way," I said nonchalantly while hiking next to him.

"Don't remember askin'." He responded, refusing to look at me. 

"Just thought you should know." I pouted at his cold response. "Since we are travelin' together and all that."

"Well, now I know." He said, finally looking over at me.

We made eye contact for a moment before he swiftly turned his gaze back to the trail ahead of us. 

"So...." I started. "You ain't gonna tell me your name."

"No." He sighed, obviously getting annoyed as he let out a small cough.

I bit my cheek as I buried my disappointment. "How far to Filly?" I asked quietly.

"About a day" He responded between coughs as he stopped and pulled out some Jet from his pack and added it to his inhaler. I watched, intrigued as he breathed it in deeply. His eyes slowly raked over my body like he was looking for a reaction, but I just gave him an awkward smile.

The two of us continued in silence. I wondered about what a ghoul's life was like. I never met a ghoul before him. How long does it take them to change? The Jet must help keep the side effects at bay. I wondered how long it helps for. What was his life like before he turned into a ghoul? I wished I could ask him, but if his reaction earlier was any indication, he wasn't interested in conversation. I was so lost in thought that I stopped paying attention to the world around me.

The next thing I knew I was squealing as I tripped over a rock and started to fall forward.

"God damn it." I heard him say as he swiftly caught me before I could faceplant into the dirt. He roughly pulled me up and helped me to my feet. 

My face burned with embarrassment. "Thank you," I mumbled out. 

He just scoffed in response before he started walking again. I followed close behind, pouting in silence. 

The rest of the day was quiet and uneventful, but as the day went on I started to get more and more agitated by his silence. Finally, we made camp.

As I gathered up the firewood and brought it back to camp I decided I had had enough. "I want to know your name," I said confidently, dropping the pile at his feet. 

"I want things too, you don't see me bitchin' about it." He mumbled back.

"You are going to be nicer to me, or I am going to leave," I demanded.

This caught his attention as his gaze quickly met mine. I could tell he was trying to gauge if I was serious or not. In all honestly, I wasn't, but I didn't want him to know that so I just stood there, unwavering. 

"You can try." He said menacingly, "But I ain't gonna let you." 

"So, what? I am just your prisoner now? You gonna keep me around till you get hungry?" I said, anger bubbling over in my chest. 

At this, he paused, a look of hurt flashed across his face. However, I was too caught up in my own emotions to notice it.

"Did I go from one man's prisoner to another's?" I asked.

Tears of frustration at his silence started to form in the corner of my eyes before I turned around, grabbed my bag, and stomped off. I didn't go far. I knew as soon as the sun came up I was going to go right back to following him around, so after about 10 minutes I sat up against a tree and let out a sigh. I knew I was acting childish, but in town, I genuinely thought I had made a friend in him. My father never let me have friends. I was forced to stay in the house and look after him and my brothers. I wasn't allowed to have a life of my own. I was naive to think that the ghoul would want to be my friend. As I started to drift off, I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I didn't bother looking because I knew it was him, coming to drag me back as promised.

"Cooper." He said, leaning against the other side of the tree.

"What?" I asked confused.

"My name, darlin'." He responded quietly.

We stayed there in silence for a couple of minutes before I spoke up.

"I was never going to leave," I admitted.

"I know." He said, letting out a small chuckle. "Now get your pretty ass back to camp."

I hummed quietly before grabbing my pack and getting up from the ground. I made my way to the other side of the tree so I could take a look at him. I could barely see him in the dark, but what I could see was eyes staring down at me. "Okay," I whispered.

-

The next day I woke up confused. There was no boot in my side, and Cooper was nowhere to be seen. "Cooper?" I said quietly. When I got no response. "COOPER?" I yelled into the forest. 

"Stop your hollering." I heard him say in the distance.

"Where did you go?" I asked breathlessly.

"Got myself some breakfast." He said nonchalantly as he held up a deformed rabbit while walking towards me.

"Why didn't you wake me? You always wake me." I asked, fear still evident across my face.

He was quiet for a moment before he responded quietly, "I was bein' nice." 

I stared at him in shock while he was trying to look anywhere but at my face. "Oh."

We sat around the fire in silence as he ate the rabbit, I tried not to watch because honestly? That rabbit looked disgusting. While I waited I picked up one of the sticks and drew some stick figures in the dirt. I tried my best to give one a cowboy hat, but I don't think Cooper noticed. Once he was finished we picked up our bags, stomped out the fire, and went on our way again.

After a couple more hours of silence, I decided to try to talk to him again.

"I think you have pretty eyes." I blurted out.

At this, he stopped in his tracks and stared at me like I grew another head. I started to get self-conscious as his gaze bore into me. He was a cocky man, by all means. However, it had been a LONG time since anything about him was considered pretty. 

I grimaced at his reaction "Sorry, I am not very good at conversation." I said sheepishly.

After a couple of minutes of silence, I decided to start walking in the general direction we were going earlier. I honestly had no idea where I was going, but I couldn't bear to stand there under his gaze any longer. After a minute, I could hear him trailing behind me and I felt the tension release from my body.

"No more compliments" I noted to myself.

We continued on in silence for some time before we could finally see Filly in the distance. My feet were raw and blistered from all the walking, so to finally see our destination was a welcome sight. 

I looked back at the ghoul and smiled, "We made it!" 

Much to my surprise, he had a matching smile on his face. I turned back around to Filly, excited to explore. I could feel his eyes on me as I skipped into town, stopping to look at all the stalls on my way past.

"So now what?" I asked, turning to face him.

"Now we wait, Darlin'." He chuckled in response. 

The idea of being there when he caught his bounty filled me with excitement. This was nothing like what I assumed my life would become when I ran away.

tag list: @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @topiramateagreeable

#the ghoul fallout #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader

[sprout-fics]

Silver Fox

(Nikolai x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Wordcount: 5k Tags: Character study, Age gap, Light Dom/Sub, Fluff, Slowburn, Smut, Dominant Nikolai, Soft Nikolai, Aftercare, Orgasm delay/denial, Light BDSM dynamics, Cuddling, Corruption kink, Brat Taming, Overstimulation, Dirty talk in Russian, Power dynamics, A dose of manipulation but everything is consensual Warnings: Brief mention of capture and torture A/N: This is my first and most likely not my last attempt to write for Nikolai. I really like this dynamic and welcome requests for more

When Nik first meets you, you try to rob him.

You’d been younger then. Wilder, scared of a world you struggled to survive in. With hardly a roof over your head, always an empty belly, chased by ghosts of a past you struggled to leave behind. You were desperate, constantly looking for a way out, clawing and scrambling at the stone alleyways in hopes you could one day see the sky.

He finds you like that- as a dirty, fierce little stray. In a grimy jacket, eyes wild, dirt smeared across your face, you hold up a knife to him and demand his wallet. Stupid, you know, but shivering, scared of the world that was destined to eat you alive, choosing a target far bigger than yourself.

Cute, he’d admitted later.

It takes little effort from him to twist the knife from your hand, examining it as you froze in a shock that only seems to multiply when he asks you if you want a warm meal. The offer is too tempting to ignore to your growling stomach, but in reality it’s the barest hint of softness behind his eyes that has you follow him like a kicked stray out of the cold.

Little did you know, behind that softness lay his own hunger. A deep, prowling thing that circled you beyond your sight.

He takes you to a quiet little eatery, out of the way, only three tables in what amounted to a shed. One of his favorites, he tells you with a smirk. The cook gives you both a look, suspicious of the man who had escorted in a woman much younger than him, dirty and nervous as you are. Nik lets you order, smirking still as you nervously pick something small, cheap, and he instead orders something large and warm for you. He watches you scarf down the entirety of your meal, gazing at him suspiciously all the while. He’s quiet- appraising you later realized.

You know of men like him. Gangsters, thugs, men who work alongside the mafia or even worse. Men from the underbelly of Russian society who walk in plainclothes and hold dark secrets. You know the danger of accepting favors from men like him. Be it your body, your servitude, or a debt paid in blood, men like those you feared would come to collect in due course, would bleed you dry and leave you ruined given the chance. The only charity they offered served their own interests, the cause they flew their flag for.

It became clear as time grew that Nikolai was not much different, that he had taken one look at you and had seen the thing you never saw in yourself:

Potential.

In the end he tells you if you ever need work to come find him, and find him you do.

You’d been foolish, you think back, if only because you’d been so young, naive without the lessons he would soon teach you.

It’s simple things at first. Taking packages and dropping them off at seemingly random locations, picking up things from shady characters who’d let their eyes rake down your form. In exchange Nikolai offers you a warm place to sleep, a roof over your head, hot meals and shelter from the ghosts that chase you. Distant, professional, but there all the same. Steadfast, waiting for your skittishness to shed itself before he comes closer. Waiting. Expectant.

Curious, you’d watch as he tinkers on his helicopter, cleans his cache of weapons, fixes the aging appliances in his house outside Saratov where the remains of the Soviet legacy lay etched between the old manors of the дворянство.

You observe, quiet at a distance, and ask him about the life he led, to which he was vague.

“I fix things.” He tells you simply, snapping a cartridge back into place with practiced efficiency.

You wondered then, if he was trying to fix you too.

He welcomes your interests in his work, skittish though you are, ready to dart back to a safe distance at a moment’s notice. You peer over his shoulder as he works at his tool bench in the hangar, assist him as he tightens screws on his helicopter, pass him ingredients as he cooks dinner for you both on his stove. Rather than answer any questions you pose, Nik elects to show you himself, putting his hands over yours and allowing them to guide you with ease in his tasks.

His protege, he introduces you as to those that ask. The younger woman he had taken under his tutelage. You’d almost resented it at the time, still suspicious, ready to flee at the first instance of betrayal. Yet inside you knew it was too late. In the same way that wolves became dogs, you found yourself near the fire of him, resting your weary bones as he offered you a place to stay.

Even if he held a leash behind his back.

Nik is careful, stern as a teacher but tender as a friend. In moments of learning his voice is whip-sharp to correct any mistakes, but in the quiet evenings he is almost soft, blunted at the edges in a way that betrays his indulgence in you. Each time he gets close, you try to ignore the way his touch lingers, holding back, greedy but restrained as your heart flutters inside your chest. Purposeful, careful not to spook you lest it ruin the things he’s predestined for you.

You try not to miss him when he leaves you behind for work, reminding yourself this is only temporary, to not let your guard down lest he burn you. He will someday stop having a use for you, and you will once again walk into the wild seeking shelter under a different name.

When he returns, you try to ignore the relief that bubbles inside your chest, the desperate hunger of a lonely thing looking for warmth.

You don’t see the glittering silver collar he envisions in his mind.

The teaching moments are constant. It’s not long before Nikolai begins taking you on assignments rather than leaving you at the house alone. You become familiar with the inside of the chopper, and learn to doze in the co-pilot seat when you are allowed. You help him catalog his ammo and supplies, listen over your headset as he explains piloting to you. In meetings with suppliers and clients he tells you quietly to stay inside the chopper behind him, and you peek out to see the eyes of his ‘friends’ flicking towards you. Curious, even as Nik stood as a stalwart wall between you and them.

In the passenger seat of his truck you learn to carefully balance his chosen rifle on your lap, feeling the stiffness ease from your shoulders as he lays a heavy hand across your nape. On long drives he stops at sunset to admire the view, and you hover close to his side as he smokes long drags of cigars. When he encourages you to try you cough on the smoke, and he thumps you between your back gently, chuckling even when you shoot him a glare. The next morning finds you somewhere new, and the lessons resume.

All the while his careful guidance reminds you to keep your eyes up, to stay alert, focused, to heed his warnings and obey his orders when given.

Nik is an endless wealth of knowledge when it comes to his profession. He’s deliberate in the things he teaches you: how to calculate the distance of a target 100 meters away, what the warning lights on the helicopter console meant, how to handle the kickback of a machine gun, where the major organs of the body were located and how to slice them open in deadly fashion. You take to the lessons easily as predators take to the snap of bone between jaws, and can’t help but preen with every accomplishment, every feat you manage to show him.

“Good girl.” He offers when you finish the task assigned to you, noticing the way you stiffen, a shiver racing down your spine at the praise. Testing the waters, quietly moving goalposts in his mind as he maps your future before you.

When you fell ill during that first winter he nurses you, sits your sluggish form up in bed against his chest and watches as you finish what little food you could stomach. When you insist on drinking with him one evening, pass beyond your tolerance, he smooths a hand over your back as you bend over the toilet bowl and whispers soothing reassurances in your ear. When you cut your palm on the edge of a tool bench in his helicopter hangar he lets you squeeze his hand as he pours alcohol over the gash, reminding you the wound would make you stronger. When you take a swig of the vodka to settle your nerves after your first mission with him he hums happily, murmuring an ounce of praise that settles low in your veins like warm liquor.

You let him, suspicious though you are, so desperate for a place to belong, to be taken care of, to have somewhere in which to shelter the storm. Nikolai is your mentor, yes, but more than that Nik shapes himself into your ally, into someone you can turn to, to a man you look to and seek praise from like turning your face to the sun.

Teaching you to eat from the palm of his hand.

You trail behind him at a distance, eyes softening and heart weary, seeking a soft place in which to rest itself. Nikolai is not a soft man, you remind yourself. Tender as he can be, his true heart remains a shadowed thing like all the men and women he keeps close. Even so you cling fast to that same shadow, hovering at his side as he makes a place for you there.

He’d plucked you from the wilds, had taken you like a starved, injured, feral animal into his care. You’d growled and snapped at him, unsure, suspicious of the twinkle behind his eyes that betrayed intentions you couldn’t quite discern. It was as if he knew the things you were capable of before even you could see them, the way he shaped you slowly under his care.

You stay there when he introduces you to his allies, to Price who looks at your skittish, suspicious nature and to Nik with a disapproving but knowing stare. You hear the meaning to it later as you creep downstairs to listen to them smoke outside.

“I won’t say anything.” Price tells him gruffly. “God knows I have my own vices. Just don’t ruin her, Nik.”

Nikolai takes a long, purposeful pause as he considers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”

Price chuffs, but comments no further.

Slowly, Nik begins to move closer to you, getting you used to his touch. It seems incidental at first. Squeezing too close behind you in the kitchen and offering a chuckling apology as you feel his hips press against your spine; leaning over you to inspect your work, rubbing a hand between your shoulders after a hard day and relishing the tiniest little sigh you offer in return.

In his teachings he is deliberate, gauging your progress under a keen eye, offering life lessons just as he purrs little doses of praise at your progress. He knows you wouldn’t leave now, you’ve become too accustomed to a life under his care. So slowly, Nik begins to test the boundaries of your trust in him, pushing a little farther each time and leaving you dizzy in the wake of him.

In the hot days of summer he works with his shirt off, the broad span of his back glistening with sweat. You tell yourself it is just the warmth of the sun that lays upon your cheeks, but even then you find your eyes straying, catching his own knowing gaze at a distance. Teasing, waiting, expectant.

“Smells good.” He hums over your shoulder as you made breakfast one morning, bacon simmering in the pan. “You’d make a good wife.”

When you feel heat rise to your face, stammering and scandalized, Nik only laughs.

“Шучу.” He grins. “Just kidding.”

It doesn’t seem to be that much of a joke, not with the way Nik is so comfortable around you these days, easing into your personal space just enough to make your heart race, dangerous thoughts of the ‘what if?’ lingering even after he’s pulled away.

On longer jobs he puts a cot in the back of the chopper to sleep on. Normally he likes to sleep in the pilot seat- vigilant and ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Yet sometimes he complains about his aging back and squeezes in behind you, tucking you against the wall and arranging you so you both share what little space there is. You can’t really find it in yourself to complain, taking in the warm, musky scent of his and letting it lull you into dreams.

Slowly, you come to him. You ease into his touch, to the way his hand rubs across your shoulders in greeting, the way he holds your hand as you stiffened during client negotiations. In the evenings he sometimes watches terrible knock-off action movies, rolls his eyes at the impossible stunts as you nod off on his shoulder. Comfortable, you curl into him- seeking the place you belonged, and Nik quietly smiles at the wild creature that has made a home in his heart.

On the odd stretches of time where there are few assignments to follow through from his strange clientele, Nik takes you on his version of a holiday. He brings you to places you’ve never been, restaurants in cities you didn’t know existed.

“Try this.” He tells you in that smirk of his, lifting an oyster from the Caspian Sea to your lips, loaded with butter and spices. You make a face as you swallow, lips closing around his fingers, and don’t notice the way Nik’s eyes flick to the bob of your throat, distracted. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a shiver up your spine, alighting inside you with the need to please him- this man who has taken you in, sheltered you, is teaching you everything he knows.

You don’t realize the danger you’re in when you realize you’ve gotten too comfortable.

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning when you’re taken.

Being the pretty, feral thing at Nik’s side comes with a fair bit of attention. People begin to notice the beautiful vixen at his side. Whispers of your skills echo in the halls of underground bunkers and private airliners. Nik is known to work alone, so to see you with him as his protege, his partner, his co-pilot that he trusts as much as he mentors, means that you’re a target.

You pop out for groceries on his old Soviet era moped, having pestered Nikolai for pirozhkis for dinner- to which he told you only if you fetched the ingredients yourself. You ignore the small gaggle of men smoking near the corner store, common as they were in your neighborhood. It’s only when you come out with your arms full that they spring on you.

Your head cracks against a stone wall. The world goes dark.

When you come to, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. barely lucid, head pounding, they try and ask you questions about him you can’t answer. There’s things Nik keeps secret from you for your own safety, and the things they want to know are among them. The blows come, knock you from your chair, and you’re left alone in the cellar, trying to understand how the nightmare you dreaded before you met him could have come true after all.

The difference is- now they’ve made a mistake. They took you after he’d taught you how to survive.

The men who took you are stupid. They underestimate you, tying the ropes too loose for your frame. You manage to get your hands free first as Nik has taught you, then your feet. In the corner of the cellar a sliver of light peeks through broken slats, and despite your battered limbs and bruised hands, you peel the plank off quietly so it reveals the underbelly of the house. Like digging a den, you crawl your way into the earth, beyond the foundation, and stumble into the night before your captors even decide to check on you.

Escaping the snare, as wild things do.

It’s early in the morning when you manage to stumble to the back gate of the house. You trip over a loose rock in the soil, collapse in a heap of bruised limbs and fatigue just beyond the back step. The door swings open, and you close your eyes before you can see the sight of Nikolai with a rifle in his hands, ready to fend off intruders.

“лисёнок.” He murmurs hoarsely as he gathers you in his arms, cooing his name for you as you whimper into his chest. Injured, broken, limping back to him. Only him. “What did they do to you?”

You don’t tell him, too exhausted to form words, slumping against him and letting the crash of adrenaline pull you blissfully under.

When you wake up, you’re in his bed. Bandaged, tucked in tightly. He’s washing blood off his hands in the sink.

You don’t realize until later it isn’t yours.

You never ask him what he did to those men while you were asleep, maiming them, killing them for the offense of hurting you, only to come home and haul your figure close to him with whispered reassurances that they’d never touch you again.

Things...change after that.

It wasn’t as if Nik wasn’t affectionate before- he was. Nik’s fondness of you was intertwined with his mentorship. Yet there was always a sort of distance involved. Teasing, playful, interested but careful not to push too far lest he spook you away too soon.

Now, as you cling to him in the aftermath of your capture, shiver and feel your bandaged fingers grip at his shirt, Nik is indulgent.

He lets you sniffle into his chest, rubs his hand along the knot of your spine and rumbles low, soothing words in Russian. He hauls you to him, calls you quiet pet names, cuddles you close and reminds you you’re safe.

In your recovery Nik spoils you, allows you to take all the time you need. You sleep until noon, a rare luxury under his tutelage, and find him cooking your favorite meals when you wake. When you call for him, he’s there, helping you ascend the stairs with your mending knee. He sets you on the couch in warm blankets so you watch movies of your choice until you doze off, to which he carries you upstairs and tucks you quietly, sweetly, back into bed.

All this and more, as Nikolai silently declares to himself that he is never letting you go.

When you recover, the gentleness doesn’t seem to stop. Yet with it comes a sternness, a demand to yield to his promise to care for you, to keep you safe. The hole of want inside you yawns open for him, looking to his care, his guidance, seeking ways to please him. You’re softer now, no less deadly, but the softness in the aftermath has you brushing against him, yearning for his embrace, which Nik offers readily.

With his nose buried in your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist, Nik smiles at the silver snare he’s circled around your throat.

and, silently, he begins to pull.

“Behave.” He tells you when you snarl at a supplier who tries to upcharge him, and Nik lays a heavy hand on your nap that somehow feels like a warning. It settles low in your stomach, warm and liquid with a want you don’t understand yet but need all the same.

“That’s my girl.” He hisses as you stitch a gash on his arm after close contact when you were flying out of a hot zone. He takes another swig of his vodka and groans just as a drip of red oozes down your fingers. You shudder at the sound, feeling something pull taut below your belly, trying to echo the praise quietly in your thoughts.

“Pretty thing.” He smiles as he offers you one of his spare shirts on mission. You swore you had packed more, but the scent of him clings to your skin and it distracts you enough to not question it. You warm under his words, curl up beside him when he gestures. Obedient, wanting.

You think he’s gone from the chopper that night, tucked on the cot and sneaking a hand under your panties to rub idly at yourself- thinking of him. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, swaddled by a phantom of his warmth, and imagining what it would feel like to have his fingers inside you, stroking, coaxing wetness to trickle down the breadth of them. What would it be like, you wonder, for him to hold you like that, to whisper those filthy praises in your ear so you clench down on him?

Footsteps, boots on the metal grate, and a low chuckle.

You yank your hand free, but it’s too late.

“Don’t stop on my account, Дорогая.” He murmurs, and you back against the wall with a shuddering little gasp, skin on fire as Nikolai couches over you, ready to eat you whole. “I was only gone for a few minutes- did you miss me that much?”

The utter confidence in his voice, the knowledge that you were thinking of him, has wetness ooze between your thighs as you try to find your voice. It’s no use, because Nik swoops down against your lips, humming in satisfaction as you ease against him with a little whine, slowly reaching for him until you drag him down onto the cot with you. Surrendering at last.

Hours later, his seed dripping between your thighs, you doze on his chest while he smokes. Exhausted, entirely worn out from the number of orgasms he’s wrung from you, lulled to sleep by his calming heartbeat under your ear.

It’s the first night of many. Like a dam collapsed, Nik releases the full tidal wave of his desire onto you, never missing a chance to haul you to him, to bend you over, to sit you on his cock as you groan and leak around the stretch of him inside you. You realize far too late just how much Nik has been holding back, his hunger for you as boundless as your desire to please him, to stay.

He has you there in the chopper on the cot that can barely hold the weight of his thrusts, back in his bedroom where you collapse face first into the pillows. He eats you out slow and luxurious with you balanced on the kitchen counter, has you brace on his tool bench as he drapes himself against your spine and ruts into you from behind.

“Taking me so well, little fox.” He purrs in your ear, nimble fingers working at your clit as you hiccup and mewl for it. “So tight. Made for my cock, hm? Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Fuck.”

Nik is an unstoppable force, with stamina you struggle to match. He keeps you in his bed as long as he is able, staving off his orgasm if only to prolong yours, trying to draw as many as he can from you even when your hand smacks at the headboard, trying to tap out. 

“Just one more.” He growls as he tries to fuck you through the mattress, glued to your back so the heat of his frame, the swell of his cock inside you is the only thing you can feel. You’re teary eyed, gasping, the lewd squeal as he thrusts into you filling the quiet of the bedroom. Your eyes roll back just as he nails that perfect bundle of serves inside you, voice caught on a choked sort of whimper. “Just one more and then we can take a break, darling.”

You sprawl against the sheets, exhausted as he lounges bare by the window, a whisp of smoke curling from his cigarette before returning to you once more, spooning you and slipping back inside the sloppy mess of your well-used cunt.

“Good girl.” He tells you again when you moan breathlessly, hand cupping your jaw and turning you to him so he can kiss the gasp from your parted lips. You clench down on him at the words, and he hisses a sound of pleasure against the corner of your mouth. “All mine. My girl.”

“Yours.” You whisper hoarsely, as if there were any other answer.

In the come-down he gathers you to him, kisses the tears of overwhelm from your eyes and holds you as you shiver in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling worn to the bone in only the best of ways. Cum splatters the inside of your thighs, and Nik idly scoops it onto his fingers and back inside, purring endearments between presses of his lips to your face.

Comforting, gentle when you need it, but demanding, forcing you to surpass beyond what you think yourself capable of if only to see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. When you fail, deliverance is swift as it’s always been, but now it’s different.

“I told you no touching.” He growls, forcing you to look at him as his thumb circles roughly over your clit. He’d caught you masturbating in your room, thinking the house was empty, that he wouldn’t catch you. “You want to touch yourself, you come to me, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you, I always do, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes-” You pant, bucking your hips, desperate, aching without the fullness of him, but Nik pulls away. “Wait. P-please-”

“Need to learn your lesson, little fox.” He soothes, pressing a kiss into your hair even as you whine, trying to buck up and grind against him in a vain search for friction. “Make sure it sticks, Да?”

Yet even as you obey, keep your hands to yourself just as you promised, Nik delights in working you up and pulling away at the last minute. He corners you, slips his hand beneath your waistband and soaks his fingers in your leaking cunt until you moan and mewl for him, then withdraws if only to smirk and suck the taste from them. For days he teases you, edges you until a hiccup threatens in your throat, makes sure you’ve learned your lesson that you are his, and then pulls away to let the reminder sink in. You can’t stand it, go mad with need, find yourself close to humping his knee if only to get some sort of relief.

When he finally does let you come days later, you howl into his flesh, biting down into his skin until he shudders, groans against you and spills inside your clenching cunt.

“My sweet girl.” He murmurs, stroking your face as he cuddles you afterwards. “Я не могу без тебя жить.”

You smile, nuzzle into the warmth of him, knowing he has you, he always will. You can’t forget, not with the things he growls against you as he makes love to you, reminding you that you belong to him. Soft in his room, you lay with him, fold into him as a beacon of safety and trust, know that he will never hurt you, will keep you safe, that this will always be your home.

In front of others you’re his partner, his accomplice, the apprentice he found like a diamond in the rough and had polished into a perfect blade. Deadly, clever, keen-eyed and watchful of all threats. Nik tells Price you don’t play well with others when Price tries to introduce his own protege, and when Gaz offers his hand in greeting you make no motion to return it until Nik grazes a thumb against the side of your throat as if tugging an invisible collar there.

“Careful.” He warns the sergeant. “She bites.”

In private he calls you all his endearments in purring Russian. Ангел, Прелесть, Огонёк. Angel, precious, little fire, the object of his desire. You're his girl, his sweet, fierce little sweetheart, the thing he taught to eat out of the palm of his hand while keeping your wild, dangerous nature.

You're his only family, his beloved little fox he managed to domesticate, the thing that still will bite him given the chance, but likes to curl up in his lap and yawn like a housecat. You're his obsession, his partner, his apprentice. If anything else, you're his weakness.

“Я тебя никому не отдам.” He swears to you, voice a low, deep rumble as he strokes your face, feeling your sleeping breaths fan across his palm.

“I will never give you to someone else.”

You dream of the first day you met him. Feral, scared, hungry and starved and inside- looking so desperately for somewhere safe to call home.

Now, years later, you know. Generous though Nik was, it was this that he had hoped for in the beginning- with you as his partner, his protege, but at the end of the day sleeping in his bed, worn and exhausted from the effects of his desire. Dangerous, feral, useful, but in the end tamed just as he’d envisioned.

And you, younger than him by years and foolish as you were, had gone blindly into the snare.

Nik had never given you any reason to regret it.

Russian Translations (Native Russian speakers feel free to leave a comment of correction)

Дворянство -  Russian nobility

Шучу - I’m joking

Лисёнок. - Little fox

Дорогая - Darling

Твоё тело сводит меня с ума - Your body drives me crazy

Да - Yes

Я не могу без тебя жить - I can’t live without you

#nikolai x reader #cod x reader #cod nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #call of duty modern warfare 3 #my writing #my fic #x reader

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

[pricefieldsuperiority]

Yearning Allegations - Pt.3

Part 1 here / Part 2 here

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

Genre: Friends to lovers slowburn

Summary: You've liked Paige for the longest time, is there any chance she likes you too?

It's been 2 weeks of awkward silence.

Ever since Paige came over the other day, she's either been ghosting your texts entirely or giving you short replies followed up with excuses about how she's really busy.

The biggest game of the season is coming up - Uconn vs Iowa. Everyone's been talking about it, and you know the team is training super hard for the game- KK and Nika won't stop blowing your phone up with Uconn shit. Despite all this, you just can't shake the feeling something is wrong between you two.

So that's why you're walking down to the school gyms at 9 pm, hoping to find Paige practicing late like she does when she's stressed out.

The halls seem so empty and lifeless without her constant chatter and her melodic laughter. You're fidgeting with your clothes, hoping the sinking feeling in your stomach will dissipate soon.

In the gym, you spot Paige on the farside of the court, shooting basket after basket. Her brows are furrowed with concentration, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Paige!" You shout as you lightly jog over.

Paige glances at you and then takes another shot, which just bounces off the backboard with a loud thud. She curses and grabs it on its way down before replying to you.

"Hey y/n, what are you doing here?"

You're anxious, eyes rovering over her face, but she won't meet your gaze.

"Is.. is everything okay between us?" You say, hesitantly stepping closer to her.

Paige has stopped throwing the ball, instead just holding it under one arm with her eyes trained on the floor.

She finally looks at you, a mix of emotions written all over her face.

"Everything's cool, yeah.. but be honest.. Did I.. make you uncomfortable the other day?"

"Of course not, why??" You're surprised by her words, confused by where she's going with this.

Paige's shoulders relax for a moment at your response, but her expression remains conflicted.

"I was just wondering if I took it too far the other day.." She trails off, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Too far?" You breathe out, hardly daring to consider what she means by that.

"Yeah.. I just.."

Paige seems to struggle to get the words out, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"I know you don't want me like how I want you, and I was worried I had made you uncomfortable or something."

Paige wants you? The words ring in your mind.

"What? What do you mean?" You're in disbelief. What is she talking about?

Paige sighs, throwing her basketball into the lined baskets lined by the gym walls before she continues on.

"Y/n, I've liked you for years. I've tried to make that clear, hoping you might take the hint or say something, but you never did. I didn't want to ruin what we have- but the other day made me feel so.." She trails off, "It's just hard to be friends with you when I want more than that. And I'm really sorry for ghosting you, that wasn't cool."

Paige runs her hands through her hair anxiously while your heart strains in your chest.

"And wait- that's not to say I don't want to be friends with you - I love being friends with you, I love you-"

Your heart is pounding in your ears, heart registering her words, and you just can't hold back anymore. You close the distance between you two, lunging for her, kissing her like she's your lifeline.

Paige is shocked for a second, before responding immediately, her hands grabbing your waist, pulling you in further.

It's all you've imagined, yet somehow better. Your hands are tangled in her hair, tugging lightly as her lips desperately press against your own. Paige kisses you, soft and open mouthed, but like a woman starved. You're enveloped in nothing but the sweet scent of her perfume while your heart feels like it's exploding, butterflies flittering wildly around in your stomach.

When you break apart, you both wear matching relieved grins. You swear to yourself that Paige's eyes have never looked more soft than in this moment, the love within them so obvious to you now. Her cheeks are flushed, more pink than you've ever seen them, her eyes alight with an excitement you've only ever attributed to the look she gets when she wins games.

Your next words tumble out in a rush, eager to tell her how you feel.

"I love you, Paige.. I've loved you since high school. I've loved growing up with you, learning more about you over the years, and getting to watch you do what you love. I love the way you care so deeply about people - about your fans, your team, your family. I love how strong you are, persevering through everything just to pursue your dreams."

You laugh, the words freeing to finally say aloud.

"I love all the little things about you, like the way you're so stupidly competitive about everything, whether that's shooting hoops or playing video games, I love your silly cocky nature and all your stupid jokes, your dramatic ass- bro can't even take medicine without taking a solid 10 minutes to complain- and even all the ways you annoy me on purpose just because you know they make me laugh nonetheless. I always feel safe with you, understood in a way I've never felt with other people.. I.. just.. so many things, Paige."

Paige's response is barely above a whisper,

"Why... why didn't you say anything?"

She's running her hands through her hair again, continuing.

"I just thought you didn't like me, like I hoped you did but I was never really sure. That's why I didn't say nothing"

You smile at her,

"I didn't wanna lose you by saying I liked you in case you didn't feel that way, I don't know. Maybe we both did the same thing, haha." You start trailing off awkwardly, suddenly feeling shy with the way she's looking at you.

Paige just grins, pulling you back into her by the hips, bringing you two face to face. She tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before she rests her hands on your waist.

"Good thing I do, cause now I get to ask you to be my girl." Paige is grinning so widely you just grin back, happiness manifesting as butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

"Pfftt.. I was always your girl. " You stick your tongue out at her, and she throws an arm over your shoulder in response.

"Damn y/n tryin rizz me up!?" Paige laughs at her own joke before continuing,

"Anyway, come on, let's go home."

She holds the gym doors open for you, and you're struck with a sense of deja vu, heart full.

"Well.. I mean, it worked."

You smirk at her with that.

Paige just bites her lip in response, waggling her brows and rubbing her hands together at you.

You groan as you both walk to her dorm,

"Not the rizz hands!"

All you hear is her resulting laugh.

"Always the rizz hands! Come on y/n you love it, clearlyyyy."

You find yourself unable to stop smiling at her, but you attempt an eye roll to keep up appearances anyway.

"You're all mine now," you say, shoving her slightly.

Paige smiles back, love in her gaze.

"I was always yours y/n."

---

Authors Note: This is the final chapter, I love soft Paige. Hope y'all enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! <3

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #slow burn #uconn women’s basketball #paige buckets #uconn wbb #fanfic #friends to lovers #wlw #Spotify

[liveontelevision]

Suffer Pt. 3

Suffer Part 3 is here! I'm planning on having at least two more parts, I was not expecting this to become a whole thing but :') I gotta see it through now lol

When I say I love slowburn fics, I mean it dammit.

Disclaimer: This is my personal interpretation of the characters from Hazbin Hotel. I respect the canon storyline and characters, but this fic will stray from it a decent amount.

Check out Part one and Part two :)

♡ ♡ ♡

Holding a small, sleeping Charlie close to your chest, you swayed her back and forth. Your eyes fluttered shut, as you danced around the familiar nursery, humming the same tune you've used to calm her down for years. She was asleep. Safe and oblivious to any of the chaos around her. You envied her. With one final spin, you let your eyes open. Your arms were empty. She was gone. The comfortable weight of her tiny figure instantly went away. You panicked, the room you were in was shifted into something unfamiliar and uneasy. A source of light finally drew your eyes. A distant doorframe provides light, casting the silhouette of a tall, curvy woman. Her eyes were glowing.

“L-Lillith?” There were sounds of a baby crying out and the intimidating figure became far away, ceasing any light and drowning you in a darkness that you've felt before. Long ago.

A heavy knocking at your door forced you awake. As you sat up you went to wipe the sleep from your eyes, only now noticing the tears streaming from your face. Just a dream… The knock was louder and quicker this time, forcing a response out of you. “Gimme a minute! Fuck -” You roll out of your bed, going to turn off the radio on your nightstand. Having the radio on throughout the night was something Alastor suggested, obviously, after you confided in him about having a series of nightmares. His show is broadcast while you sleep, and when it isn’t, the radio static actually acts as a soothing white noise. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it kept you from going insane in the least.

You finally approached the door, your body still wrapped in your large blanket that trailed across the floor. A cheerful, as always, Charlie stood at the door. She was quick to say good morning, but went straight to the point without letting you respond. She clearly practiced this.

“So! I know my dad's visit a few weeks ago was a liiittle… Tense? But - uh, I was wondering if you two talked yet..? By chance?” She spoke like she would be scolded for saying the wrong thing. You shook your head, still slowly blinking awake. 

“Well - okay! I was just asking because he.. keeps.. asking about you…” she held her phone out to you, letting you scroll through some of the messages he’s been sending her. You chuckle at first, he can't text for shit. But she was right. Ever since you blew him off that day, he's been asking Charlie how you've been and what you've been up to.

“I mean, I love my dad and it's awesome he's finally talking to me again, but - I don't know, if it's not too much to ask, could you maybe just.. talk to him?” Charlie rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, and her words broke your heart a little. It's cruel of him to try and reach out to you that way, put Charlie through that distress, but maybe you could've handled your last encounter with more care.

How could you say no to her?

“Yeah, i’ll talk to him, Charlie. Don't worry.” A yawn interrupted your sentence, but you still sent her a reassuring smile as she finally relaxed her shoulders.

“That’s great! I’ll just give him your number!” She planned outloud, turning away to head down the hall.

“Charlie- “ You called out, “He loves you, you know that, right? Don’t forget that.” Charlie’s smile drooped for a second, then quickly picked back up. She nodded as she left your view.

With a yawn, your body still not registering that you were awake or what you had agreed to, you went to shut your door. It didn't click like it usually does, so you turned to see the blockage - Alastor. He'd stuck his foot in the door to prevent it from closing entirely.

“Good morning, my dear!” his voice was booming, as he threw his arms out in a dramatic flare, your door swinging open.

Nope, you were too tired for this.

“Fuck, Al, can't this wait ‘til I'm at least dressed?” You tossed your blanket aside, rummaging through your drawers to cover the little silky tank top and pajama shorts you had borrowed from Angel during your first nights at the hotel. Maybe it was your sleep depravity, or just the fact that Alastor has made it a habit to be extra kind to you since you arrived, but you didn't mind him seeing you in sleepwear. He had no ill intent, as far as you knew.

“Unfortunately, it cannot! I heard you're going on a little outing with the king! How exciting~” He hummed, sitting at the edge of your bed as you cover yourself with your sweater. You plop down next to him, still wiping your eyes. He reached out, swiping his thumb across the apple of your cheek. Looking down at his hand, swiping your tears across his fingers, he met your suddenly embarrassed gaze.

“Another rough night, dear?” You weren't sure how he knew that's what that was from, but you nodded anyway.

“Just another nightmare, it's fine. They're always about Charlie and - the mistakes I made when I was taking care of her.. I guess it still kind of bugs me.” He let out a pitied hum, as he stood to turn your radio back on. He tuned it to some old timey jazz music before resting his hands behind his back. You didn't know it could play music..

“Well, it seems that meeting with that royal menace may not be the wisest choice. Wouldn't you agree?” You looked down before letting a sigh slip from your tired lips.

“It's fine, I can handle myself. Besides, he keeps bugging Charlie and I - I feel like I owe her..”

you shake your head, standing to your feet and beckoning Alastor out of your room.

“It's fine! It's just a quick visit, I won't be gone long.” He took your hand give it a quick kiss, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Well, if he does anything to hurt you, love -” love? “- I'll be right there to help.” He emphasized the end of his sentence with a quick tap on your nose before leaving your room. The music faded back into static as soon as he left.

You heard stories about their fight, plus you could hear their aggressive duet from your room that day, but you believed him either way. You had no doubt he could swoop in and save the day if you needed it. You wondered why people seemed so wary around him. He was a perfect gentleman to you, even with all the warnings you've gotten from Husk and Vaggie.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

You didn't think you would stress about what to wear. You hadn't even made plans yet, but all of sudden, you worried about what he would think of your clothes if he saw you. Charlie sent you his number, so it was on you to reach out. You ignored it for now. You’d ignore it forever if it would keep these feelings from resurfacing. Finally deciding on an outfit, just a black turtleneck that left your arms bare and a skirt that hugged your curves in a lovely way. Even if it probably wasn't the easiest skirt to bend over in, you decided it would do.

A lot of your clothes were hand me downs or were lent to you by either Angel, Vaggie or Charlie. None of it was truly your size, but you had no problem adding in some extra panels or cutting things to your liking. The sweater you grabbed previously was actually gifted to you by Alastor. You had no idea why he would give it to you, a simply red cardigan with a soft knit, but it quickly became your favorite accessory. Pulling up the collar, you buried your nose into the knitting, taking a soft breath in. It always smelled of whiskey and honey, no matter how often you washed it.

You went through your day like normal, followed along with some exercises Charlie was running and taking a quick trip to Cannibal Town with Alastor, something you did every now and then. It started off with him accompanying you to the bakery, where you would occasionally lend a hand, then he would split off to spend the afternoon with Rosie. As time went on, he would ask you to join him.. It was intimidating at first, but Rosie was nothing but a sweetheart, you had no problem fitting in with the two.

when you returned to the hotel, you finally mustered the courage to call Lucifer. With a quick pep-talk to yourself, you held your breath before bringing the phone to your ear. He picked up immediately.

“Hell- Erm.. uhh.. Shit, how do I -” Did he realize he answered the call?

“Helloo? Lucifer here - speaking! Who-who’s this..?” He knew who it was. You assumed this was just him trying to be casual. He wasn't very good at it.

“Lucifer - It’s me.. can we talk?” You were gripping the end of your sleeve nervously with your free hand.

“Yes! Yes, of course! When are you free? We can.. figure something out, right?” You could hear him tripping over himself, kicking things around, and something that sounded like a squeaky-toy being stepped on? His excitement made you giggle. Even with pulling your phone away to try and prevent your laughter coming through, he was losing his mind on the other end of the call. It felt like a nostalgic punch to the gut. He didn't realize how much he missed your laughter until now.

“I guess i’m free whenever.. Charlie doesn't like doing exercises on the weekend, so -” A breeze hit your face, blowing all your hair past your shoulders. Looking to the source, a golden edged portal had opened right in the middle of the hallway. A fidgeting Lucifer was standing with his hands behind his back, a nervous but excited looking grin across his face. You looked down to your phone, seeing the call was still going, then spotted his phone sitting on a table behind him. You let out the smallest huff, before hanging up and tucking your phone away.

“Missed me?” He said suavly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. God, you did. You couldn't admit that though. Your anger, guilt and nerves overshadowed any joy that he may have brought under different circumstances.

“Yeah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to step towards the portal. He reached his hand out to you, and he noticed you hesitating. “it’s uh- it’s a little bit of a drop if you step through the - um.. just.. wanted to -” you took his hand that he almost retracted, and carefully stepped over the border of the portal. You tried to keep your mind from noticing how your hand perfectly fit in his.

Static filled your core as you left the hotel, but before you could turn and see if Alastor was nearby, the portal had shut and the static ceased.

If he does anything to hurt you, I'll be right there.

Alastor's words rung through your head one last time. You finally met Lucifer eyes after literal decades.

“Um.. Tea?” Lucifer was fiddling with his ring again. Years ago, it was something you noticed he did whenever he was nervous. You nodded and watched as he conjured up everything needed to brew hot tea.

“What, you don't use any of the servants for that? Not even some angelic magic?” Small talk felt like it could make this moment less awkward. As he poured the already heated water into two teacups, he simply shook his head.

“Angelic power is great and all, but nothin’ beats fresh tea.” His smile was so sweet. You nervously balled up the sleeve of your sweater into your hand and brought it to your nose, breathing in the same sent that always seemed to calm you.

“And.. I- ahem.. I ended up finding other places for most of the staff after..” he said it quietly, unable to call attention to his missing spouse. Definitely a touchy subject for both of you. You finally looked around, realizing you recognized the tea room. It was small, but was walled in entirely with windows. It had a great view of the little garden that used to be brimming with difigured, yet beautiful, greenery. You took another look around the room, the nostalgia wearing off, taking in the dust and trash that was collected in the corners. The garden had died off as well. It wasn't completely unslightly, but the mess didn't make sense for a royal manor.

His words finally hit you.

“Found other places? What does that even mean?” You could feel your blood boil, watching him place the tea bags in each cup. You calmed for a moment, seeing that his hands were shaking.

“I just found places for them to work, is all. Sent the stylists to that Velvette girl in Pentagram City, some of the cooks went down to the Glutton Ring, ya know. Stuff like that. I wanted them to be taken care of.” He passed the cup to you, then pulled out one of the two chairs at the small table sitting in the center of the room.

“I just wanted to take care of them..since, I-I couldn't do that for you..” His voice was low, and when you attempted to look at his face he would sip from his cup or turn away. Don't be worried about him. He doesn’t deserve that.  It was all so long ago, it doesn't matter. Remember why you're here. 

“Good for them. Now, I'm here because you're bugging Charlie. Stop asking about me idiot, she's gonna think something’s wrong.” You placed your half empty cup down. He choked on his drink at your words, not realizing that you had seen the poorly written texts that he was sending to Charlie.

“And nothing is wrong. Right?” Lucifer scratched the back of his neck nervously, then opened his mouth as if to say something. He didn't. He simply nodded at first. 

“Y-Yup, right.. Everything's fine. l'll stop asking about you.” You went to stand, brushing the wrinkles from your skirt off as you did. That's that. You came here to get Lucifer to stop bugging Charlie and that's what you did. There's no other reason for you to  -

“Wait, please..!” His hand took a hold of yours, as he almost stumbled out of his chair to keep you from walking off. “I just want to say - “

“ - no you don't have to. It was a long time ago. Everyone makes mistakes, right?” You tried your best to keep your cool, but clearly it wasn't working. He winced at your words, releasing his hold on you.

“I have no excuse. I can't make it all go away, I still feel - “ he clasped his hand to his chest, struggling to figure out what he's trying to say.

“I'm sorry. I don't need you to forgive me, but please know, that I am sorry.” The room went silent, with your back towards him, the only thing you could hear was the beating of your own heart. Lucifer didn't know what to do, until the silence was broken by a pathetic little sniffle.

Dammit, not again. Don't let him get to you. Keep your walls up.

He quickly approaches you, his hands hovering over your shoulder, as if you’d shatter if he touched you.

“Nono, please, I -uhh.. I'll leave Charlie alone! I'll stop talking to you, I'll leave you alone if -”

With a quick turn, finally faced him. Letting out a breath you'd been holding in for far too long, you rush towards him with the intent to meet him with a long overdue embrace. The sudden leap left him staggering backwards, tripping over nothing and bringing both of you to the floor. “Don't you dare! H-How could you.. why would think that's what I want..?” Your words were muffled into his shoulder, since he had placed a hand over your head to protect you from the fall. Not even acknowledging that you were suddenly sitting on the floor between his legs, he finally managed to process your words. It took him a moment to even try and reciprocate the hug. He hadn’t been touched like this for years, it nearly overwhelmed his senses.

“ I want to know what happened that night! I want to know how you feel, or I guess felt, about me.. I dont care if it hurts, please tell me the truth..” all of the questions you've been asking yourself for years suddenly spilled out.

You felt absolutely pathetic, relying on him to tell you everything okay. But fuck, you needed this. Even if you never talk to him again after this, you needed some kind of closure.

“Woah- that's uh.. that's alot to drop on guy.. Uhm…” It wasn't like he didn't want to admit what he was feeling. With the relationship he had with Lillith, he had just become accustomed to not talking about himself much. That being said, with one look Into your teary eyes, he was all yours. He carefully took your hands from around his waist and held them in his own. He gently traced his thumbs along the top of your hands, letting you calm down before he went on.

“I.. I think about you all the time, I always have. I don't know what I would've done differently that night, but I'd do anything to take it back. To fix it..” The sweet smile on his face barely made his words sound better.

“I don't understand, Lucifer.” Your voice was quiet, and cracked a bit when his name passed your lips. You saw him jolt slightly, hearing his own name through your sweet, yet saddened voice.

“Well, I guess..Li-Lillith and I-” You both winced at the mention of her name. “- we weren't what everyone expected of us. And you were one of the only demons to know that. She- ugh.. I don’t know she left without a word, without a note - I have no idea where she went.” You felt like you were getting let in on a secret that he had been keeping for years. And maybe that's exactly what was happening. Your face went pale, your head swaying slightly, Lucifer took a hold of your arms and helped you stand, guided you back to your seat.

“It's not because of me, is it?” You said quietly, as if Lillith was just around the corner, ready to scold the two of you. Again.

“No! No, geez, if it has anything to do with you, then I'm to blame. Don't worry.” He still smiled at you, his face becoming strained after grinning for so long, then placed a hand over yours.

“Don't worry? Yeah! That shouldn't be too hard.. you idiot.” You rolled your eyes, but didn't pull away at his touch.

“I'll get straight to the point then, if you think I'm such a clown -” you couldn't help but grin at his self deprecating humor, and he's so relieved to see your smile.

“With you being in Charlie's life again, I'd like to.. I don't know, clear the air? Try and patch things up..?” You went to deject the idea, but he went on before you could.

“I know it won't be easy, and it's okay if it doesn't work out. But we all used to have so much fun together.. I think right now, it could be good for Charlie, and me, to have someone like you around.. I want you back in my life.” His little spiel seemed scripted up until that last part. Your heart throbbed. You were known to always decline help from people, avoid handouts, but the rush you felt hearing Lucifer say he needs you, you were almost swooning.

“Besides, we've both grown up! Moved on-  Right? I have all of Hell to keep an eye on, and you've got your little boyfriend back at the hotel so -” You wasted no time in correcting him. The idea of him thinking you had moved on with another demon made you panic for some reason you would never admit to. Why did he think you had a boyfriend? Who would - 

“Al?? Oh no, it's not like that, I swear. He's just been a good friend to me since I went to the hotel, is all.” 

“Al, huh?” He grumbled, leaning back in his seat ans crossing his arms over his chest. The warmth he left on your hand was immediately missed.

“Alastor, you know. The.. um.. You met him.” You held the sleeve of your sweater to your nose again, allowing the sweet air into your lungs. Fuck, he couldnt take his eyes off of you. He never wanted to take his eyes off of you, again. You just looked so pure in your little sweater.

But, that sweater.. something seemed off about it to Lucifer. He could feel some strange energy emitting off of it. It didn't come off as dangerous, but it definitely left him feeling uneasy. Like a headache that's just barely there, suffocating his thoughts. He's felt that before. It clouded his actions and judgements during his fight with-

“Hey, uh.. Be careful around that deer guy, will you? He seems pretty intimidating. Not to me, of course, but you know. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” You leaned forward, with your elbows on the table, propping your chin up. “Are you jealous?”

“Wha-What?? Of course not, I'm the king of Hell, I obviously trump him in every aspect.” There it was. There was that cocky, little bundle of nerves you used to know all those years ago. Everything finally hit you with the lost time, seeing that side of him.

“Lucifer, I missed so much. I wanted to be there for her, for Charlie.. I know I was just a babysitter, but there was so much more I wanted to do, so many things I wish I could've seen with her. With you, too.” You placed your hand overtop of his, just as he did to you earlier. He obviously wasn't expecting the reciprocation, flinching slightly at your touch.

“I guess I get what you're saying.. about taking that day back? That maybe if I didnt attack you the way I did, that I could be there longer. But… I was in love, Lucifer.” He stifled any giggles at the idea that you considered that kiss an attack, but nothing mattered after what you had said. He immediately flushed in the face at your words.

“In love..?” He barely whispered the words, his eyes sparkling. He felt a stabbing sensation in his chest, a familiar one, but still one that he hadn't felt in years.

“Yeah.. hm, it would've happened sooner or later, I think. I think I would've done it at some later point, if it didnt happen then.. I guess I'm just glad I left before Charlie could remember me. It all worked out, so - I guess what i’m saying is - we can try. Let's try being friends, again.”

What a bittersweet resolution.

“Okay. I'd like that.” He was fighting off any unwanted feelings. Burying any ideas to just profess that he felt the same way, and that he still does. That he wants to pick back up right where you left off. That he barely kept the longing, of feeling your lips against his, at bay. No matter how hard that was, things were looking up. Don’t blow it, Lucifer.

You chatted for a little while longer. You told him about your struggles after you were fired, all your interactions in Cannibal Town, the good and bad, then your eventual arrival at the hotel. The conversation lightened a bit, as you told stories about Charlie, giving him a much needed update on how she was doing when she wasn't stressing about a visit from him. You went on, talking about the other residents that he didnt have a chance to interact with last time. Obviously, that part of the conversation went into heavy detail about Alastor and all his little gifts and kindness.

Before you noticed, Lucifer held the edges of his chair, his hands gripping tightly into the metal at every little sigh or giggle you'd make in reference to something Alastor did. He'd dismiss it as jealousy for now. But that didn't stop him from rerunning that one moment in his mind. The moment where he was holding you. Touching the small of your back, just like how he used to.

The way you stood so close to him, that he could wrap his slender arm completely around your waist, and the confidence in your dismissal of Luficer's general presence. It was commendable, no matter the subject, he loved seeing your more confident side. Your words still hurt. The topic eventually came up.

“Oh god, Lucifer! I'm so sorry, I almost forgot about that.. I didnt mean anything, that was completely rude of me to treat you like that. I felt something come over me, seeing your face again, I just - I don't know, it was probably just some repressed rage? I'm sorry.” He quickly waved his hands, offering you reassurance in your actions, admitting that he felt he deserved it after everything.

“Don't say that, I was out of line. What you did to me doesn't excuse my actions.” You admitted. Was forgiveness possible in this situation? He had pushed the possibility so far down in his mind that a mutual respect seemed like an unachievable goal. And any reciprocated feelings were merely a dream.

This felt like a dream.

You asked how he was. He didn't hear that question often, so he didn't really answer with fun stories or anything exciting. His mind went into autopilot after you left. And after Lillith left, a lot of memories seemed suppressed. You asked about Charlie. He was worried you'd do that.

“Well- She uh.. went through her whole teenage phase, you know, goth makeup, boyfriends, a bunch of stuff she grew out of. She spent more time with.. her m-mother, though.. as she got older. But hey! Here she is now, doing the whole hotel thing, I'm very proud of her.” He nodded, clearly ready to move off the topic. But you weren’t.

“She looked up to you, you know. A lot. Oh man, she would cry for you all the time, constantly try to get into your workshop - as cute as it was, I wasn't ready to chase her down all the time. And i’d say she still looks up to you, Lucifer. You inspired her, I can tell.” You swayed the backwash of your tea in your cup, the pot was emptied long ago. Looking up, you see a trembling smile then watch him exhale a shaky sigh.

“Thank you.” He said softly. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning towards him a bit, after placing your cup down with a small clink.

Stop, Don't do this again.

Things might be different this time, but it can only go wrong in some other way, you were sure of it. Still, he leaned in as well. As you got closer, ready to shut your eyes to the reality and just let your fantasies take over, he reeled back, cover his nose and mouth with his hand. You jumped back, clearly embarrassed. He wouldnt call attention to it, leaving you to wonder what went wrong, but the scent from the sweater. It was disgusting to him.

“O-Okay, good catch up. I should get going, I - umm.. I promised Charlie I'd help her with something, so..” That was a lie. But if you spent another moment in that room with him alone, you'd have no control over what happened next.

“Oh.. right. Here -” He rose from his chair and opened the portal back up, leading to the same hallway you were in before. Turning back to him as he approached you, neither of you really said goodbye. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye. After an awkward exchange of trying to figure out if this should end with a handshake, a wave, a kiss - nope not that one. a kiss would be too much. But a hug?

Lucifer carefully placed his arms around you, encasing you close to his chest. He could feel your heart rate increase. The scent of your cardigan you wore overwhelmed him, but he refused to let go after feeling your arms lay comfortably around the back of his waist.

Good lord, this man hadn't gotten any in centuries. it took all of his strength to not trail his hands underneath that damned sweater and pull it off of you, feeling his way up your torso, sliding just the clawed tips of his fingers under your shirt until you - 

“Lucifer?” Your words were mumbled, your face pressed against his chest after he had tightened his grip.

“Hoof- sorry.” He quickly pulled away. You immediately missed the touch, but it was definitely for the best. For both of you.

“Well, Thanks for coming by.. you have my number..? Right! Call me whenever you want, I'm not busy-” Sure. The king of Hell wasn't busy. He just didn't want to admit that he’d drop anything he was doing if it meant hearing your voice. You nodded your head, taking a firm grip on his hand as you stepped carefully out of the portal and back into the hotel.

“I'll see you, Lucifer.” You said sweetly, he visibly melted at your words.

“I hope so.” With a quick wave, the portal cinched shut.

---

Alastor stood in the hallway, right where the portal had closed, greeting you with a stretched smile.

“Darling! How was your little visit? I wasn't expecting him to sweep you off your feet so soon, I hope it went well.” He approached you, tapping his microphone to the ground and leaning into you.

“You never called for me, I’m hoping he didn’t hurt you. Again.” His voice crackled and a high pitch ring made you cover your ears for a moment.

“No, Alastor, it was good! We're gonna try and work things out, see if we can be friends again. I think it went the best it could, if you ask me.” You hummed with a sense of confidence, strolling dwon the hall with Alastor following beside you. You didn't notice his eye twitch and his ears folding back at the mention of his full name. He was losing you.

“Just be careful, dear! We don’t want you to make any mistakes again, do we?” He had no idea what he was talking about. Right? You hadn’t told him anything.

“Well, it’s about time I run some of my errands. Let me know if I can be of service to you.” A signature greeting for you at this point, Alastor reaches for your hand and presses another kiss across your knuckles. He looks up at you the way he usually does, but he let his lips linger for just a moment longer. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he tilted your hand to place his nose against the sleeve of your gifted sweater, inhaling the scent and exhaling with a hum.

“R-right, I will. Thanks.” You pulled away from his grasp, his eyes suddenly shooting open. You pulled away from him. That hasn't happened before. He wasn't nervous, exactly. But he did disappear into his shadow, which darted down the hall in the blink of an eye, leaving you with nothing but innocent curiosity.

♡ ♡ ♡

To be continued! Stay Tuned ;)

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[tomriddleslove]

The devil can be beautiful.

✩Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader (Part 1)

SLOWBURN SERIES

Summary: The one where you have it all planned. There’s not a single thing you haven’t sorted, you’re practically untouchable in how perfect you are. He wants to destroy you, and he always gets what he wants. Alternatively: A bet is placed on whether Mattheo can ruin you. It’s not as easy as he thinks.

A/N: Imo a bit more accurate Mattheo here? He’s fucking toxic and they’re all horrible. This is a series!

Nietzche famously rejected connotations of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. They were nought but social constructs - ways to enforce power and authority under arbitrary values. Rather, he believed ‘good’ was relative, as was ‘bad’. If an action or doing promoted life, or power, then it was ‘good’. If an action promoted weakness, and conformity, then it was ‘bad’.

You weren’t religious, but you prayed to the heavens above that Nietzche was right because fuck.

Wrong has never felt so right.

‘Pl- plea-” You gasp, a breathless moan escaping your lips as you tilt your head back. His lips attach to the tender skin of your neck, nipping and biting at the delicate skin with no regard. He was ravenous, and you tasted like ambrosia, something too sweet for him. You had never felt so alive, feeling as though you were numb yet also like every nerve end was on fire.

Ravenous lips meet pure, untouched flesh. Iconoclastic in nature, the idea of corrupting such a sweet thing was enough to send the boy into a haze.

What was the saying? A wolf in sheep's clothing? Someone who seemed so unlikely, so deceptive. You couldn’t even fall back on that as an excuse. No, Mattheo Riddle was the devil himself, presenting himself to you with red horns and a fucking pitchfork in his hand and you stupidly let him sink his fangs into you.

He was beyond tainting you, no.

Mattheo Riddle was destroying you, and you could only let him.

- • -

Proper and prim.

If you had asked anyone to describe you in two words, you were sure those were the ones they would choose.

Proper and prim.

You were near perfect. Hell, if perfection existed you would be the image of it. From your neatly ironed robe to your polished shoes. Not a single thing was out of place. You embodied routine, and order.

Hair brushed back into a simple plait. School uniform modest, your tie neatly tucked underneath your grey school jumper. You had not produced a single piece of work that scored below 100%, from apparition to flying, you simply never did bad.

“Merlin, it must be depressing,” Theodore murmurs as he watches you walk through the Slytherin common room, up to the girls' dorms.

“Who?” Blaise quips as Pansy rolls her eyes, the distaste evident in her voice as she speaks.

“Who else but her? Miss Prissy Goody-Two shoes.” Pansy drawls, redirecting the group's attention to your retreating form.

Theodore reaches into his pocket, rolling a cigarette between two fingers as he speaks.“Did you know she scored 100% on all her OWLS?”

“Of fuking course she did. All she does is bury her nose in books. No wonder she’s always alone.” Draco mocks and Lorenzo snorts.

“She’s a bit of a weirdo” Lorenzo comments and Theodore barges in, a sleazy grin on his face as he raises a brow.

“You know what they say about the quiet ones right? Always the freakiest.”

Pansy dissolves into laughter, clutching her stomach as she speaks through giggles.

“Her? She’s an absolute prude! You should have seen her when she had to work with Pucey during potions. She couldn't even look in his direction. It's pathetic if you ask me.” She taunts.

Mattheo stares off into the fireplace, legs spread lazily as he reclines back onto the sofa. He had no interest in this conversation, really. Not for the reasons one would think, though. It’s not that he secretly cared for you or something, no it was far from that. He agreed that you were rather weird, too perfect and normal to be likeable. Rather he didn't have the energy to engage in such trivial matters.

“You should go ask her out on a date or something Theo. Don’t you like the nerdy girls?” Lorenzo teases as Theodore scoffs, propping his feet up on the table in front of him.

“Absolutely not, She’ll probably perform some kind of fucking blood curse on me.” He mutters as Draco raises a brow.

“How about this? If you manage to fuck her, I’ll give you 100 Galleons.” He proposes. Lorenzo nearly spits out his water as Pansy shakes her head.

Mattheo snaps out of his daze, looking up at Draco with mild curiosity.

“100 Galleons? Are you fucking insane?” Lorenzo blurts, looking at the platinum-haired boy in disbelief.

“Oh come on. It's a guaranteed win for Draco. It’s near impossible for anyone to do that.” Pansy adds.

“I’ll do it.”

It's his first contribution to the conversation and they all turn to look at him. Theodore raises a brow, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as Pansy leans forward.

“Oh? And what makes you think you can?” She taunts.

“Look at her. Teacher’s pet, an absolute loner. Always reading. It’s so predictable. She probably has wet dreams about some bad boy coming to sweep her off her feet. It’s almost too easy.” He says, cracking his neck with a small groan as he sits up.

He could really do with the money. 100 Galleons could buy him at least 3 weeks in the shabby little inn he frequented over the school holidays.

Draco eyed him curiously, before extending his slim pale hand out.

“Agreed. 100 galleons if you manage to fuck her within a month.” Draco repeats, and Mattheo takes the offer.

His calloused palms meet Draco’s, and he shakes on it with a resolute nod, before leaning back in his chair.

1 month? What a joke. He only needed 2 weeks.

-•-

It had been two days after that conversation and Mattheo had been observing you closely, waiting for the right opportunity to crop up. In the meantime, he dissects everything about you. Theodore was right, you were so undeniably boring and monotonous Mattheo had to pause and wonder if you were a sadist of sorts, finding pleasure in such mind-numbing perfection.

It was the same damned thing every single day. You would turn up for breakfast at 8:00, and fix yourself a plate of porridge topped with a handful of blueberries. You’d eat as you read the newspaper, and finish by 8:15. You’d rise, put your bowl away, and head to your first class. You ate lunch during the first half, the same sandwich and apple every day. After lessons, you’d go up to the library. You’d take the furthest seat on the second floor, between the muggle studies and world history books. You would revise for 3 hours, close your books, and head back up to your dorm. You would then re-emerge no longer than 20 minutes later (still dressed in your school uniform) and head down to dinner. You always ate whatever was offered, had a single mug of peppermint tea, and then headed back up to your dorm before it was even 10.

Every. Single. Day.

Mattheo could not comprehend how on earth someone could live like that. Surely you had to be some sort of psychopath, right? There was no way you could find peace and comfort in such a routine. Sure, Mattheo certainly did not feel content, but he’s as sure as the sky is blue that he’d go insane if he lived like you.

Maybe you had some sort of secret? Perhaps you escaped the castle grounds at night to smoke or do some hardcore drugs. Maybe you were some sort of recluse who believed they were some sort of divine being. Your meticulously structured routine, your unwavering discipline—it all seemed too calculated, too perfect. There had to be something lurking beneath the surface, something that explained your seemingly robotic adherence to the same monotonous pattern day after day.

The countless possibilities run through Mattheos mind as he rests his chin on his hand, zoned out as he sits at the back of the astronomy class. Professor Sinastra drones on about Lunar phases and their implications on a wizard’s abilities. Mattheo gazes off at you, who (as per usual) sits right at the front of the class. Your posture is impeccably straight, and you jot down every word Sinastra speaks as though she’s teaching the class how to become a millionaire instantly.

“... And for that reason, I would like two volunteers to come work alongside myself on a month-long project locating rogue planets in the atmosphere. Not only will this be an exciting and unique opportunity, it’ll also put you in incredibly good standing for your upcoming NEWT exams, which may I remind you are in only a few months. The study will largely commence in the evenings, however, there will be a few instances where you will be required to complete monitoring throughout the whole day. You will be excused from lessons on those days, rest assured.” She says.

Mattheo straightens up in his chair as he sees your hand shoot up almost immediately. In any other instance, your enthusiasm would be infuriating at the very least, earning you a snarky remark. But now? Well, it was clear the universe was giving him a sign.

Taking advantage of everyone else's hesitancy, Mattheo raises his hand. A few murmurs ripple through the class, and Professor Sinastra cannot hide her surprise as she nods at Mattheo.

“I must say, I am glad to see you volunteering Mr Riddle.” She says, and Mattheo nods.

He can’t make it too obvious, though. He usually wouldn't be caught dead volunteering for such a thing.

“Getting to skip classes and being permitted to roam around at night? No brainer.” He says, not so subtly to Blaise. Granted, Blaise knows Mattheo’s true intentions, but the statement seems to satisfy the rest of their class, who turn back to their work whilst muttering about how it was a rather good offer.

Mattheo looks over to you, only to find you turned around in your seat, observing him for a second. Your eyes squint, an almost imperceptible change, before you quickly avert your gaze and turn back around.

“You might actually have this one.” Blaise murmurs, leaning closer to Mattheo. He can’t help but smile, an almost arrogant smirk, as he nods.

Looking at the way you diligently return to your work, Mattheo’s indifference suddenly morphs into determination.

This was too easy.

-•-

Mattheo saunters up the stairs to the astronomy tower, the faint moonlight just barely illuminating the path in front of him. As he pushes open the door to the tower, he sees you perched by the telescope. You're still in your school uniform, looking pristine as you sit on the floor, scribbling notes down in your book. You look up at the intrusion, clearing your throat when you see Mattheo. In the dim moonlight, Mattheo can see your face turn slightly red as you swiftly avert your gaze down to the floor.

“Riddle.” You greet, quietly. He hums in acknowledgement, setting his bag down to the side as he slumps against the wall, leaning back.

“Professor um- Professor Sinastra has asked us to just observe the sky and try to make predictions for when we can sight a rogue planet. I’m mapping the movement of the planets but she said you should try to calculate angles of visibility.” You murmur, voice quiet and hesitant.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as he looks over at you. "Angles of visibility, huh?" he muses, pushing himself off the wall and saunters over to where you're seated. "Sounds like a job for someone with a keen eye for detail."

You glance up at him, your expression guarded as you nod in agreement. "Yes, exactly. It's crucial to accurately calculate the angles to ensure our observations are precise."

He laughs, but it's not genuine. No, rather it's almost mocking.

“What makes you think I’m doing any of that, hmm? This is just an excuse for me to skip classes. How this is actually going to work, is that you’re going to do all the work, and let me slap my name on the parts I was meant to do, yeah?” he says, his tone oozing with faux sincerity.

You look up at him, a glimpse of surprise flashing in your eyes.

There we go. Wasn’t so hard to get a reaction out of you, wasn’t it? Mattheo thinks to himself, raising a brow. This would be simple enough. You’d fight back, and after a bit, he’d reluctantly agree. He’d begin to feign actual interest and before you knew it he’d be walking away with 100 galleons added to his name.

But instead of fighting, you nod and look back down at your book.

“Ok.” You murmur.

Mattheo's smirk falters for just a moment as he processes your response. He hadn't expected you to simply agree, to comply without so much as a hint of resistance. It throws him off balance, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“What? You’re not going to disagree? Or go snake on me to Professor Sinastra?” His voice comes out more incredulous than he intended, a mixture of surprise and confusion evident in his tone.

You glance up at him, your expression unreadable. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?" you reply calmly, your voice devoid of any trace of emotion.

Mattheo's mind races, trying to make sense of your reaction. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to push back, to challenge him, to give him something to work with. But instead, you're just... accepting it.

A flicker of annoyance flares within him, quickly followed by a surge of frustration. This wasn't what he had planned, wasn't how it was supposed to play out. He wanted a challenge, not this... this acquiescence.

He eyes you with a small frown, before turning on his heel and walking out. He’s both frustrated and confused, pondering your words as he makes his way back to the Slytherin common room. Were you really that pathetic? Did you actually have no backbone?

He walks back into the relatively empty common room, spotting the whole group in their usual spot. He goes over to them, tossing his bag to the side as he plops down onto the sofa with a sigh. Pansy eyes him with amusement as she speaks.

“So how was your first evening with our perfect student? Did you woo her under the stars?” Pansy teases as Mattheo fishes around in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Serenade her with a poem?”Theodore joins in, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Merlin, I knew she was a stick-up but to be that much of a push-over? She’s so mind-numbingly fucking boring it's actually insane.” Mattheo starts, lighting the cigarette as he takes a deep drag.

“I mean, I told her that she had to do all the work and give me the credit, and she just said ok! No fighting back, not even a look of annoyance. She just looked down and said Ok,” He exclaims, still rather baffled as he smokes his cigarette.

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "Well, isn't that just precious," he taunts, the hint of mockery in his tone unmistakable. "Our little goody-two-shoes just rolling over and playing dead at the first sign of trouble."

Mattheo scowls, taking another drag from his cigarette as he mulls over their words. It's frustrating, infuriating even, to think that you would just acquiesce without so much as a fight. He had been expecting resistance but instead, he's met with nothing but compliance, and it grates on his nerves in a way he can't quite explain.

"Well, whatever," Mattheo mutters, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he leans back against the sofa.

Just as he goes to speak, his eyes are drawn to the entrance of the common room. The group falls silent at your arrival. You walk through the common room, not even glancing in their direction as you clutch your school bag tightly, heading back up to your dorm.

‘Like you have your tail between your legs’ Mattheo thinks, observing your retreating form.

“Maybe it turned her on?” Theodore proposes. Draco groans, setting down his mug as he rolls his eyes.

“That's disgusting. I do not need to be thinking about that,” He complains.

“You’re the weirdo who proposed the bet anyway!” Theodore quips back, and they soon fall into a silly argument.

It’s all background noise for Mattheo, who can't seem to stop thinking about you. There was no chance you were simply so easily swayed, so complacent. No, there had to be more to it.

Mattheo was a Slytherin through and through. Cunning, resourceful, and ambitious. And if he wanted something, he would always get it. Mattheo would win this bet, and if not for the 100 galleons, it would be to unravel and destroy you, for he saw in your innocence a challenge — a spotless canvas begging for the brushstrokes of corruption, a pure soul ripe for the taint of himself. Even the most virtuous are not spared, and in his eyes, your fall would be his ultimate triumph.

@schaebickel @multifandom-worlds @mildlyuninformative @lillywildly @gillyweeds @anti-hero03

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x y/n

[yerimbrit]

10 hour flight : p. hanni

synopsis: you bump into a girl more than once at the airport. you learn that she's on the same flight as you, and to top it off, sits right next to you on the plane.

# pairing ! trainee!hanni pham x art student!reader

# tags ! fem!reader, slowburn...?, strangers to lovers, fluff, hanni's debuting soon, reader did some... insane shit in her past, but tbh she's not all that insane herself i swear, she's just reckless, hanni's afraid of flying, reader is '04, reader is a loser unfortunately

# wordcount ! 16k

# warnings ! lots of mentions of injuries/scars

today was probably one of the biggest days of your life.

you had just graduated from high school in australia in may about 2 months ago, getting into SNU's college of fine arts. you intended to pursue your passion in painting. ever since you were a baby, you've loved to have a hand in art — always scribbling colorful images on everything you could touch, from big pieces of scrap paper to the walls of the living room.

from a young age, you have won a significant amount of trophies and medals for your paintings entered in art competitions. your parents were highly supportive of your hobby, pouring months worth of paychecks into your art lessons and academy tuition fees.

although you were quite grateful, you thought they could be overbearing sometimes. that's why you chose to attend a school far away; to have a breath of fresh air, away from your overprotective mother and father. you could never relax and let loose like you wanted if they were worrying over every little move you made.

for example, the time your parents had left you alone in the house for the first time because they were going to a friend's wedding. they made an extensive list of things to do and not do, and of course, you used the 'not do' side as a checklist.

in your defense, you hadn't planned to have so many people over, just your friend group. but your friend chaeyoung knew a girl that knew another girl that knew a guy, and suddenly your house was hosting a massive party for the entire student-body. it was an honest mistake on your part, vowing to never host a party like that ever again, and sticking to stunts that you could do yourself for some healthy adrenaline.

obviously your parents weren't pleased when they returned, seeing the aftermath of the events taken place the day prior. you were given a big scolding, but you didn't let that stop you from attempting to wreak havoc the next time they were out.

now, family gatherings weren't your favorite. you couldn't get away with anything so long as someone older was watching you. they thought you were a demon. an artistic prodigy demon. they didn't understand how someone like you could be so good at something that was supposed to be so peaceful. you think you've matured enough though; it's been years since you've actually done something bad.

a few of your relatives stayed in seoul after your parents left for melbourne, including your idiot cousin hyein and her parents. it was decided that you were going to live with them, since you've already stayed there on previous visits.

speaking of hyein, it had been a while since you've seen her, last being christmas, which was a disaster. did you say it's been years since your last incident? well, you lied.

all the adults were out for something that you don't remember anything about, and you, being the troublemaker that you were, had convinced the younger girl to help you hang yourself from the ceiling right above the tree. your reasoning was that you'd "wanted to be the star for the night," and sweet little hyein agreed because why wouldn't she agree to her cool older cousin?

(you don't know where hyein got the harness and rope, or how hyein managed to wrap the rope around the beam on the ceiling that extended past the second floor, but the younger lee's eyes practically sparkled at the thought of accompanying you in one of your schemes, so you decided to ignore it.

hyein buckled the harness, tightening it as you squirmed against the restraints. she flashed a mischievous grin at you.

"ready?"

"i was born ready.")

both of you failed to realize that the rope you were using was extremely frayed at the ends and had definitely gone through years of wear-and-tear. it ended up snapping, and in the process, dropped you onto the christmas tree that had just been decorated that morning.

your relatives came home to you and hyein on the floor, wide-eyed, with wounds littering your face and arms from falling onto the tree.

needless to say, you and your little cousin were never allowed alone without supervision again.

on another note, you finally arrived at the airport!

your dad went around the car to open the trunk and started taking your luggage out. shortly after, you and your mom got out of the car and went to join your dad in getting your things.

"so, SNU huh? you're going too far, kid!" your dad chuckled, extending his hand for a handshake.

you gripped his hand firmly, feeling the roughness of his palm, and moving your hands up and down once.

you grinned. "i'll be back before you know it, dad."

you were about to let go until your dad brought you into a tight hug, leaving a kiss on top of your head.

"i know... it's just, we'll miss our star girl, you know?" he patted your back. "it'll be hard for this old man without his little girl around all the time."

you stared amusedly. "even though i always cause trouble when you're not looking?"

your dad let out a hearty laugh and ruffled your hair, much to your chagrin. you took this moment in, absorbing as much of it as you can so you could remember every detail. there were more wrinkles in his skin, and there were visible bags under his eyes. even though he's aged physically, you could tell in his laugh that he was still the same old dad that you've adored since you were little. (he was always the more spoiling parent between him and your mom.)

he stepped back, allowing your mother to rush in for a passionate embrace. you slowly felt your sweater getting damp as your mom sniffled into your shoulder.

"be sure to call when you land, okay? and eat on the flight, it's a long way there. also, the plane is cold so use that blanket i put in your backpack, and-"

you gave your mom a squeeze and briefly pulled away.

"i got it, mom. you told me all of this last night, remember? i even checked everything you said off before we left this morning so i wouldn't forget, so don't worry about me."

she managed a small smile and brought you back into the hug.

"let us know when you've arrived at hyein and her parent's house. and tell them we said hi and to take care of you."

you gleamed. "of course."

after making sure you had everything you needed, you gestured to your parents for a big group hug.

"i love you guys."

"ditto." your mom slapped your dad's shoulder, and you all laughed.

once you made it to the security checkpoint, you waved your parents one final goodbye, before the start of a long journey ahead.

"excuse me," you mumbled, narrowly avoiding bumping into others in the bustling crowd of the airport. there was a lot of people going back home after vacation, or going back to school or work after visiting home.

heaving a sigh of relief after making through the crowd, you took a moment to look around the area, a plethora of shops and restaurants standing before you. in doing so, you failed to realize you were still in public with thousands of people walking around you, and bumping shoulders with a girl.

"ah!" "ow!"

you widened your eyes as you turned to look at the person you just walked into, swiftly picking her bag up from the ground and handing it to her.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry. i wasn't paying attention," you said, bowing out of habit. the girl giggled. 'oh my god. she has the cutest laugh ever,' you thought to yourself, before looking up to see her face. 'oh my god. she's the cutest girl i've ever seen.'

"it's okay. at least we didn't fall over, right? are you hurt?"

snapping out of your daze (you were staring, and she definitely noticed, you think), you shook your head.

"no, i- i'm okay. are you?"

"mhm, i'm fine! don't worry about me."

you tried to muster out any words relating to asking the girl out, but when you opened your mouth she was already waving to you and turning around.

you cursed to yourself, frowning. "damn it, y/n. you can do all sorts of stupid stuff but you still can't even talk to a girl?"

for as long as you could remember, you've always been unlucky with the girls you talked to. for example, the girl you met at a music festival, who you went on a few dates with. she stopped talking to you after hearing about all the risky things you've done. or the girl who you were paired up with in your advanced painting class, who you almost dated. she cut things off with you because you were too much of a "genius" in art. you still thought that was an asshole move, because what does that even mean?

shaking your head, you forced yourself to stop thinking about your love life in ruins and instead started strolling around the spacious corridors of the airport. you made a mental note to buy something for hyein upon seeing the variety of gift shops lined up next to each other.

you sipped on your steaming cup of coffee, mindlessly scrolling on your phone to pass the time. your croissant laid half-eaten on the plate. the chatters of the people around you became white noise as you fell into the cycle of liking a post and scrolling down to the next one. if you zoned out enough, you could make out some of the conversations around you. you sighed.

'i miss mom and dad already...'

a bag being placed on the table interrupted your inner monologue before it could even start. startled, you looked up to see a girl. 'oh, a very pretty girl. wait, isn't this the girl from earlier?' you blink. 'shit! it's the girl from earlier!'

"excuse me, but could i take this seat?" she glanced around, then met your eyes. "there's, well. not exactly anywhere else to sit, ahaha..."

opening and closing your mouth, you wordlessly moved some of your things so she could set her cup down. she smiled at you, eyes crinkling up into slight crescents, and you think you've met the love of your life, judging by the way your heart thudded in your chest after seeing the human embodiment of an angel.

she took a sip of her drink. "thanks."

the atmosphere became suffocatingly awkward, and you nervously tried to redirect your gaze to anything but the pretty girl sitting in front of you. your attempts failed, unfortunately, because apparently trying not to look at someone is a lost cause, and your mind automatically filled with the brief memory of the stranger's laugh, smile, and face. giving up, you let your eyes find their way back to her face, surprised to see that she was already looking at you. you coughed.

"so," you started, "whEre-" 'what the hell. leave it up to me to have a voice crack while starting a conversation.' she giggled, and you bit your lip trying not to scream.

fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you cleared your throat and started again. "ahem. i um, meant to say... where, where are you headed to?"

she hummed, taking another sip of her drink. "korea. i'm... hoping to make music there. where are you going?"

you nodded. "music, huh... that sounds really cool," a look of realization dawned on your face, and your eyes widened. "wait, did you say korea?"

a questioning look appears on the girl's face, and she nodded. "yeah, korea. why?"

"i'm going to korea too! i got accepted to SNU's college of fine arts. i paint and stuff."

her mouth formed an "o" shape and she gave you an impressed look.

"that's impressive! it must've been stressful for you."

you grinned, taking a small bite of your almost-forgotten croissant. "it was. i almost lost hope, refreshing my email page over and over at night," you said, shaking your head. "by the way, what's your name?"

the girl looked startled, clearly not expecting the sudden question. the flash of surprise only lasted briefly, however, and she hastily cleared her throat to reply.

"hanni," she smiles, "hanni pham. what's yours?"

"y/n. lee y/n."

"well, y/n... it was really nice meeting you. maybe i'll see you in korea. you could design one of my album covers, haha."

you gulped, trying to ignore the burning heat rushing to your cheeks at the way your name rolled off her tongue. "oh! yeah. it was great talking with you, hanni. and if we do meet again... i'll do my best with the design."

she took her finished cup of whatever she ordered, and her bag, and waved to you with that angelic smile of hers as she walked away with her suitcase.

"nævis, calling-" as if right on cue, your phone's ringtone went off, the beat drop of aespa's next level playing at an extremely loud and embarrassing volume. you sheepishly mouthed sorry to the people around you, who were staring because of the noise, and picked up the call.

you cleared your throat, lowering your voice. "hello?"

the excited voice of hyein rang out into your ear, "unnie! y/n unnie!"

you winced and moved the phone speaker slightly further away from your ear.

"hi, hyein. what's up?"

you heard some shuffling around, and what seemed to be like your aunt's voice scolding hyein for yelling.

"hello y/n, sorry about hyein, she's really excited to have you here soon."

you subconsciously smiled at the thought of your little cousin counting down the days until your arrival. "don't worry about it, auntie. did you need something?"

there was some whining from hyein in the background, and your aunt sternly called her name, effectively shutting her up. "nothing, nothing. just wanted to check in with you. you're at the airport now, yes?"

you nodded, even though she couldn't see you. "yeah, i am. i got some coffee at a cafe and i'm about to head to the gate. by the way, did you guys want anything for the last time in a while? the chocolates at the gift shops are always good, i know you and uncle like them."

there's a thud, and you blinked at the silence that followed. you waited, checking your phone to see if the call was still connected, and raising an eyebrow when hyein's voice finally crackled out into the microphone.

"haah... haaaah... finally..."

"hyein?"

"i want a kangaroo keychain! the cute plush ones!" you once again pulled the phone speaker away from your ear when she yelled again.

'aren't those really expensive?' you thought, slightly grimacing at the thought of your soon-to-be empty wallet. 'oh well.'

you laughed as you pressed the phone to your ear to speak again. "okay, okay. anything else?"

"get two. i wanna match with you, unnie!" by now your wallet was really crying. 'the things i do for you, hyein.'

"alright... well, i have to get to the gate now. i'll see you later? say bye to auntie for me," you told hyein, finishing your pastry and cleaning up your table before getting up from your seat.

"okay! bye unnie!" and the call dropped. you sighed, shaking your head while smiling, and started making your way towards your gate.

(you held the small keychains in your hand. they were the size of your palm, and you turned it around to check the price tag.

"holy shit, 15 dollars for this tiny thing?!"

"it's for hyein, she wants to match. it's for hyein, it's for hyein, it's for hyein...")

"hanni?"

"y/n?"

well, that was sooner than you thought. as soon as you made it to the seating area, you spotted a familiar face: the pretty girl named hanni that you bumped into earlier. before, you couldn't start a conversation with her without stuttering and stammering, but the feeling of your lighter wallet must've left you more easygoing after mourning your diminished funds on the way to the gate. (you were at least glad you could make hyein happy.)

she gestured to the seat next to her, her bag occupying it moments prior. grateful, you thanked her, and moved to sit, setting your suitcase in front of you. just as you started to relax, hanni gently tapped your shoulder, nearly making you jump.

"fancy seeing you here?" she said, her grin accompanied by a lighthearted tone.

you breathed a sigh of relief. her lopsided smile sent waves of comfort through you, allowing you to ease into the moment.

"yeah, what are the chances? we're on the same flight," you remarked, a small grin settling on your face as well—hanni's smile was very contagious when you weren't distracted by her beauty, you noted.

hanni nodded, grin widening. "seems like the universe has its plans. maybe it's fate?" she quipped.

"haha, maybe."

a moment of silence passed, and you both burst into a fit of giggles.

you never believed in fate, despite your friends talking your ear off about it. whenever they asked for your input, you brushed it off as a silly superstition. comes with messing around doing stunts all the time, you supposed. after all, you were unpredictable, and so was the world. the thought of your future being predetermined made you shudder.

wanting to continue the conversation, you racked your brain for anything she told you earlier. what was it she was doing... ah, music!

you cleared your throat, bringing hanni out of a daze. she turned her attention to you, eyebrows raised.

"you're doing music, right?" she nodded, "yeah, i've already signed with a company and all."

"really? which company?"

she hummed thoughtfully, and pursed her lips. "sorry, i'm not allowed to tell."

"ah, that's okay," you said, scratching your neck. "do you play an instrument? or do you sing?"

"i do both, actually!" she said with a smile, her voice warming. "but i'm focusing on singing. what about you? you do art, right?"

you perked up at the mention of art. "yes, i do, i love painting," you said, eyes brightening.

"actually, there was this time where i tried to smash my head through the canvas for a project- hey, don't laugh, let me finish! i tried to make it so that the end product would be my face, with action lines outside the rip marks, but the canvas broke in half, and i ended up with a ton of scratches on my face..."

the two of you continued to chatter away, the conversation flowing effortlessly between you. your surroundings became a blur as you lost yourselves in the moment, unaware of anything happening outside of your bubble of conversation.

you suddenly remembered that you were waiting for a flight, and frowned. "hey, don't you think it's been a while since they've said anything? it's close to boarding ti-"

the calm voice of a flight attendant interrupted your question.

"attention all passengers going from melbourne to incheon: there's been some technical difficulties, and we are disappointed to inform you that your flight will be delayed. departure time will be pushed back by approximately one hour. thank you."

as murmurs spread through the gate and disappointed voices filled the air, you felt a sense of frustration wash over you. fishing your phone out of your pocket, you quickly sent a text to your aunt about the delay, your irritation evident in your furrowed brow.

hanni puffed out her cheeks in frustration. "ugh, unlucky."

you nodded in agreement, a sigh escaping your lips. "yeah, it's frustrating. now we're gonna be there even later in the night," you replied, your gaze shifting from your phone to meet hanni's disappointed eyes.

"i guess there's nothing we can do about it now."

"yeah, i guess so."

hanni always thought she led an honest life, steering out of trouble and focusing on her passion for music. she made sure to feed the dogs, keep up with her studies, help her mom cook, and get along with her younger sister. she had a lot of friends, and she was in a dance cover group with some of them too. she played the ukulele, guitar, and piano, and she sang as well.

then she auditioned for hybe, and passed. her family was proud of her, and she left to korea for training shortly after. she missed home a lot. like waking up to milly and mia's excited barks for breakfast, or bickering with her sister in the car on the way home from shopping, or having family bonding time during dinner.

love was the last thing on her mind when she started training. sure, she's had some crushes here and there, but she's never pursued any of them. that was all there was to it; just a silly crush. when she became a trainee, any thoughts of crushes in hanni's mind were pushed aside for dancing and singing lessons, as well as korean classes.

but after your fateful encounter (or, well, encounters) at the airport, hanni thought she could forget about coming back to training for at least one day.

from the moment she saw you, hanni pham was dazzled. when you bumped into her, you immediately apologized, and even picked up her bag for her. when you finally looked at her, and she could see your face, hanni almost screamed. you were so, so, beautiful. and she had to make her leave before she actually screamed.

then hanni saw you again at a random airport cafe, and everything clicked. lady luck must've finally looked on her side this time, because there were clearly open tables all around you, but you still let her sit with you. with that, she let the conversation flow between the two of you.

by the end of your second encounter, hanni must've thought her luck ran out by now and left with an open offer, knowing you would never see her again after she left.

and then you finally reunited at the gate. well, if hanni thought her luck ran out at the cafe, then it had definitely run out now. there was absolutely no way she could get any luckier than being on the same flight as you.

was it bad she's started to develop a crush on you?

there was a thump next to her, and hanni felt an added weight fall on her shoulder. she turned to see if you dropped something, but it seemed that your head dropped on her shoulder, having fallen asleep. your head. on her shoulder. you fell asleep on her shoulder.

hanni's face was bright red at the realization. you fell asleep! on her shoulder! her body immediately tensed, instinctively trying to get you off, but gave up after you only shifted closer to her. and well, she didn't want to interrupt your sleep, since you seemed exhausted just moments ago.

she couldn't help but think your sleeping face was beautiful too.

"attention all passengers going from melbourne to incheon: apologies for the wait. boarding will begin in 15 minutes. thank you."

the announcement jolted you awake, and you sleepily rubbed your eyes and lifted your head from where you were leaning it on, stretching your neck to hear a few satisfying cracks.

"did you sleep well? you just suddenly passed out; i was worried," a soft voice asked.

you tried to blink out more of the sleep out of your eyes and focus on the voice next to you, finally seeing hanni's concerned expression.

clearing your throat, which was hoarse from your nap, you offered her a sheepish smile. "yeah, i slept well. i was so anxious last night that i went to sleep really late, that's probably why. sorry about that."

hanni nodded. "no worries! going away from home is scary, i agree."

you tried to reach for your phone, only to look down and see hanni's jacket draped over you. 'huh?' you thought. 'wait, come to think of it, what was i sleeping on?'

you shot a glance over to hanni, who tilted her head. you squinted your eyes, trying to connect the dots. then, it hit you like a pile of bricks: you fell asleep on hanni's shoulder. your cheeks dusted pink in embarrassment, and you cringed at even the thought of it.

'god, that's embarrassing!' you thought, feeling a sense of mortification burning in your chest. 'she even used her jacket as a blanket for me, and she asked if i was okay when i woke up...'

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!" you blurted out, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. "i really didn't mean to fall asleep on you, i mean i didn't even realize i was falling asleep, but-"

hanni giggled, the pleasant sound resounding through your ears.

"it's okay, y/n. i don't mind."

'ah... it's almost like an angel got sent down from earth.'

despite you intruding on her personal space, hanni was still so kind and considerate to you, even though you only met each other a couple hours ago. a heavy blush overtook your face.

"here's your jacket back, at least," you offered, a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment showing in your tone.

she shook her head, waving her hands. "oh no, you can keep it on. you must be cold in only that sweater."

you opened your mouth to protest, but ended up just smiling.

was it too soon to say you liked her?

the flight attendant walked up and down the aisle, checking for everyone's seatbelts. you and hanni sat comfortably towards the front of the plane, flashing friendly smiles at each other.

you and hanni sitting next to each other? what? wait, let's rewind. how did you find yourself sitting next to hanni, the girl of your dreams who you were talking to at the gate, and at the cafe, and outside of the security checkpoint?

well, the two of you were in the same boarding group. and taking a look at your tickets, you were actually seated right next to each other.

funny how fate plays out, huh.

it seemed like hanni was thinking the same thing, because she started giggling, nudging your shoulder.

"it's funny how fate plays out, huh?"

"absolutely," you replied with a grin, matching hanni's playful tone. "seems like fate has quite the sense of humor, doesn't it?"

hanni giggled again, her laughter echoing softly in the aisle.

"definitely," she agreed, a hint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "who knew our paths would cross like this? and especially so many times in a day?"

as the flight attendants made their final rounds, you relaxed in your seat and turned to observe hanni, who was looking out the window. her gaze wandered, from the people on the ground crew to other planes preparing for takeoff. you noticed her shiver, and quickly took her jacket off from your shoulders and draped it over both of your laps.

surprised, she looked over to you with raised eyebrows, then smiling at you, mouthing a 'thanks'. she turned her attention back to the window.

you directed your gaze to your lap, leaning back in your seat. your seatbelt kept you from slouching back. you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you unlocked it to see a text from hyein.

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) UNNIE!!!!!! 😚😚 what do u want for dinner moms asking also did u get the keychains 😈

you laughed to yourself, typing in your response. you purposely waited between each message sent, to tease her; hyein always hated when you did that.

to: mom's favorite child (🐣) hi hyein 🤓 i want kimchi jjigae!! also [attachment: 1 image] yes i did

you almost drooled at the thought of your aunt's kimchi-jjigae. the first time you had it, you were hooked. no matter how many times your mom tried to recreate her sister's cooking, it never hit the same as when you'd stay at hyein's house for the holidays and wake up to the smell of your favorite dish in the morning.

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) got it o7 (replied to [attachment: 1 image]) ↪ AHH THEYRE SO CUTE OMGOMG (replied to "hi hyein 🤓") ↪ who are you calling a nerd.

giggling to yourself, you decided to leave hyein on read, swiping out of her contact after reacting to her text confirming your request with a heart.

the jets of the plane fired up, starting to taxi down the runway, and you pocketed your phone and joined hanni in looking out the window.

"have you flown here before?" she asked, keeping her gaze outside.

you hummed, thinking back to your very eventful past visits to your aunt's place for vacation.

"yeah. i have family here, that's where i'm staying for college." you said. "i've gone over a bunch of times for the holidays."

the girl next to you stayed quiet, still staring outside. the plane started to tilt up, and you could see hanni bite her lip. as the aircraft gained elevation, going higher and higher, her eyes grew shut and her face scrunched up.

then her hand flew to yours, clasping yours with an almost crushing grip, eliciting a slight wince from you.

"hanni...?"

her eyes remained tightly shut as she stuttered out a response. "so-sorry! i'm a bit... afraid. of- of planes."

you felt the plane make a sharp tilt to the right, and the left, and hanni's grip only intensified.

"no matter how many times, i- i fly... it doesn't seem to get any better... i'm sorry," she mumbled. if you weren't craning your head to listen, you wouldn't have caught half of what she was saying, considering she was trying to focus on containing her fear.

her hold on you loosened, almost as if she was ashamed, but you only responded by firmly squeezing her hand back. if she's scared, then you should comfort her, right? it's only the right thing to do.

the action caused her to whip her head towards you, her gaze darting between your hand tightly grasping hers and your face. this went on for a few seconds, your concern for the girl growing as the moment stretched on. you watched her closely, noticing the furrow in her brow and the tension in her soft features.

when she finally stopped at your face, you offered her a comforting smile. she blinked a few times, widening her eyes, and reciprocating the gesture.

the plane started to stabilize in the air, letting hanni's anxiety simmer down while you rubbed soothing circles into her palm. it seemed to help, since her shoulders visibly relaxed as she took deep breaths, flashing a grateful smile to you. despite the plane now flying steadily, you never let go of her hand, continuing to offer a sense of solace in case the girl's anxiety spiked.

after around 10 minutes (you didn't really know, your watch was in your bag and you still hadn't let go of hanni's hand) a flight attendant started making her first round down the aisle for drinks and biscuits. as she reached your row, her cheeks raised up in a cooing smile, her gaze clearly lingering on you and hanni's now-intertwined hands.

"aren't you two just the cutest couple," she remarked, her smile widening.

hanni's cheeks flushed, and she quickly shook her head, stammering, "oh, no, i'm, we're not-"

before she could deny the attendant's assumptions, though, you swiftly interjected, flashing a grateful smile to the attendant. "thank you. we'll have a cup of water," you glanced at hanni, thinking for a moment, "and some hot tea."

the attendant gladly poured your refreshments, sending you a "hwaiting!" gesture before moving on to the next row.

"i'm so sorry," you turned to hanni, releasing her hand. a wave of disappointment hit you at the loss of hanni's warmth. she seemed to share the feeling, although you didn't notice.

"it's fine. it would've been embarrassing for all three of us, anyway."

"yeah..."

the two of you turned away from each other, blushes overtaking your features.

'the thought of dating her doesn't seem so bad.'

it had been about an hour and a half since takeoff. you texted some of your friends, who checked in on you frequently, asking things like 'are you dead' or 'did the plane crash yet', to which you replied 'not yet sadly' or something similar. you were doodling random cats in your notes app in between texts.

to your left, hanni had pulled out a book, seeming invested in the pages filled with words of plot. she was almost at the end, you noticed—there were only a few pages left.

a few more minutes passed, and the girl closed the book with a content sigh. after tucking the book safely into her carry-on bag, she peeked around her, her eyes landing on you, scanning your features.

"hey, how'd you get this scar on your cheek?"

you felt a poke on your upper cheekbone, hanni's finger pressing lightly on the tender patch of skin. you brought your hand up to your face to touch the already fading scar, and tried to remember which incident it was from.

"i think it's from when i jumped out one of the school windows," you answered, turning to look at hanni.

"oh," she replied, then raised her eyebrow. "wait, what? you jumped out the window?"

you scratched your neck, feeling embarrassed. 'she's definitely gonna be scared away after i tell her,' you thought ruefully. glancing over to hanni, you quickly realized you weren't going to get away with not telling her the backstory of the scar.

you sighed. "it's not that interesting, i mean..."

the girl beside you watched with expectant eyes, eagerly awaiting your next words. you pondered, wondering if you should really tell her.

"i set off some firecrackers on the school roof, and they found out it was me not even five minutes later," you explained, "i sped down the stairs and hid in some cleaning closet. but they somehow knew i was in there, so i had to jump out the window and run home before they caught me."

a few beats of silence followed, your self consciousness catching up to you as the tip of your ears flushed bright red. when you sneaked a glance to your left, you saw hanni's mouth agape.

"wow," she blinked. "that's insane."

"i know."

you rubbed your elbow, fidgeting with the fabric of your sleeve. 'she's definitely weirded out. see, y/n, this is why girls never-'

"but you're okay, right?"

'huh?' you thought to yourself, then facing hanni. she had a worried smile on her face, head tilted to the side. your cheeks burned. you couldn't win against pretty girls.

"oh. yeah, i am. i just landed in a bush, and a branch scratched me."

she nodded, scanning your features. aside from the one on your cheek, there were a few other minor scars on your face, from similar events, although those were more hidden. there were a lot of them around your body too, from burn marks to scratches and cuts.

"what's this one from, then?" she pointed under your ear, where a small scar from a healed cut laid.

"this one? it's kind of recent. i was trying to make an outline of myself with throwing darts, but my friend had terrible aim. it grazed my neck."

hanni winced, cringing as she imagined how that felt for you. "yikes."

she thought for a moment, a memory resurfacing at the mention of darts.

"that reminds me, there was a time me and my friends were playing darts, but we all kept missing the board," she smiled, reminiscing on the past moment. "we hit everything in the house but the dartboard."

you smiled as well, finding humor in the similarities between you and hanni's experiences. well, except for the fact that your friend was supposed to miss you, the target.

"what did your parents say?" you asked, genuinely curious. your parents usually restricted your actions, like not letting you go out after school or supervising your purchases, but ultimately let you off the hook in the end. you thanked them for that mentally, albeit feeling a tad guilty for being spoiled.

she tapped her chin. "they just scolded us and told us not to do it again. and we had to clean up our mess—there were a bunch of darts on the ground, and things that fell because of the darts."

you laughed, finding her memory relatable. there were countless times you were made to clean up your messes, although you didn't exactly learn from your "mistakes." (you considered them "happy accidents," as bob ross said. alas, your peers, relatives, and teachers alike, disagreed.)

"how did your parents react to your injuries?" hanni questioned, her expression softening.

"well..."

you and hanni started getting to know each other better, warm and lively conversation filling the air. you learned that she was raised in melbourne, and that both of her parents were vietnamese. she had two dogs and a younger sister, and she played a variety of instruments.

you told her about some other incidents, to which she was amused by, and touched lightly on the awards you've received for your paintings.

topics shifted constantly, the two of you seeming not to run out of things to talk about. with debates on something as trivial as which juice flavor was better, more memories from your childhood came flooding back, the two of you sharing your experiences and bonding over them.

'this is nice,' you thought, a glimmer of hope rising. 'maybe, things will go well this time.'

from: 🆕👖 (soon) meanjee 🐻 hanni are you on the plane? kitty kang 😾 did you bring the tim tams dani ☀ omg did you get tim tams for us 🥺🥺 you yes dw i also made a friend meanjee 🐻 who dont lie 🤣😂 you excuse me her names y/n shes an artist guys shes so cute 😭 we kept bumping into each other and guess what kitty kang 😾 you tripped over yourself? dani ☀ you asked her out!? you (replied to kitty kang 😾: you tripped...) ↪ do you want the tim tams or not kitty kang. (replied to dani ☀: you asked her...) ↪ NO we just met but i was TRYING to say that we bumped into each other accidentally like 3 times and we're on the same flight and sit next to each other dani ☀ it's destiny!! meanjee 🐻 i never thought i'd see the day hanni having luck in girls 💀 you WOW im js gna ignore that. remember my fear of flying? she held my hand the whole time bc she saw i was scared :(( shes js so AUGH :] i think she likes me too kitty kang 😾 she has more game than you im glad she could comfort you though dani ☀ AWW that's so cute you two are so cute i wanna meet her! you maybe if things go well with her hyeinie THE BEST MAKN😎E hiii whats going on (replied to you: excuse me her names...) ↪ wait did u say y/n?? you yeah why? hyeinie THE BEST MAKN😎E um actually its nothing i have to help mom with cooking bye unnies!! you ???

hanni stared at your hand, which was holding out an earbud, in confusion. she tilted her head.

"ah, sorry. do you want to listen to something with me? you can choose the song," you smiled, showing your phone screen which displayed the spotify search menu. (you made sure that it stayed on the search bar and not showing one of your many embarrassing playlist names.)

her eyebrows raised, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes as she processed your words. you swallowed nervously, about to retract your hand until she took the earbud from your hold, her hands brushing against yours briefly.

"sure," she agreed, then reaching for the device from your other, outstretched palm. "do you like daniel caesar?"

your bangs fell over your face as you nodded eagerly, blocking your vision. you moved to tuck your hair behind your ear, though hanni beat you to it, her cold hands contrasting with your now-burning-red ears.

hanni cleared her throat with a quiet cough, breaking into a smile shortly after. the two of you listened to the melody of the song that was being played into your shared earbuds, hanni occasionally humming along.

"and i'd love to make you mine," she softly sang, her gentle voice filling your ears. she sounded like cotton candy, so sweet, like honey drizzled over warm toast on a sunny afternoon. each word that she sang sent you into bliss, arrows of cupid piercing your heart. 'maybe,' you thought, 'just maybe. i'll ask her out on a date by the end of this flight.'

the last few seconds of the song faded out and started playing whatever was recommended by your spotify (which was a wave to earth song) but you couldn't pay attention as you found yourself replaying hanni's singing in your head.

noticing your furrowed eyebrows and your dazed look, hanni nudged your shoulder. "sorry, was i too loud? i tend to sing along sometimes; it's always been a habit of mine."

you widened your eyes, shaking your head no. "no, you're fine! i think your singing is quite nice, actually. you have," you blushed, "a very pretty voice."

her cheeks lifted into a closed smile, sending a flutter through your chest. you took a few deep breaths, trying to calm your thumping heart. at least you didn't panic at everything she did, unlike the past 10? 20? times she did so much as smile.

"thank you," she giggled, leaning her head on yours. deep breaths were not going to help in your situation, since it seemed to get even worse for your heart every time. instead, you focused on the song playing in your ear, and the rise and fall of hanni's chest. it wasn't too long after the next song started when you started hearing small snores next to you.

'ah,' you thought. 'she must've been tired.'

moving her head to sit more comfortably on your shoulder, you brushed her bangs out of her face, unconsciously smiling at how peaceful she looked asleep. you adjusted the jacket that was laid over both of your laps to cover more of her legs instead of yours, slightly shivering as you instantly felt the cold from the cabin aircon replacing the warmth from hanni’s fleece jacket.

‘oh, well.’

you rested your head on top of hers, sarah kang’s once in a moon quietly playing into your shared earbuds, and you let yourself slowly drift off to join hanni in dreamland.

"mmph..."

you groaned as you rubbed your eyes sleepily. your neck was stiff, your shoulder was sore, and you had 12 different cramps in your legs from your uncomfortable position in the airplane seat.

hanni shifted on your shoulder, and you panicked, thinking you might've woken her up from your stretching. thankfully, her soft snores continued after a few moments.

you sighed in relief. you would've felt insanely guilty if you ended up waking her.

stretching your shoulders back, (though still careful not to wake the sleeping girl leaning on you) you reached into your backpack under the seat in front of you, and pulled out your sketchbook.

the thing itself was around a year old. over that year, you'd nearly filled it to the brim with dozens of drawings, including ones you drew on buses, trains, at parks, in history class, on your bed, everywhere. similarly, you kept a sketchbook for each year prior to the one currently in your hand. it was almost time to retire this one; you only had about 3 pages left.

taking a small pen out from your wallet, you pressed the fine tip to the smooth beige paper, soon letting your arm move freely across the page, sketching things you could see around you—the overhead aircon, someone's paper cup of water from the recent beverage round sitting on their tray table, and...

you looked to hanni, then back to your sketchbook. you'd subconsciously started drawing hanni while looking around your surroundings (or, lack thereof). although it was quite difficult to get a decent look of her features as a whole, you managed to sketch out the way her bangs framed her face, the curve of her eyelashes, and her mouth slightly ajar.

the people around you must've thought you were crazy watching you try to lean forward to look at hanni, while also trying to keep your movements minimal as to not wake her. but that was okay. people back home already saw you as crazy when you did anything, especially after the wheelie incident, which you didn't want to think about.

after finishing the initial sketch, your hand appeared to have a mind of its own, because it moved to the next page over and started doodling more of hanni. you squinted your eyes, trying to remember what she looked like when she bumped into you, when she sat across from you at the cafe, and when she was sipping from the cup of tea you called for her a few hours ago.

the page was filled with hanni's face in the blink of an eye. you didn't know how it happened, but it would be really embarrassing if said girl woke up and saw this right now.

"mmm..."

...why didn't anything go your way?

you flipped back to the page full of doodles of the cabin before she could see anything, covering the page with your sleeve. you tensed your shoulders in nervousness, quietly clearing your throat.

"sleep well, hanni?"

hanni's lips upturned into a sleepy smile (you screamed a little mentally at her cuteness) and she nodded, giving you a thumbs up.

"thanks for letting me use you as a pillow," she said, rubbing your numb shoulder.

you laughed to yourself, mostly because you couldn't feel your shoulder as hanni touched it. "it's no problem. i wasn't going to let you have neck cramps from leaning on the wall."

she nodded again, stretching out her muscles and letting out a big yawn. her eyes shifted back towards you and down at your lap, where you placed your sketchbook.

"what's that?"

a bead of cold sweat rolled down your forehead, and you gulped. what if she was creeped out at your drawings of her? then, your mind wandered to the moments you shared just earlier, and you thought, 'there's no way hanni would act like that.'

you shyly uncovered the page, passing the book to the girl, watching intently as she pored over the details that you'd meticulously drawn. her mouth gaped in astonishment, in awe of your ability to capture the scene around you.

she turned her head towards you, eyes sparkling. "this is amazing, y/n!"

you bashfully scratched your neck, giving her a sheepish smile.

"it's nothing, really," you tried to say, but her attention was already on the next page.

"this is... me?"

crap.

"um, yeah. it is. there's not much to see from our seats, so i ended up drawing mostly you," you tried to defend, hoping she wouldn't take your actions badly. "you're also, very," you cleared your throat, blushing, "pretty. very... pretty, yeah."

she grinned, cheeks dusted pink, and trailed her hand down the page, tracing over the soft features—her features—that you'd effortlessly drawn as she slept.

"can i keep it?" she asked, looking into your eyes for approval.

shrinking back from the unexpected eye contact, you gulped and nodded. you were thinking about giving it to her anyway.

"yes. i'd love to give it to you, as something to remember me by, haha."

after you finished your sentence, you gently grabbed the sketchbook from hanni's already offering hands, and left your signature on it. the ripping sound of the book hummed as you removed the page from the confines of the spiral spine, handing it to your seatmate.

her grin grew wider as she accepted the paper. "thank you so much, seriously. this is so cool!"

"it's no problem," you laughed, tipping your invisible hat to her.

the flight intercom beeped.

"hello, this is your pilot speaking. we have arrived in incheon, local time is 10:42 pm. please make sure your seatbelt is secured and your seat trays and window blinds are up, and also unplug any devices you may have. enjoy your stay in korea and have a good night."

hanni, who just tucked your drawing into her bag, looked over to you with surprised eyes. "it's the end already? i swear we've just been here for like, 3 hours."

you were shocked too, your eyebrows raised. "i know, right? but i guess we did spend a lot of it sleeping."

"yeah, you're right," she giggled.

you took a deep breath, not knowing what to say. "it was, um... really nice getting to know you. i know it was weird seeing each other so much in a day by chance," you said, "and uh, if you'd like, we could, um, go out on a date sometime?"

a scarlet blush overtook your face, and you think the people behind and in front of you must've heard you say that because you heard a gasp or two from your surroundings.

hanni's face was terribly red as well, and it made you feel a little better knowing you weren't having one-sided feelings.

"o-okay. deal."

the rest of the time spent after that was a blur to you, and it took you until you sat down on hyein's living room couch that you forgot to give hanni your number.

holy shit, y/n. you asked a girl out on a date. and after spending basically the whole day together, you forgot to exchange contact info with her? this was on a whole new level of sick and twisted, even for you.

"we're home!" a gruff voice called, followed by the sound of the heavy door closing, and the sound of excited footsteps followed, rushing in your direction.

a minute later, you got tackled by a very hyper hyein.

"unnie! unnie, you're here!"

her hold on you was incredibly tight. you don't think you could squeeze out even if you wanted to. nonetheless, you returned the embrace, patting her on the back and nuzzling your nose into her messy hair.

"hey, hyeinie. i missed you," you murmured, moving your hand up to card through her dark brown locks.

your younger cousin's eyes sparkled, and she broke out into a huge grin. you felt yourself being squeezed even tighter, before you coughed and wheezed out, "can't- breathe."

your uncle gently separated hyein from you, and you stood up so you could bow and give him a hug.

"welcome back, y/n!" he laughed, giving you a rough slap on the back which made you stumble a little.

your uncle was a warmhearted man, much like your father, even though they weren't blood-related. you didn't exactly know what he worked as, but he was always dressed to the nines whenever he went out, regardless of the occasion.

"i'm glad to be back. i'll be staying for a while, too," you added.

turning and smiling at hyein, you ruffled her hair, making her stand up and do it back to you. thankfully, you dodged in time. wait, did you shrink? or...

"hyein, you got taller again!" you exclaimed. last christmas, she was at about your height; a little above average, a solid 5'6. but looking at her now, she was probably around 5'7, almost as tall as her dad.

the younger girl blinked, staring wide-eyed at you. she slid her hand from the top of her head to the empty space above yours. being honest, the difference wasn't all that much, but your brow twitched at having to even slightly flicker your eyes up to make eye contact.

"did i?"

this was starting to irk you. you knew that hyein just realized this was something she could hold against you, and that was the last thing you wanted to happen.

defeatedly, you sighed.

"dinner is ready!" your aunt called from the kitchen. your eyes lit up as the scent of your favorite kimchi-jjigae wafted through the air. bless your aunt's soul.

you slowly turned to your cousin, a glint in your eye.

"last one there is a rotten egg."

and then, chaos.

"y/n, you haven't been here in a while. now that you're here to stay, would you like to do anything in korea?"

you adjusted the bandaid on your knee, and hissed as hyein pressed on the bruise just below it. of course, you hurt yourself while trying to race the younger lee to the dining room.

snapping your eyes to your aunt, who was setting the pot of stew in the middle of the dining table, you tried to think of something you've never had a chance to do. but you've been to korea countless times before, and you'd always gotten to do something new. it'd been around a year since you last came, since your relatives came to you for christmas 7 months ago.

"i guess... just walking around like a local? going to a café, walking around the city. and..." you bit your lip, struggling to remember the name of the theme park that was so famous.

"oh!" you snapped your fingers, "lotte world!"

hyein's hand twitched. one glance at her, and you could see that she was practically buzzing with excitement. she looked as if she was about to bounce off the walls like a pinball. you pinched her arm, causing her to yelp.

"lotte world! that sounds fun," your uncle commented, "i wish i could join. work's been busy lately."

your aunt laughed, "me too! but y/n," she shot you a stern look, "don't go causing trouble for people. i don't want to see you on the news for the wrong reasons."

'that's very encouraging and totally non-threatening!' you shivered. still, her words only tempted you. knowing you, it wouldn't be long into the school year before you were a known figure on campus.

portions of the stew were distributed to everyone's bowl, and you licked your lips. you didn't have anything on the plane, since you'd slept through most of it and missed the in-flight meal.

"thank you for the food," you said, before bringing a spoonful of the stew to your lips.

with that single bite, you think you've ascended to heaven and above. you wolfed down the rest of the food, eating like you hadn't eaten in a week (which you felt like you didn't) and before you knew it, you'd finished your dinner. seeing this, hyein also tried to finish her food quickly, but was stopped by your aunt.

taking a few swigs of water, you looked to your aunt, who watched you in bewilderment. "auntie, that was so good. seriously, that was soooo good. can i have seconds?"

everyone at the table broke out into a fit of laughter.

"of course, y/n."

as dinner went on, and you caught up with hyein and her parents, everyone had finished their serving, and you, your third serving. you tried to help your aunt with the dishes, but she just shooed you away to you and hyein's shared room.

despite already having been in the bedroom to drop off your luggage, you let your cousin lead you to it. it was very spacious, having enough room to hold a sizable tv that you could watch netflix on from the bed, and enough room to walk around comfortably. hyein's desk was messy, as always. it was filled with school papers, colored pencils and highlighters, and a book you got her the last time you visited.

speaking of the bed, it had been replaced by a very charming bunk bed, complete with fluffy white comforters and a surprisingly stable ladder. you already claimed the bottom bunk as yours, your phone laying on the plush pillow.

"tada!" hyein presented to you, doing jazz hands towards the bed. "i know you've already seen it, but try laying in it! it's pretty comfy for a bunk bed."

following her suggestion, you went ahead and sat yourself on the bed, immediately sighing in content. moving your phone so you could lay down, you swung your legs over the bedframe so you could soak in the comforting feeling of the bed. the mattress was fairly soft, perfect for your strange sleeping positions. you flashed an upraised thumb to hyein, who grinned triumphantly.

she puffed up her cheeks. "see?"

"i do see, hyeinie," you said, reaching for your backpack, "before i forget..."

the younger lee gasped at the sight of the matching kangeroo plush keychains, even though she'd already seen them over text. one was purple, her favorite color, and the other, blue. attached to their hands were small magnets, which would allow them to connect together.

she squealed, holding the purple one to her chest. "they're so cute! i love it, thank you y/n-unnie."

you were, once again, brought into a soul-crushing hug. 'at least hyein is happy.'

10 minutes later and you and hyein were now wrapped up in a fiery race of mario kart. you had successfully hooked up your switch to the tv just a bit ago, and of course you had to compete with her in your shared favorite game. it was a tradition for the two of you to play through at least two rounds of the grand prix mode, usually playing for the special cup for one of the rounds.

a hand covered your field of vision, and you batted it away, groaning at your little cousin. "stop, i was winning!"

she cheekily stuck out her tongue, swiftly overtaking you in the race. you cursed whoever picked the mushroom cup (you did) because the piranha plants in sweet sweet canyon were beating your ass, and your rank just kept dropping after hyein rudely interrupted your groove with her hand.

"ahhh..." you sighed as a bot passed you on the second lap. setting the cpu level at the maximum was a mistake. hastily, you collected the power up block, your eyes lighting up seeing the formidable blue shell on the dice roll. spotting the shortcut, you performed a sharp-angled drift that you were only able to do after years of perfecting the technique, and expertly boosted yourself to catch yourself up to 4th place.

it appeared that hyein was too focused on smoothly driving through the track, so she didn't notice your newly-acquired trump card. you smirked. 'she won't see it coming,' you mischievously thought.

it was now the third lap. you were saving the shell for right before the finish line, and you were currently in a solid 3rd place, with hyein in 1st and a bot in front of you.

the younger lee glanced at your side of the screen and widened her eyes. 'did she just now notice i had the blue shell?'

"unnie! you can't! i'm so close to winning!" she shouted. the finish line was nearly in sight. the bot slipped on a banana peel and your smile only widened as you watched the flailing animation while passing by. hyein tried kicking you to distract you, but it was no use. you had already thrown the power up that would help you win the race.

"checkmate," you smugly said as you patted hyein's back. the girl was watching the finish screen in despair, gripping her controller tightly in annoyance.

she slowly turned to you, a menacingly determined look on her face. "i'll win the next one. it's thwomp ruins, you suck at thwomp ruins."

damn it. she was right.

hyein ended up winning the next race, as she declared. you always had trouble avoiding the obstacles on the track, much to your dismay. with that win, she also won the cup, because she also won the first two races. you blamed it on the jetlag.

(when you awoke, you felt a heavy weight on your chest. you blinked, barely making out the image of hyein laying on you, softly snoring. you checked your phone. 5:12 am. well, whatever. it was too early to think about anything. gently combing your fingers through her hair, you fell back asleep.)

“y/n?”

the door to your shared bedroom creaked open, and you shoved the covers over your face. 

“y/n, it’s 11:30, wake up,” the voice called.

slowly, you peeked from under the comforter that was very much doing its job at keeping you comfortable, to see your aunt standing in the doorway with a ladle. reluctantly, you climbed out of bed.

"morning, auntie," you mumbled as you rubbed your eyes, making your way to the bedroom door.

she stepped aside to let you exit the room. "good morning, sleepyhead."

you spent a few minutes to brush your teeth and wash your face in the bathroom before coming out to the living room. the house was eerily quiet without the presence of your uncle and hyein.

...wait, where's hyein?

looking around suspiciously, you still found no trace of the younger girl in the house. she was gone when you woke up, too. where could she have gone? it was summer break, and hyein was barely entering high school.

coughing, you asked your aunt, "um, where's hyein gone?"

"oh, she's at the company. she has practice today, didn't she tell you?"

"what practice?"

"...dance practice? vocal lessons? she's debuting this month, remember?"

debut... dance... vocal... that rings a bell...

'wait, what the fuck? is hyein a kpop idol?'

your heart beat faster at the revelation. hyein? your cute little cousin who you swore had just graduated from elementary school two years ago? you knew she took dance lessons, and her other activities that came to a halt last year, but... debut? she was still a kid! and it sounded like this debut was serious, the real next step in her career.

your emotions were all jumbled up upon thinking more on the matter. why didn't she tell you?

"y/n? hey, how about you eat now," she placed a bowl in front of you, "and maybe later you can talk to hyein about it. don't worry until then."

"easier said than done," you replied, digging into the rice with your spoon. but she was right. you could talk to hyein later; you still had to unpack your bags.

breakfast tasted dry and bland, even though you were sure your aunt cooked it with perfection and love in mind. there were just too many thoughts in your mind.

putting your finished bowl in the sink and washing it, you shuffled back into you and hyein's room, intending to tidy up the space and also set your things down. this was where you'd be living for the next four or more years, after all.

this bedroom brought back memories. what used to be a guest room that five-year-old you would sleep in during the holidays, was now turned into your dear little cousin's haven of comfort. from the moment she was born, you've adored her—it was like having a little sibling, since you were an only child. the guest room was more lively, more full of energy with hyein there.

as she grew up, there were times where she, of course, kicked you out of the room, because it was 'too embarrassing' to have her older cousin sleep in the same room with her. although you always woke up in the middle of that night to see a hyein-shaped lump on top of you. it was endearing, really, to see, to know that the girl loved you as much as you did her.

you traced your finger along the edges of the old closet in the corner of the room. there was a barely noticeable dent on the side, from when you were playing a game of operation and accidentally threw the tweezers too hard in a fit of rage.

a piece of duct tape you'd painted white that was stuck onto it for a good week, because that was the best that a 14-year-old and a 9-year-old could think of. your mom and auntie still got mad, though.

you got to cleaning and unpacking, patiently waiting for time to pass so hyein could come home and you could talk.

dinner came and went, and you were now sitting on the bed, waiting for your cousin who was washing up in the bathroom.

"hey unnie... why are you just sitting there?"

you wordlessly patted the space next to you, your silence being an indicator that what you wanted to talk about was serious.

"why didn't you tell me you were a trainee?"

"..."

"hyein?"

she stared at her lap, guilty. "i..." she choked out, "every time you came, i was just having so much fun. and i didn't know when to tell you because i thought you would make fun of me, or something. i don't know."

hyein sniffled, and looked at you with tears streaming down her cheeks. you sighed and wiped them away with your thumb. she continued.

"and this training, i know you think it's a lot for me and it is, but my members, they make it so much fun. and i'm so close to achieving my dreams, y/n-unnie! july 22nd. that's in 20 days, i'm gonna be a real idol. topping the charts, i just, urgh-"

you brought her into a hug, rubbing her back as she sobbed into your shoulder.

"...i support you. i'm not judging you, i was just worried about you," you planted a kiss on her forehead.

"you're my baby cousin, of course i wanna protect you from the nasty entertainment industry. but... if this is what you want to do, then i'll cheer you on from debut to retirement."

she sniffled. "that's in like, a gazillion years, you're gonna be dead by then."

"shush," you pulled her back into your embrace, "let's just go to sleep."

at 6 am, you woke up with hyein sleeping soundly on your chest, again. this time, you carefully slid out of bed, brushing your teeth in the bathroom, and then sauntering over to the kitchen where your aunt was already awake and cooking breakfast.

"up so early?"

you groaned. mornings were never for you, especially since you always stayed up to paint during your spurts of inspiration.

"i talked to hyein." a pause. your aunt took a minute to wash her hands, and turned around to face you.

"and?"

"i told her i support her. and we fell asleep talking about which member of bts was the best. and now my eyes are super swollen 'cause we had a crying session right before that."

in the background, you could faintly hear the sound of rushing water. hyein must be awake.

"morning..." the younger girl walked in, rubbing her eyes.

you smiled. "good morning, hyeinie."

"woah, you're awake... you're usually passed out at this time."

"are you disappointed?"

"settle down, kids. breakfast's ready."

you ate in silence, occasionally asking for a napkin, or asking how each other's sleep went, and hyein went in to go get dressed for the day.

the sound of the garage door opening resounded throughout the house; uncle must be back from running errands.

"that's me," your cousin said. you adjusted the cap on her head.

"you're sleeping on the bottom bunk tonight, just so you know. i don't want you falling off in the morning, while i'm 'passed out'."

she slipped on her shoes, grinning widely at you. then, she set off with a skip in her step. you shook your head at the sight, giggling.

a few hours later, around noon, your aunt came into your room holding a wrapped... lunch? it looked like the ones you would get from your own mother for field trips, a boxed lunch wrapped with a cloth with a cute design on it. you paused in the middle of your painting of the view from your window. it was time to take a break, anyway.

"what's this?" you took it from her. the cloth concealed the smell pretty well, so you couldn't tell what was in it.

your aunt crossed her arms. "hyein's lunch."

okay... that's weird. why would she come in and give you hyein's lunch? wasn't she supposed to- oh. "you want me to bring it to her, don't you."

she only nodded, leaving the room right after.

hybe entertainment was a big building. like, a seriously big building. it was also weirdly pleasing to look at, but you thought that way with how the city looked in general with all those big buildings with their fully windowed walls.

hyein's manager was supposed to come get you at the lobby. it felt awkward waiting there, since it was so prim and proper compared to any other place you'd been to. you felt out of place. you were just a trainee's cousin, not some important figure in the industry. hell, you weren't even in the industry!

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) why'd mom tell me to send my manager down? are you here? to: mom's favorite child (🐣) yeah from: mom's favorite child (🐣) why???

you chose not to answer that. 'did she really forget her lunch?'

after around five minutes (and after receiving some curious looks from staff members) the manager led you to a dance(?) practice room, nodding and opening the door for you.

"unnie!" you were immediately crushed by the tall girl. you think the cramp in your spine was fixed by her intense embrace.

she gave you an excited look. "why're you here?"

you held up the box, dangling it in front of her eyes. "you forgot your lunch."

she took it from you with a straight face, but then changed the topic without saying anything else. what the...

"meet my members!" hyein stepped aside, revealing four girls who looked almost as confused as you were.

but they were all very pretty, you noted. especially that girl on the right, with the bangs. and those pretty eyes. and ah...

'oh my fucking god.'

"y/n!?"

"h-hanni!?"

you stood there in shock. out of all the places you could meet again, it was at your cousin's workplace? and, it turned out that they even worked together?

you were pulled into the practice room, and now you were sitting on a metal folding chair, in an icebreaker circle that took you back to middle school. it all happened in a blur, one second you were staring at hanni and the other you were forced into a chair by hyein. everyone else looked slightly uncomfortable as well.

"this is y/n, my older cousin!" she introduced you to the other girls. then, she pointed to them one by one.

"this is haerin-unnie." the cat-eyed girl nodded at you.

"minji-unnie." she waved, offering you a tight lipped smile.

"dani... danielle-unnie." she also waved, though with much more energy and a wider smile. cute.

"and this is hanni-unnie, but i suppose you two are acquainted already."

you ignored how hyein's posture became stiffer and how she suddenly started talking in a formal tone, like what she did when she was starting to plot something.

nonetheless, you bowed in your seat and waved. "i'm lee y/n... incoming first year at seoul national university. i'm looking to major in painting."

there was a brief period of silence, and you awkwardly traced the bruise you got two days ago through the hole in your jeans.

danielle(?) started clapping, the other members (including hyein) following suit.

"can we see some of your works?" she excitedly asked. you, once again, found it hard to resist a pretty girl.

"yeah, for sure!" fishing your phone out of your pocket, you pulled up the album titled 'finished paintings' and chose a landscape painting of the blue mountains which you did on a short vacation to newcastle in march. you used the pictures your dad took on his professional camera as reference, and it ended up being one of your best projects in your portfolio.

you tilted your phone horizontally so they could see the full piece, chest swelling with pride when their faces lit up with wonder.

"it's beautiful," minji commented, her eyes trailing from your phone screen to you. you blushed at the sudden eye contact.

danielle loudly gasped, shaking hanni back and forth. "oh my gosh, it's the blue mountains!"

another aussie?

"yeah, went there during a trip to newcastle," you replied in english. the girl's eyes seemed to light up even more, if that was possible. her smile became so blinding that you felt you had to shield your eyes.

"newcastle!" she pointed to herself, "that's where i'm from!"

"really? it's so pretty there, especially by the beaches," you said. "i wish i could go back and paint the views."

your stomach growled. right... you hadn't eaten since way earlier in the morning. you scratched your neck in embarrassment when haerin and hyein started giggling.

"have you girls had lunch yet?"

at seeing their heads shake 'no', you stood up and stretched your arms back. "wanna go eat something? it's my treat," you suggested. "i think i saw a tonkatsu restaurant on the way here."

the cat eyed girl, haerin, made a sound akin to the squeak of a cat (ironically) and tugged on minji's sleeve. she whispered in the girl's ear, and minji turned to look at danielle and hanni for approval.

"fine with us," she affirmed, sending you a gummy smile. "i'll tell our manager."

hyein poked your shoulder. "what about my lunch?"

"uh... we can watch something tonight and you can eat it then, i guess. i won't tell your mom?"

"deal!"

[hybe -> new area unlocked: tonkatsu restaurant]

the seating arrangement went as follows: haerin, hyein, and danielle on one side of the booth, and minji, you, and hanni on the other side. you mentally braced yourself for kicks from hyein, but your heart also sped up at being next to hanni again.

the group made their orders, you prepared to empty your wallet, and were now engaging in conversation with danielle and hanni. next to you, hyein, minji, and haerin were having a separate conversation—something about sparklers and filming.

"so, danielle," you started, folding a napkin into an unlimited amount of halves. she interrupted you before you could continue, smiling, "you can just call me dani! i find being called my full name a bit... you know."

you nodded in understanding. "dani, so you're australian too? must be nice to have a fellow aussie in your group," you nudged the girl sitting on your right. she nudged you back, but her hand made its way to yours under the table. you tried your best not to freak out.

"yep! speaking of which," danielle pointed between you and the 'fellow aussie'. "how do you two know each other? there was that whole thing when we first saw you and everything."

by now, the other three girls have tuned into your conversation. it seemed that they too, were curious.

the vietnamese was the first to explain. "we met at the airport, after i visited my family. we bumped into each other like, three times before finding out we also sat next to each other on the same flight."

minji raised an eyebrow, "wait, this is the y/n you were talking about?"

hanni looked to the side and tucked her hand behind her ear. she was talking about you?

you gave her hand a squeeze, causing her to look down at your now-intertwined fingers. when did that happen?

across the table, hyein eyed you suspiciously.

thankfully, the food came and you enjoyed your lunch, which sufficiently tamed your prior hunger that led up to this situation. you recounted more of you and hanni's first meeting, but the more you talked the more it felt like you were introducing yourself as her girlfriend.

"wow, is that why you left me on read?"

you snorted. "no, i just wanted to annoy you."

hyein kicked you under the table. you made a mental note to check your foot for another bruise later.

"to be honest," you said to the group after you finished your last bite, directing everyone's attention to yourself. "i didn't think i'd end up spending the afternoon with soon-to-be idols."

next to you, minji laughed. it tickled your brain, the way her deep voice was so sooth and calming.

"i don't think anyone here expected to spend the afternoon dining with our youngest's relative."

you laughed along with her, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "but i mean, we'll probably be seeing each other often. i'd love to get to know all of you."

the girls made noises of agreement, either nodding or approving verbally, and soon everyone was done eating. you paid the bill (rest in peace, wallet) and when you came back from the counter, hanni, danielle, and haerin are gone.

"they went to use the restroom," minji informed. you made an 'ahh' expression and gave an 'ok' gesture, and made to sit down to wait for the three. hyein stared at you and minji.

"i think you're really cool, y/n."

you almost did a spit-take with your glass of water. that caught you way off guard. what are you supposed to that?

"...and i was just wondering, could i get your number?"

you blinked. minji blinked. and out of the corner of your eye, you could see that hyein also blinked.

but... who would turn down an offer from a(nother) pretty girl? not you.

so obviously you punched in your digits onto the girl's phone, saving yourself as 'y/n 🎨' and by the time you were done, the rest of the group had returned to the table.

when you and the girls arrived at the company, minji left with a wink toward your direction, danielle and hyein hugged you goodbye, and haerin waved at you. only hanni was left, but both of you were reluctant to go.

"i hung the sketches up in my dorm room."

your eyes slightly widened. "really? i'm glad you like them. it's embarrassing, but you're sort of turning into my muse."

you coughed as to hide your scorching blush. hanni giggled, her cheeks also tinted red.

danielle called for her from the entrance, and you both looked to the building.

"i should go."

"yeah... oh, here." you handed her a torn piece of napkin paper with your number written on it. "my number, 'cause my dumb ass forgot to give it to you earlier."

she pocketed it and sent you an eye smile, before waving and turning around to catch up with her group members.

score!

one week later and you and minji became quick friends. she was funny, very dry but very funny. and you were too shy to text hanni much despite your show of confidence when you gave her your number.

you also hung out with the oldest member a lot. just the other day, you went to the mall with her and got frozen yogurt, and since the day you met her you've been texting every night. though not as much as you did with minji, of course you hung out with the other girls too, like when you visited the company a second and third time. (coincidentally, it was because hyein had forgotten her lunch, again)

you actually just got back from visiting minji at the dorm. it was your first time there, and you mostly just stayed in her room after being given a tour. (you ignored the disappointment in your heart after finding out hanni had a schedule, and wasn't at home)

hyein already had some of her things moved to her dorm room, but she was allowed a few more days at home until she had to stay there long-term. but lately, you've been noticing her staring at you. it often happened when you were texting or hanging out with minji. you would just see the younger girl stand in the corner of the room, 'distracted' with her phone as soon as you turned to look at her.

you were resting on your bed when the door burst open. startled, you sat bolt upright and turned your attention to whoever rudely interrupted your peaceful hour of doom-scrolling.

"unnie, do you like minji-unnie?"

"what the fu-" you stopped yourself. auntie would scold you if you slipped up in front of her kid. "no! what!?"

"oh." she sat herself next to you on the bed. "but you talk to her all the time. it's like you don't even like hanni-unnie anymore!"

it took you a second to process the younger girl's words until you exploded into a blushing mess. "how- how did you know i like hanni?"

"it's way too obvious," she shrugged.

hyein left the room, leaving you confused, until she came back in with a rolling whiteboard. where did she even get that?

you watched as she wrote on the board with a pink marker. 'operation... confess... to...' wow. you didn't like where this was going. at all. why should you confess? shouldn't she be focused on debuting? you wouldn't want to be a distraction to her. and you're pretty sure she didn't like you like that.

hyein put a bullet point under the heading, the marker squeaking as the ink dried within a second.

you frowned. "i don't think i should confess, hyein. you can put the board away."

she looked disheartened for a moment, but shook it off and faced you. "i'm like, 95% sure she likes you back. she doesn't shut up about you when she's alone in her room. i don't think she knows that we can hear her talking to herself."

choosing to keep quiet, you laid back into bed and covered your face with a pillow. that was a matter to think about later, and it was hard to stop hyein once she'd started.

"let's see... hey, pay attention; this is for everyone's sake!" the pillow was snatched from your hands. you groaned and sat up. guess it wouldn't hurt to at least hear her out. "you should do something to catch her attention."

you scoffed. "like what?"

she finished drawing two stickfigures (you and hanni, presumably) holding hands with an obnoxious amount of hearts surrounding them, and rested her hand on her hip. "you could... mysteriously take her away after one of her schedules?"

"absolutely not! that's kidnapping."

she crossed the prompt off the list. "take her on a romantic tour around the city with a rented double decker bus?"

"i don't have money for that..."

"you don't have to pay for a driver, can't you drive?" hyein pouted.

you sighed. "what's the point of renting it for her then? also, hasn't she been here long enough to know the city? plus, i don't have a korean driver's license yet."

another prompt was crossed off the list, and you waited patiently as hyein thought of another idea.

"you know, the other day..." you blinked, and now she was in front of you. 'oh god.'

a wide grin spread on her face, and you paled. "i saw some window cleaners the other day. they looked like spiderman."

"hyein..."

"and like, that's so cool! you could do that. we could get a harness from that store down the street..."

"hyein, please."

"and a rope from there, too."

"but-"

"don't you want to catch her eye?"

it was tempting. it'd been so long (christmas) since you've done something fun (insane) and hyein knew just how to push your buttons.

...damn this kid.

from: hany/n supporters mom's favorite child (🐣) added you, haerin, and mj to the group. mom's favorite child (🐣) heyy 😍 you what is this 🙁 mj ^ haerin ^ mom's favorite child (🐣) planning for hany/n to succeed also dani unnie isnt here bc she cant keep a secret mj oh finally mom's favorite child (🐣) updates will be here 😈

over the next few days, you'd been spending more time at the newjeans dorm, discussing the "plan" in depth with minji, haerin, and hyein. whenever danielle and, you smiled, hanni, dropped by, you always just changed the topic and let them join the circle, leaving the discussion to be finished in the groupchat or the next day.

but hanni's schedules had slowed down, and she was at home more often. on the other hand, it was haerin and hyein's turn to be busy, leading to you and minji hanging out on your own.

it was clear that you and the taller girl had grown way closer since your first encounter, to the point that you could joke around with her with no repercussions or shame. this year's sketchbook was a gift from minji, and the first few pages were drawings of her as a show of courtesy from you.

minji was slowly becoming your best friend since moving to korea long-term. back in australia, you didn't have a best friend, just some people that would tolerate and get along with you. but you could really connect with the stupidly tall girl that reminded you of a bear.

naturally, neither you nor minji didn't think that hanni would pay any mind to your blooming friendship.

according to minji three days later, you were wrong.

"this is giving me deja vu," you grinned at hyein, who was currently fastening the straps of your climbing harness bought from the sports shop close to hyein's home.

she rolled her eyes, tapping your helmet. this time, there would (hopefully) be no injuries. or splinters... you hated splinters.

"i'm gonna go back to them, i'll let you know where we are so you can drop down with your," she gestured to the piece of cardstock which you decorated last night, "poster."

the ropes were checked for secureness for a seventh time, and you were assisted with being lowered down the side of the building before hyein descended the stairs and to the elevator which would take her to the second floor.

[||] hanni

"what's up with you and y/n?" hanni questioned minji. it's not like she was jealous, or anything. not of how minji got close to you faster than she did, and hanni was the one to spend a whole day with you, alone, with no interruptions before they even found out you were connected. not of how she could hear the two of you laughing away at night, sometimes even including hyein and haerin in your little hanging out sessions. not of how you flashed minji, not her, minji, your signature smile which made her heart go ten times faster, because she had gifted you with a new sketchbook to replace last year's.

okay, maybe she was jealous. just a little bit.

but it didn't help how you called her 'mj' so naturally, like you'd known her for years before. or how you always snuck off or changed the topic whenever hanni appeared, acting like you were talking about something else even though she knew you weren't.

"huh?" the taller girl stopped in front of the window at the end of one of the second floor corridors. hanni tutted, "it's like you're... you're dating! or something."

minji froze, mouth agape. that wasn't a good sign. but then she started laughing like a crazy woman, making hanni even more frustrated.

"we're not dating. i don't like anyone," she paused, a shit-eating grin slowly overtaking her face. hanni scowled. "what, were you jealous i'd steal away your c-r-u-s-h?"

she dodged hanni's punch to the shoulder, still laughing at the absurdity that was her friend's thoughts.

"but you guys are so close. and hang out all the time," hanni emphasized, making wild gestures in the air with her hands.

that would be a fair point. but to minji, letting her win would be the end of the world.

"that's because-"

"hey guys!" the sounds of three sets of footsteps became louder upon approaching the pair.

"hey, hyein. hey, haerin, danielle." minji greeted, turning to the window as if she were looking for something. haerin and hyein joined her from behind. 'what the fuck?'

"what are you guys doing?" danielle asked, trying to tiptoe to see over their shoulders. unfortunately, she couldn't get past the obstacles that were freakishly tall giants named lee hyein and kim minji.

sighing, she stepped back to face the vietnamese girl, with a pout. "oh yeah, what were you talking about? we watched you try to punch minji earlier."

"it wouldn't hurt to ask for a third opinion," she mused. "do you think there's something between y/n and minji?"

danielle's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "y/n and minji?"

"i mean... they do spend a lot of time together. but i don't think... she—minji i mean—likes y/n like that. actually, it also seems like y/n's got a different vibe to her when she's with minji, but it's not a romantic feeling-y one, you know?"

drats.

"there she is!" hyein shouted, pointing at something that hanni couldn't see from where she was.

haerin quietly dragged her by the hand to join them in looking at the thing hyein was pointing at and- was that you!?

hanging from a rope that did not look like it supported your weight, there you were, in all your glory, outside of the window holding a sign that hanni had to squint to read.

"what the heck," she pressed her hands into the glass. "why is she outside of the window? also, is that rope even secure? and," she was nudged by minji.

"read the sign, bro."

she grumbled but squinted more to make out the words on the paper. there were flowers painted onto it, with two stickfigures holding hands, and the letters written in bold...

"han, let me take U on a d8 <3" with two comically large exclamation marks following after. han? as in, her? hanni? hanni pham who you met two weeks ago? on a date? a date!

hanni was about to shout her answer until she realized you literally couldn't hear her, because there was a window separating you two, and the rope snapped.

the rope snapped! you just fell down the side of the building! what the hell!

next thing she knew she was running out the lobby and on her way to the hospital while the ambulance carried hyein and your unconscious body.

white walls. blinding lights. faint smell of disinfectant. it had been a while since the last time you landed in the hospital.

except you don't recall the absence of a cartoonish hygiene poster that was always visible immediately when you woke up. or the presence of another girl resting her head on the side of your bed topped with plain white sheets.

on the other side of the door, you could just barely hear two people conversing in korean.

that's right, you were in korea, not melbourne. and you'd fallen from the building after the rope holding you up had snapped.

you knew you were the definition of "fucked around and found out" but... holy shit, your body hurts like hell. looking down, you could see that your right leg was in a cast, and you were unable to move your upper body, feeling immense pain whenever you tried. to add on, there were many, many, bruises along your arms and from what you could see, your other, non-broken leg.

normally, your mother would barge in at this time, scolding you for doing something stupid again. but it wasn't "normally" today. a warm, wet sensation, a tear, rolled down your cheek. maybe it was the pain that finally triggered it, but it was the first time you cried since leaving your home for college.

"fuck," you murmured, lifting up your arm that wasn't occupied to wipe away the waterfall of tears that threatened to burst. in doing so, the girl holding onto your hand shifted. she scrunched her nose, wiping the sleep away from her eyes, and you could finally see her face. hanni. why was she here?

she stopped and stared at you for a moment before her eyes widened. "you're awake! you're- hold on, i'm- here's some water."

hanni helped you sit up, your upper body burning in pain, and you gulped the liquid down in seconds, gratefully handing the glass back to her.

"are you feeling okay?"

that was a good question. "i feel like shit."

she burst out in laughter, and you tried to as well, but ended up groaning in pain. damned body. you felt soothing rubs on your back from hanni, and you shot her an endearing smile. her actions made you feel all warm inside. like a cozy campfire on a cold, dark night.

"be careful," hanni chided, "you broke two of your ribs. and if you didn't know already, your leg too." that explained the extreme pain when you laughed.

you fell into a silence, getting lost in the girl's eyes before she coughed, blushing. "careful, can't have you falling before the first date."

breaking out into a dopey grin, you squeezed her hand. "i'm afraid i've already fallen."

"well then you better hurry up and get better so you can take me out on that date you promised, before you ended up here."

date? promised? the... the... what was it... you searched the depths of your sluggish mind, which was really hard considering you woke up five minutes ago.

sign. the... sign? oh, she saw it! the sign that you and hyein had stayed up making yesterday, to ask hanni out. it was a last minute thing, since you kept putting it off and forgot about it before last night.

a pair of lips pressed onto your cheek, but left as fast as they came. you snapped your head to hanni, touching the affected area with your palm.

without thinking, you surged forward and crashed your lips together, melting into a (not so) perfect kiss, but it sure felt perfect to you. hanni kissed back with even more fervor, hands tangled in your hair and leg moving in a slight crawl in an attempt to get closer to you without hurting you.

you pulled away, stupid smiles on both of your faces.

"you have no idea how long i've been wanting to do that," you said, sneaking in another peck on her lips.

"you have no idea how long i've been wanting to kiss you." she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

an idea popped up in your head after spotting your sketchbook on the table next to your hospital bed. you'd been wanting to paint her properly since the first time you drew her on the plane. "han, let me paint you. please? after i get discharged, whenever that is."

she blushed, blinking at you without saying a word. then, she pulled you into a short, but sweet kiss, and pulled away to plant a small kiss on top of your intertwined hands. you recalled minji saying something about hanni's strong distaste for kisses, but her behavior at the moment was contradicting minji's words.

"you'll have much more time to paint me, wherever, whenever you want."

you giggled, giving a squeeze to her hand. "does this mean i get sneak peeks of songs?"

"no."

"aw..."

"...maybe a little. just a little bit, because i like you so much."

you pumped your fist, whispering a "yes!" before she captured your lips in another passionate kiss.

"i like you a lot, too. more than painting. wait..."

"y/n!"

you, lee y/n, were a girl who could not get a girlfriend no matter what you tried. but on that fateful day, the day you met hanni, you only had the stars and fate to thank for letting you meet the love of your life.

10 hours, in the sky, let hanni pham wiggle her way into your life. and you had to say, it was a change for the better.

a/n : i'm finally done... THIS was hell to write let me tell you omg it's been in my drafts since early january GOODBYEE but now i can focus on all my other stuff so....... chaewon next! LOL (and also lovergirl pt. 2 i didn't forget i swear) thank you so much for reading 10 hour flight, sorry it's so long it wasn't supposed to be 😭 ily guys

#hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans #newjeans imagines #hanni pham #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #hanni pham newjeans #gxg

[luveline]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫  

part one | part two | part three

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue lunch break visits, rocky road ice cream, a too-big bouquet, and the rainbow connection.

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, tw talk of dying (and past lives)

𓆩❤︎𓆪

You're dozing against the back wall in the kitchen when Benny clears his throat. The grease back here while he's cooking tends to get pretty thick and you're tired to begin with. It's a recipe for nodding off. 

Flinching into a proper standing position, you give your boss an apologetic smile. "What?" you ask, blinking hard. 

"Your boy's here." 

"My boy?" 

"Curly hair, tattoos. Looks like he hasn't showered this week. Or any week, actually." Benny laughs, a chesty, self-satisfied chuckle. 

You rush to his side, careful of the spitting hot grill, and follow his gaze out of the kitchen window. Eddie's about two seconds away from opening the glass door, clad in his smart work uniform. 

"He's not my boy," you say. 

Benny scrapes his spatula across the grill's bubbling surface and flips a burger. "If he's the reason you're tired today, you can consider him banned. He's ruining my best waitress." 

"I'm your only waitress." The door opens. Eddie stops in the doorway and casts his gaze around the room. You hide behind the wall and fuss with your hair. "And no, he's not keeping me up. It's Junie." Isn't it always Junie? She's your baby and you adore her, but that doesn't mean she's getting any easier to handle. The terrible twos are persevering with a ferocity you can't quite withstand, or at the very least sleep through. 

"He eating?" Benny asks. 

"I'll go find out." 

You wipe the oil from your nose and grimace as you walk out into the actual seating area of the diner. It's empty but for one person and Eddie, who grins when he sees you. 

"Hey, sweet thing." 

You try not to show how much you like being called 'sweet thing'. Your face must betray you somehow because Eddie's grin turns smug and he approaches until he's basically stepping on your toes. 

"How's it hanging?"

You snort. "Benny asked if you're eating." 

"What's today's special?" 

"Cheeseburger." 

He fixes your shirt collar. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and the cooler metal of a ring grace your throat. "Yeah, I'm eating." 

You report back to Benny with his order and find the cook's already added two burgers to the grill. He points his spatula at the now grilled and constructed burger for Darren. If you hadn't taken it you'd still know who's it was; Benny's regulars are loyal to a fault. The same old guys come in here day in and day out, and they all want the same thing. 

Quarter pounders. 

You take it, twist around a childish Eddie trying to trip you up and deliver it to Darren, a frowny-faced farm-hand that Benny swears is a nice guy deep down. You've yet to dig far enough. 

Eddie tries to trip you up again when you come back. You glare at him, stepping on his toes gently – more a threat than a real show of aggression – and disappear again through the kitchen door.

"So." Benny throws down a basket of fries before moving to the chopping board with a fresh tomato in hand. "He's your boyfriend?" 

"Do we have to do this?" you ask, joining him at the chopping board. You try to snag a slice of tomato and are quickly tutted away. 

"Is he?" 

"No," you say, trying again for some tomato. 

"Kid, if you don't wait." 

You pout and set back on your heels. 

The burgers sizzle. Benny throws a slice of cheese over Eddie's and lets it melt. Quicker than you can believe, Benny constructs two burgers and fills a red plastic basket with fries. 

He offers them to you. "Lunch break." 

Free food. You smile at him sheepishly and try to take them. He pulls his arms back.

"Wha-" 

"If he's your boyfriend, you better tell me now." 

"Benny, I don't know if you know this, but I'm an adult. Already got knocked up once." 

"And where is he now?" 

Chastised, you mumble, "He's not my boyfriend," and Benny finally hands over the food. He looks like he might try to ruffle your hair if you stick around, so you knock open the kitchen door with your hip and make a speedy exit. 

"What's with the face?" Eddie asks as you sit, reaching for the hot plate balancing across your forearm.

"I think Benny just tried to give me a dad talk." 

He laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Really? What did he say?" 

You shake your head. That's not a bag of worms you're interested in delving into right now. Your brains too fried, and the food smells great. Your stomach aches with hunger. 

"You want a coke?" you ask. 

Eddie stands up. "I'll get them. Sit down, okay?"

You sit down and shove a greedy handful of fries into your mouth, turning in your seat to watch Eddie talk.

He leans over the metal ledge of the kitchen window. It's quiet enough to hear him laugh, hear him say, "No, sir," in a tone that borders sarcastic. 

He wields a five dollar bill at Benny, who shoots him down.

"Put it in the Junie jar," Benny says. 

"Junie jar?" Eddie questions, though he's smiling. 

Your eyebrows furrow at the expression. You've never heard it either. 

"I don't bother pretending she spends it on anything else."

"You got that right." 

You flush with heat all the way to to the tips of your ears and turn back to the table before Eddie can catch you watching. 

He throws himself into his seat like he's collapsed. The twin cokes in his hands upheave and then splash back into themselves, an impressive and ridiculous show of skill that makes you gasp. 

"For you." He shoves a glass down next to you. The ice cubes clink. 

"Thank you," you say, and don't waste any time digging into your food.

He squints at your eager eating, though he waits until you've taken the worlds biggest bite of your burger before he asks, "Hungry?" 

You swallow before you mean to and have to take a big sip of your drink to avoid choking to death. "I didn't eat breakfast." 

"How come?" 

You can't take his concern. Your eyes drop this hand where it picks through fries, no rings in sight. He’d told you once he can’t wear them at work, because he gets really warm and the rings are costume jewellery. His hands look bare without them, but they’re very nice hands. You follow the stark line of a bone down from his knuckles and focus in on his simple wrist watch as you explain. 

"It took me an hour to get her to finish a slice of toast this morning. I usually wouldn’t make her finish, but she's not eating well." 

You don't have to say who. Eddie tips his head back to eat a handful of fries like a courtesan eating grapes, all grandness. 

"Teething?" 

"She has all her teeth already," you say. A laugh bubbles up, delighted at his suggestion. 

"What do you think it is?" 

You wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin and shrug. Eddie sees straight through your forced nonchalance. 

"No, seriously. What do you think?" 

"I don't know. Maybe she's gonna come down with the flu. She didn't sleep all night either, and…" You rub your tired eyes with the backs of your hands. "I don't know. I hope she's feeling better at pick up, but I doubt it." 

"How are you feeling?" He says 'you' softly, almost crooning. 

"Tired, Eds." 

"I can see that." 

The door opens and a breeze whips your ankles. You hide them further under the table and cringe when you kick Eddie straight in the foot. He only raises his eyebrow at you and kicks you back. "What's your problem?" he mumbles under his breath, smiling. 

When the burgers are gone and there's only a couple of cold fries left, you and Eddie fall into conversation about tonight. He's finally playing a gig after months without one, and you're riddled with guilt. 

"I wish I could come," you tell him, feeling gutted that you won't see him in action. 

You wonder what he looks like on stage. Sometimes it's hard to coalesce the Eddie you know and the other Eddie, rocker Eddie. He's so sweet. The image of him on stage and sweating, rocking out, you can't summon it. 

You clear your throat. "I'm sorry we can't." 

Eddie shakes his head quickly, fingers playing with the chain around his left wrist. "Don't worry about it. Junebugs's gotta sleep. You gotta sleep." 

You pick at your nails, shame-faced. If you were a good friend you'd go and see him perform, but you're a good mom so you can't. Maybe you could get a sitter… only you don't trust anybody to look after her. Not the way you would. And people can be evil.

Maybe I could take her to the Hideout, you think tentatively.

You couldn't. It's too loud, it's too rowdy. You're not sure they'd even let you in with a baby. 

"Sorry," you say again, dropping your cheek into your palm. 

Eddie doesn't smile. He turns his wrist, the back of his hand to the table and his palm open between you. 

"Don't be sorry," he says. He watches your face and slowly, slowly, mischief creeps into his expression. "How about I give you a private show?" 

Your breath catches in your throat. 

"You and June've never heard me play. I could bring an amp. June can play drums. You'll sing." 

His allocation shocks you out of your thoughts. "Why can't you sing?" 

"What will you do, then? If I sing?"

You flounder.

He lifts his coke to his lips and smirks at your silence. "Exactly." 

"Eddie, I can't sing." 

He waves his hand at you rather than answer. 

"I won't sing." 

"Oh, you won't?" he asks, tone enough to make you cross your legs under the table. He rolls his eyes. 

"No. Let Junie do it. She's always singing." 

"And you'll-? What?"  

You shrug. He imitates you, over-exaggerated enough to make you gasp a laugh.

“Is that supposed to be me?"  

He ignores your question in favour of his own. "You'll do nothing. Typical." 

"You're getting too big for your boots, Munson," you warn, sliding his plate on top of yours. 

He stacks your empty glasses. The two of you stand and linger. He should go back to work. You should too.

"I'll come over tomorrow?" he asks finally. 

"Okay." You look over him in his clean clothes and neater than usual hair and can't help smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say quietly, opening your arms just slightly. 

Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms quickly around your shoulders, careful of the plates in your hand. He rubs them once, a good, grounding pressure across the breadth of your back. Your nose presses against his neck. He smells like aftershave and cigarette smoke and skin. 

Before you know it he's pulling away, the end to an amicable embrace between friends. Almost disappointing, not quite what you want anymore, but a relief and a comfort all the same. 

He chucks your chin. "Tell Junie I miss her." 

"I will."

"Okay." He turns to walk away. "Bye, sweetheart," he shoots over his shoulder. 

"Bye!" you call. 

The door shudders in his wake. You stand there watching until Benny clears his throat pointedly and asks you to come and make some more coffee. 

You rush through the rest of the day. You finish earlier than you should because Benny's in a gracious mood, thrusting your tip jar into your arms with a command to get some sleep. You promise you'll try your best and head out for the daycare. 

Junie's asleep in a bean bag by the baby gate when you get there. You stop dead in your tracks. She has her shoes and coat on already, her backpack in her lap. You look up at the childcare worker in charge today, a nice lady called Deborah, quizzically. 

"She's been like that for an hour. I'm sorry we couldn't keep her awake." 

You pout at Junie. "Why she got her coat on?" 

"She insisted. Screamed bloody murder. Think she was excited to see you," she says, smiling softly. 

You smile in return. "Thank you, Deborah. Have a nice weekend.”

Deborah nods and disappears back into the play room. You open the baby gate with likely less dexterity than you should have as a mom and drop to your knees in front of the beanbag, careful not to make too much noise. You're wondering if you can carry her to the car without waking her up when her foot moves, then her arms. They fall to her side as her eyes open. 

"Hey, baby," you say, feeling weirdly emotional. She looks so lovely and pretty, and if she's sick that's gonna pluck your heart strings (and cause a boat load of problems). 

"Mommy," she mumbles, eyes bleary.

"That's me." You reach out to squeeze her little thigh. "My poor girl, what's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?" you ask carefully.

She blinks. 

"Why're you sitting here all by yourself? You didn't want to play with Adrien? Or Lucy?"

When she doesn't reply you take her backpack and thread your hand through the strap, offering your open arms to her. She can barely sit up, her movements slow and sluggish. 

"Here," you murmur, sliding your hands under her armpits and pulling her into your chest. 

She finally smiles, hands bunched up at the collar of your shirt. You leave some room to look at her and she looks at you. You're surprised she's not whining or crying. 

"Hey," you say again, amazed at her droopy smile. "You look like you've had a good day." 

Her head drops forward. You think she's nodding, though that might be wishful thinking. You don't even know if toddlers can nod. 

Of course they can nod, you think to yourself scathingly. I mean… can they? 

And Junie isn't like most toddlers. She hasn't really done anything by the book. She meets milestones when she wants to, sometimes early, sometimes really, really late. 

You pat her back, her nylon coat crinkly under your hand. "Ready to go home?" 

You stand up with her clutched to your chest. Usually you'd have her say goodbye to Deborah or the other daycare workers but Junie doesn't look like she knows her own name right now. You frown at her and encourage her forehead against your chin, trying to gauge if she's a little warmer than usual. 

"I missed you," you tell her honestly. You miss her every single day. "I want to know everything you did today. Do you remember what you did?"

Junie pushes against your chest with her hand as you walk out of the daycare centre and into the parking lot. 

"Did you do… colouring? Or… building blocks? Did you sing?" you ask, grinning. 

You cross the road, and when you look back she's staring at you, straight into your eyes. 

"Hi," you say with a laugh. 

Her hands rise to your face, fingers thankfully clean and warm against your wind-bitten cheeks. You slow, gazing down at her expectantly. She raises her chin as high as she can and smiles big. 

"You want a kiss. I can tell," you croon smugly. 

She kisses you. It's a little drooly as baby kisses always are, but it's the best thing that's happened to you all day. It's always so surprising when she initiates affection. That she loves you just as much as you love her. 

You steal another kiss. 

"Guess what?" you ask, reaching a hand to stroke a little baby hair back. 

She says a word that isn't real. It sounds like 'mod'. 

"It's payday today, which means…" You beam at her. "Ice cream!" 

That grabs her attention. 

-

Eddie can't believe it. "You had what without me?" he asks over the phone. 

Junie herds your knees, arms around your legs and face turned to the TV. You stand slumped against the wall where your phone is plugged, curling the landline's coiled cord around your finger so Junie can't grab it. 

"Ice cream," you supply helpfully. 

His voice isn't easy to understand. The Hideout is a very loud place. Eddie's practically shouting down the line. "I can't believe it." 

"It couldn't be helped. She needed to be tempted." 

"Tempted! Has she eaten anything else?" 

You look down at the girl in question and reach down to rub her back. "Oh yeah. She ate like, an entire bag of lays, one of the big ones. She still smells like honey barbecue." 

"Nothing else?" 

You sigh, that creeping, ringing thought edging in. You're a bad mom. 

"I made her cereal, and celery sticks and sandwiches and little cut up peaches and- and she won't touch any of it," you say, like you're promising. Your tone begs to be believed.

There's a loud racket. Eddie shouts, "What did you say? I can't hear you!" 

You repeat yourself. You miss the start of what he's saying, but you catch, "-not your fault! She's probably just having a moment. You remember when she kept throwing her bottle? She doesn't do that anymore." 

You nod. "Yeah, maybe it's like that. She's figuring she has choices." Not the best timing for your kid to decide she's gonna get picky. 

"Exactly! Or maybe she is sick. Does she look sick?"

You look back down at Junie and feel across her smooth forehead for the twentieth time today. "She doesn't feel warm." 

"Good. I'm sure she-" You miss the rest. 

"I can't hear you," you say with a small laugh. "I can hear the drum kit though. Are you going on soon?"

"I said, 'I'm sure she's fine.' And yeah, couple of minutes." 

"Okay. Um. I'll let you go, then." 

"Okay." A small gap where you think he's hung up, but then, "Can I talk to her?" 

You bite back a smile. "Sure." 

You kneel down. Junie looks a short fall from suspicion, though her arms quickly reach out for a hug.

"June, d'you wanna talk to Eddie?" 

"Eddie?" she asks, turning to the door. 

You catch her hand before she can walk away. "No, babe, on the phone." 

You sit down flat with your legs crossed and encourage her to do the same. She doesn't not want to be encouraged, eyes still trained on the door. 

"Baby," you say, though you're bringing the phone to your mouth as you do. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." 

"Okay, I'm gonna pass her the phone and you're gonna have to talk straight away, because she doesn't know how it works. Alright?"  

"Yeah, alright. Bring on the junebug." 

You press the phone to Junie's ear. She looks startled and then annoyed, shoulder hiking and head moving in like she might push it away. You can see the moment she realises Eddie is on the other side, her lips part and her eyes widen in wonder. 

She listens for a while, flabbergasted. You think you might be able to hear his voice. Not what he's saying, but his bubbly baby tone. 

"Eddie," she says suddenly. She looks at you, says a bunch of nonsense words and babbling punctuated by Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

"Are you listening to him?" you ask, excited at her recognition. 

She grabs the phone out of your hand and stares at it. You try to wrangle it back and put it back to her ear. She is not happy. 

Hardly news that your toddler's mood may swing, you shove the phone between your head and your shoulder and wrap her up in your arms with a placating shush. She starts to cry regardless. You think they might be crocodile tears. 

"Eddie?" 

"Sweetheart, I gotta go, okay? I'm sorry if I upset June–" 

"You didn't, you didn't, she–" 

"– I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"– misses you, I think–" 

"See you tomorrow, okay?" 

"Okay. Good luck!" you say. The line's already dead. The dial tone makes your ear prickle. 

You feel upset for a second. It's a mess of feelings. You're too tired to deal with any of them. 

"Eddie?" Junie asks, hands pulling at the hem of her nightie. 

"Just mommy," you say with a smile. The longer she looks at you the easier it gets. "You wanna go to bed and cuddle?" 

She laughs and runs away from you.

"I'll take that as a no." 

-

Eddie knocks the door and doesn't get an answer. 

He pauses, a bouquet behind his back and his acoustic guitar heavy around his neck, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his elbow. It's a very heavy grocery bag. He'd figured he has a lot of apologising to do this afternoon. 

It seems like there's no one home to apologise to. 

"Girls? It's me." 

Still no answer. 

"Eddie," he adds, like a loser.

He thinks he can hear small footsteps. 

"Eddie!" 

He laughs to himself. "Junebug? Where's mommy?" 

"Hello?" you call finally. 

"Hey, can you let me in?" 

He keeps the flowers hidden firmly behind his back as you open the door. He hears the deadbolt, the chain slide free and then the regular old lock unlocking, and you pull the door open and suddenly he can't breathe. You look that pretty. 

"Eddie!" Junie shouts, to his pleasure. 

You grin brilliantly as he steps over the threshold. 

Junie's arms are quickly around his legs. She's in a sweet blue dress and frilly socks looking almost as pretty as her mom does, hair neat and tidy, face pristine. 

You're nearly matching her. You've a soft white shirt on, tucked into a simple blue skirt and a cardigan to match. 

You barely stop to look at him, flitting back to the kitchen where you’ve brown paper bags upended, the fridge and freezer doors both wide open. "Sorry, I'm just putting the groceries away. How did the gig go? Did you rock the house?" You giggle to yourself.

Eddie wants to scream, you’re that endearing. “It went great. Awesome. Not sure I rocked the house, but it was metal.”

"Amazing! I- I'm sorry I didn't hear you, I was in my own head," you say as you go, stepping over toys and frozen peas and Junie's Muppet Babies backpack like a natural. He notices your small white socks and feels himself slipping that little bit further into a terrifying feeling.

He doesn't have time to tell you it's okay, or that he wishes you’d been at the gig, or to watch your step. Junies's babbling for his attention and he'd rather die than not give it to her, moving the grocery bag he has hanging from his hand over her head and tossing it toward the couch, where it lands and spills. 

"Okay, June, I'm gonna pick you up," he says quickly, pulling the guitar over his head. He props it up by the open doorway, Junie tugging at his jeans the whole while. 

"So demanding!" he teases, scooping her up to prop on his hip and unveiling the flowers at the same time. 

You aren't looking. He nudges them towards her face and shakes them gently. 

Junie can't decide what's more fun, the flowers or Eddie. She wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can but stares at the flowers with a dawning comprehension. 

"What are these, baby?" he asks, holding them lower so she can see them all in view. They're mostly red. There's some whites too, big round roses among other flowers he can't name. 

"Red," she says quickly. "White. Yellow, blue, green." 

She's not right, there aren't any yellows or blues, but he can only blame himself for drilling them into her the way he had. She's showing off that she knows them all, and she deserves some praise. 

"Good job! Red, white," he shakes the bouquet enough to reveal a few small pink ones, "pink flowers. They're pretty, don't you think? Pretty as you and mommy?" He hums to himself, patting her back thoughtfully. “Maybe not that pretty." 

You're not listening. If you were he's not sure he could say it, not while you're looking like you do. You're always pretty, always, but right now he feels like he did the first time he saw you. Just gone. 

Junie tells him something, a more factual tone and air about her. He rubs the top of her upper arm encouragingly, asking, "Is that right?" 

"Do you want food?" you call. 

He sets June down on her feet and she hates it until he wraps her hands around the bouquet's neck. "Can you give these to your mom for me? Please?" Junie stares at them. "For mommy," he adds, pointing at you where you're closing the cabinet door. 

Junie, the tiny smarty-pants that she is, runs to you. Eddie's a coward for it, but he doesn't think he can give them to you himself under honest pretenses, doesn't think he could admit that he'd been thinking about getting you flowers for a while now. Much easier to have her give them to you. 

You make a sound like you've swallowed a gasp and stare at them. 

"They're nice, right? I saw them and I thought they'd make a good apology for last night." 

You don't take them. You can't contain a smile, but you don't take them. 

"I'm sorry if I made any trouble for you," he says tentatively. 

You drop your hand on top of Junie's head. Your tone is warm, each word reassuring. "No, you didn't. She just… you know, she has a routine, and she loves when you come around. She missed you. That's not your fault." 

"Okay, good. I missed her too. Nobody can jam out like she can.”

Junie whacks you in the thigh. Eddie's starting to think he did something wrong because you still haven't taken them from her, your eyes as unreadable as the way your hands move, rigid and curling. 

You shake them out and finally take the flowers. 

"Thanks, baby," you say. Then, looking at him. "Thank you." 

"You can get me back," he says. 

Shell shock turns to eagerness. "Yeah, anything." 

He picks up the spilled groceries and brandishes them at you. In one hand is this week's dessert, a huge carton of rocky road ice cream, the fancy kind with big chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows on top. In the other, a plastic jug of your favourite drink. 

"Find room for these in the fridge?"

Since accepting them, you've yet to put down the flowers, holding them protectively to your chest as you take what he’s offering and carry them into the kitchen.

June runs full pelt at his legs and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up. 

"You're so happy today!" he cheers, saccharine sweet as she burrows her little face into his collar. "Have you been having a good day with mom? I love your matching outfits." 

You try to hide how the compliment affects you, face buried in the freezer. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that your freezer has ample room, you don’t need to look for space. and he can see the way your hand tightens around the bouquet. He loves how shy you've become lately over his compliments, no matter how small. It's worth the possibility of making a fool of himself to see you flustered. 

Junie reports back on the day. Eddie listens intently for words he might understand but finds none. 

He doesn't let this bother him, leaning against the counter behind so he can hold Junie low on his stomach to watch her expressions flicker, hands encapsulating her back. She looks happy, obviously, but she also looks very intent on something. 

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head toward her knowingly. "Was the grocery store exciting? Did you do anything else?" 

"Duckies!" she says. 

"Duckies? You saw ducks?" he asks curiously, looking to you for confirmation. 

You're still holding your flowers to your chest. 

Junie chatters. "Duck, duck, duck." 

"What's she talking about?" he asks, pulling her up enough for her head to rub against his chin.

"Oh, we went to the duck pond. She was obsessed," you say. 

"Right, right. Can't say I blame her.” 

"Trying to explain why they weren't yellow took some dedication." 

Eddie smiles at you softly. "You can put them down, you know." 

Your eyes flicker between him and the flowers. "I- nobody's ever got me flowers before. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do with them. I don't… have a vase." 

He hadn't realised he'd be the first guy to get you flowers. It makes him wanna wrap you up and hug you, because how is it fair that a girl like you never got flowers? Not once? 

"Shit," he says instead. 

He flinches hard and looks at Junie. She's too busy with her hands in his hair to notice what he's said. He apologises anyways. 

You roll your eyes. Eddie's relieved to see it's with obvious fondness, a funny lopsided smile to your lips. 

"If she starts dropping s-bombs, you're the one who has to deal with it," you warn. 

"I will.” 

He takes a step toward you and you take a step toward him.

You hum and hold the flowers up to Junie as he had before. "Aren't these just something else? Look how pretty they are! Why don't you pick one, baby?" 

Eddie shifts her onto the right side and you both watch her touch them, hands adorably careful as she feels the leaves between her fingers and pokes the fuzzy yellow centre of a flower with white, round petals. 

"That one?" you murmur, pulling it out from the rest with the same adorable carefulness. 

Junie accepts the flower and immediately shows it to Eddie, ecstatic.

“Yellow," she proclaims. 

"And white," he says, ruffling the petals with his index finger. 

She smells like talc and you, that soft jasmine perfume, and her hair is fragrant where it tickles his face. He indulges and hugs her that little bit tighter. She indulges him in turn and hugs him back, the flower petals cold and silky against his neck. 

"How do you…" You scratch the base of your neck. "Do you think I could squeeze all the stalks into one glass?" 

It's only a bunch from the grocery store but he thinks a glass might be a little too small. "Maybe you can split it? Have one in your room, one in here." 

You set about following his suggestion, snipping away the cellophane with a pair of scissors and acquiring two tall glasses. The stalks are tall. You trim them down and begin arranging them. Eddie has no clue why you're being as particular as you are but he's happy for you to do as you please, traipsing into the living room where Junie seems to have been running rampant before his arrival with intentions of cleaning up.

He closes the front door and bends at the waist to let Junie back on her feet. 

She goes down easy enough. Eddie turns on the TV to keep her occupied while he whips around the room. He wants to clean (as best as he can) before you see him and tell him to stop. He puts your small handbag and Junie's backpack at the sideboard by the door. He sweeps up all of her toys and tucks them under the television as you would, then moves onto the rogue dirtied pajamas on the floor. They're Junie's favourites, the ones with tiny strawberries that she always chooses when given the option. 

Your laundry basket isn't anywhere in the living room or kitchen. He attempts to sneak past you where you're still arranging flowers intently. The sight of you stops him in his tracks. 

I need to get her a vase, he thinks. And another bouquet.

You turn to him, a pleased expression turning your features from pretty to chest-achingly lovely. 

He holds up the pajamas and then keeps on down the hall to the bathroom, even as you chasten, "Eddie," with a fond exasperation. 

You showcase your first bouquet upon his return, sheepish, awaiting judgement. You're conflicted tonight, a handful of emotions shaken and stirred. 

"Tada," you sing. 

"Looks sick, sweetheart. If this whole waitressing thing doesn't work out for you, you could definitely be a florist."

You huff a laugh. "Oh, for sure." 

"I'm serious. It looks really nice." 

He thinks maybe he can see the way you might've been before, in that moment. There's something so young – and you are young, as he is, as he keeps forgetting – about your face and how you take praise. You look like you want desperately to brush it away, and you look like you want him to give you more. 

He stands close enough that you're forced to turn back to the counter where the second bouquet is taking form. "This one looks nice too." 

"I thought I'd put the prettiest one out here." You lean back and your shoulder presses to his chest. "And then the reject in my room," you say, chin lifted to look him dead in the eye. 

He feels heat crawling up his neck and decides to fight fire with fire, even if the fire is entirely imagined. "Do you often have rejects in your bedroom?" he questions with a smarmy smile. 

You laugh. Far from the polite and prim giggling you'd used when you first met, though that was cute, too, this laugh is something else. He wishes he had a tape deck with him to record it, play it back. 

"Only if they're very pretty," you say. You place the last of the flowers into the second bouquet. "And these ones are beautiful. Thank you, Eddie. You didn't have to get me flowers." 

"I wanted to." 

Your head falls gently against the top of his shoulder. He stands very still. 

The faucet drips. The TV plays. If he listens, Eddie can hear the sound of kids outside on their bikes, shouting and jeering. 

Like this, he can see the curve of your neck, the hill of your chin. He can see the pillows of your lips and the slopes of your cheek. The darling shape of your nose. He knows a kiss would fit there well, fit there perfectly, if he would only raise his hand to your shoulder. Turn you ever so slightly.

Even the flat of your forehead begs for affection. He can almost feel it from looking at you – the warmth of your skin under his lips. He can't decide whether he'd kiss you from temple to temple, or smack dab on your crown. Between your brows, at the tail of them. The corner of your eye might work.

Anything would work.

Eddie lifts his hand. Careful not to startle you, he cups the side of your waist like he had before a hundred moons ago when you'd cut his hair in this same kitchen. He spreads his fingers wide and inches over your soft abdomen, feeling for the shape of you. 

You turn your cheek into his shoulder. He lets his lips touch the back of your head. 

Plinking echoes from the living room sudden enough to startle you in tandem. Kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you and Eddie both turn to the living room and come away from one another. You're more confused than Eddie at the sound; a split-second and you're out of reach. 

He closes his hand and follows you. Now past the obscurification of the cabinets, he can see that Junie's finally noticed his guitar and has pulled it down flat on the floor. 

She plays with the strings enthusiastically. Eddie can't bring himself to care at her roughness when she looks the way she does, curious and entertained, giggling her contagious baby laugh. 

"I forgot you brought that," you say, looking to him, he suspects, for a cue. A silent, Is she allowed?

Of course she is. “I told you I'd give you a private show."

"What happened to the amp?" 

"My hands were full." Eddie sits on the floor to Junie's left. "Whatcha doing, trouble?" 

She hits the neck. 

He takes her hand in a gentle grip and encourages the side of her finger across the strings. 

She laughs thick and sweet as honey. "Brmm," she imitates, lips pinching between giggles as he helps her do it again. 

"You're a total rockstar," he says. 

You kneel opposite. "She's gonna lose her mind when you play something." 

Eddie feels very smug at what's to come. 

You let Junie play for a time, and then you open your arms and she walks around to your side, sitting on your thighs. She continues to reach for the guitar, seems sulky when Eddie picks it up, and quietens when he plays an experimental note. 

"Are you gonna sing? I've heard you sing before, you know? You're not bad." 

You wrinkle your nose. 

First, he plays the Muppet Babies theme tune for June. She gets excited and starts to hum. You have to hold her in your lap to stop her from messing him up. He wouldn't mind if she did. He's hoping, maybe one day when she's old enough to understand, he could get her behind her own guitar. He's not kidding about starting a band. 

He drops his eyes to his fingers, shaking his head on instinct to try and shake away the thought. 

June sings and sings and eventually, quietly, you start to sing too. You’re purposefully not trying but any flatness is easily made up for by the familiarity of your voice alone. The way you talk, so charming and careful, the sweetness of your newfound shyness and the rough hint of ever-present tiredness you carry, it all seeps into your singing. Eddie adores it.

Junie almost gets some of the words right. It's very exciting for you, Eddie can see it in the tilt of your head. You enunciate precisely and he slows the tempo to give you time. 

"It really sounds like she's almost there. She definitely said 'dreams come true,’” he says as the song ends.

"You think?"

"Definitely. Do you want to sing it again?" he asks, words falling into a high-pitched sugar, eyes on Junie. 

"More?" you add, a slight correction. Junie doesn't know what 'again' means yet, but she understands 'more'. 

"More," she says seriously. 

You go through it one more time. If he plays slow to drag out your reluctant singing, that's his business. 

He unveils his next song with a dash of edgy stage presence. "For my next song, I'll be playing what can only be described as the absolute pinnacle of music." 

He sounds legitimate. 

Your eyebrows pinch together at his sombre attitude. "Sure." 

"I'm gonna play it as true to form as I can, but… I don't have a banjo. So…" 

He plays the first few seconds of Kermit The Frog's The Rainbow Connection. 

When he sings, he does it after an internal pep talk consisting of a scathing, Be brave, idiot. 

"Why are there so many, songs about rainbows. And what's on the other side?" he sings, trying and failing to sound like Kermit. He abandoned that pursuit immediately in favour of his regular voice. Thankfully it's a slow song. Simple. It doesn't take much to play, either. The real challenge are the lyrics, which he doesn't really know. "Rainbows are visions, but only… illusions?"

You bob your head appraisingly, hands crossed over Junies front, cheek pressed to the top of her head. 

"And rainbows have nothing to hide." 

You’re making it impossible to concentrate, looking as earnest, homespun, and ridiculously pretty as you do. Pretty in more than just your looks. The way that you watch him, the way you rub a pattern over Junie's ribs, it’s all so indicative of your heart.

He fucks up the rest. Bad timing, amateurish fingering over the struts, lyrics that escape him. You'd never know he could play Master of Puppets a month after it's debut from the way he performs now. 

You cheer, gathering Junie's hands into yours to help her clap. 

He blushes like a fool. 

—

Dinner tonight – take out. 

You're prouder than you should be when Eddie asks, "Can I help you cook tonight?" and you get to say, "No, you can't. I'm not cooking." 

You'd never shake your head at a frozen pizza but there's an irreplaceable satisfaction that comes from getting hot food delivered. Maybe it's the convenience, maybe it's that you don't have to cook it yourself. It might even be the grease. Whatever it is, it tastes better than any freezer food ever could.

You've trapped Junie in her high chair. Diaper changed, pajamas on, bib in place. You rolled her sleeves all the way up and gave her two slices of cheese pizza cut into small pieces that have been blown on for a more than generous amount of time and tell her to go ham. She doesn't bother with her plastic fork and you don't blame her, eating your own pizza in a similar fashion. 

Rather than sit opposite you or next to Junie, Eddie has opted for the chair on your left. Junie on your right, your daughter eats with an animated little grin that apples her cheeks, giving her that chubby baby-like smile. 

"You see her smile?" you ask, taking a big bite of perfect crust. You have to stop yourself from sighing happily, fingers covered in crumbs. 

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, pizza sauce or his face like a little kid. 

You sit back in your chair so he can really see her. "She's always been a smiley baby, and when she was much smaller all her smiles were so chubby cheeked. She was chubby cheeked. Now when she smiles like that she makes me remember her when she was a baby." 

"I'm not surprised she was a smiley baby if she had you… D'you miss having a baby?" 

"Watch yourself," you say, and then giggle as all the blood drains from his face. "Kidding. I don't know if I miss having a baby baby. I mean, she's so little, she's practically still a baby. But I do kinda wish I could go back and hold her as a newborn." 

Eddie wipes his cheek and stands up to get some paper towels. He wipes his face and hands and grabs the juice from the fridge to fill his glass (that's basically still full) and then yours (the real reason he'd stood, you reckon). 

"Was she heavy?" he asks.

You worry for a moment he's humouring you. It's clear how much you love Junie, you know it is, and that shows in how much you want to talk about her. You'd never expected that part, though of course it makes sense – sometimes she smiles and you wanna call the newspapers – and you don't think Eddie's insincere. He seems like he genuinely wants to know and that's enough for you to want to round the table and throw your arms over his shoulders. 

"I think…" You pick up your glass and hesitate with the rim to your lip. "I think if you'd held her back then, you wouldn't think she was heavy." 

He practically smolders, bringing an arm up to tense his bicep. "Thank you." 

You laugh at him. "Shut up! I just think, you've been good with her ever since you met her. When I held her for the first time it's a good thing I was laying down. I probably would've dropped her." 

Eddie takes Junie's sippy cup to fill. You'd say it was a waste if he hadn't bought it himself, she's too busy eating her weight in cheese to care about something as rudimentary as juice. 

"You would not have dropped her." 

"I would've." 

"You wouldn't have! And if you did, it would've been an accident. Next point, they don't have skulls, right? No harm, no foul." 

"Who told you babies don't have skulls?" 

"...I'm not at liberty to say." 

You eat the rest of your crust and shake your head at his misguided education. "They have skulls, Eddie. The scalp is super soft and fragile for ages, but they definitely have skulls. You know what they don't have?" 

Eddie squeezes Junie's shoulder as he walks behind her. "What?" he asks in alarm, passing you to sit down again. His knees touch the side of your thigh.

"Kneecaps." 

His hand stops on the way to the pizza box, body frozen. 

"What?" he asks, his alarm doubled.

"Swear down. No knee caps." 

"Don't they need them? For crawling? I feel like knee caps are more important than skulls." 

"If you didn't have a skull you wouldn't be able to breathe," you say, though you're guessing. 

"What use is breathing if you can't move?" 

You turn to him to take him in properly. You beam, because this is an outlandish conversation and you're enjoying every second of it and he looks just as happy as you feel. 

"Do babies need to move? June could never move again and I'd still look after her,” you counter.

"Sweetheart, you're cheating." 

"I can't exactly breathe for her-" 

"What are you talking about? Of course you could. I don't know how but you'd find a way, Y/N, I know what you're like." 

Your teeth click together, a funny retort squashed down by his unexpected admittance of faith. He always does this; Eddie loves to tell you the kindest things anyone has ever told you like they don't cost him a thing. 

"I would," you agree, blinded by love rather than supported by any logic. 

"Mommy," Junie says, like she knows she's the topic of your hypothetical devotion and she wants in. "More pizza"

"Please?" you tack on, though her small sentence had impressed you to the point of elation. You turn to her already with your hand in the pizza box. 

"Pizza," she says. You love the way she says it, like the 'zuh' sound at the end is a complete surprise. 

The pizza's cold enough by now to give it to her intact. She's amazed at the big slice you put on her plate, picking it up with a coordination you know is taking a lot of effort for her. 

"Good job, baby," you praise, using her distraction to pull a little string of cheese off of her messy cheek. 

She takes a huge bite. You watch her worried she's gonna choke, and feel Eddie's knees press deeper into your thigh as he moves forward to join in. 

"Is it weird that she's impressing me right now?" he asks. 

You giggle and roll your shoulders back until you can feel the brush of his hair against your shirt. "No, she's awesome."

For dessert, you insist on plating up. Or bowling up. You scoop a more generous than she should really have portion for Junie, something similar for Eddie, and a normal portion for yourself. 

"On the couch?" Eddie asks. 

You can see him cleaning up Junie out of the corner of your eye. You wish he wouldn't but you're grateful that he does. His attentiveness makes your hands feel heavy in that you remember you have them, and you remember what it's like to want to hold someone else's. 

"Yeah," you say, though eating on the couch makes you nervous. You don't want to ruin it. You're lucky you even have one. 

Eddie scoops Junie up easy and pats her back.

“You put away a lot of cheese, kid. A lot. Was that yummy or what?" 

She burps. His laughter is roaring and boyish as he applauds her. 

"You're patting her back, she's gonna keep burping.”

"That's what you're supposed to do for babies, isn't it?" 

He stands under the harsh kitchen light with his face turned away and down toward Junie, hair a mess of flyaways, t-shirt covered in shiny toddler fingerprints over one shoulder and jeans slipping down low on his hips. Your explanation comes breathlessly. "When you give a baby a bottle they suck in too much air and it gives them trapped wind. You burp that kind of baby. Not greedy almost three year olds." 

"She is not almost three." 

"I think I'd know, Munson." 

"She's like, two and a half at most." 

"I'm rounding up for emphasis," you say, and glare at his eyebrows rising. 

He pats her back some more anyways. She burps again and he laughs even more. "Juniper The Burpiest," he says to himself as he walks away, voice fading as he settles down across the way on the couch. 

Junie has crashed and burned, warm thick cheese and dough putting her quickly into a close to listless state in his lap. He faces her out toward the TV and she leans heavily against his chest with his hands around her torso, propping her up. You shepherd in the desserts. 

"Gimme Junie's," Eddie says. 

"She's gonna fall asleep," you say, but pass it over anyhow. 

Eddie places the bowl of rocky road in her lap with a hand between to stop from making her legs cold and starts to spoon ice cream into her mouth. She accepts. It's adorable to watch. His face over her shoulder, Junie's face slowly deflating, eyes bleary and blinking as her lips close lazily around the spoon. She barely flinches at the cold. 

You eat your own ice cream in the seat next to them and wonder if this is forever. 

Eddie wipes her chin with the side of his hand and watches her head fall. He wears a loving smile. It makes you want to cry, to know someone else loves her. 

You let all your weight fall against his shoulder and eat your ice cream casually. This is the least casual thing you've ever done. Spoon in your mouth, you press your cheek to the top of his arm and glue your gaze to the TV. 

You swear you can feel his eyes on you, but when you chance a look he's watching the TV, head inclined to yours ever so slightly, a hand brushing Junie's hair from her dozing face. You're weak. You give yourself over to what you want and turn your nose to his arm. He smells lIke he always does, warm in the truest definition of the word. 

You close your eyes. After a few minutes, you feel Eddie take the bowl from your hands and set it next to Junie's. You want to open your eyes and say sorry but they’re heavier than you'd thought, and you can only manage a murmur of sound. 

His hand sliders under your elbow and curls around your arm. His head drops on top of yours so softly you almost don't feel it. 

You doze, digging your face further into his arm, feel the curve of it under your cheek and the cut off of his sleeve rising. 

A frayed thread tickles your cheek and you complain without thinking, sighing your annoyance. 

"What?" Eddie asks. 

You raise a hand to rub at your face and eyes. "Tickled me." 

"Did I? M'sorry." 

"T-shirt. Did you cut them yourself?" 

"You know it. Was going through a phase." 

"Going through." 

"Say it to my face," he says. Soft, teasing. 

You lift your head and find him smiling at you. 

He has a beauty mark under his eye, occluded near completely by his eyelashes. You can't believe you've never noticed it before. 

"You have a freckle," you whisper.

"Where?" He nods. "Under my eye?" 

"Yeah." 

You sit up and stare at him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I've never seen it before," you continue, still whispering. "It blends in with your eyelashes." 

"I think you're the first person to see it who isn't my mom. No one ever looks at me this long,” he says quietly.

If his eyes weren't closed you'd never have had the courage to do what you do next. You raise your hand with his cheek, thumb pressed to the skin beside his nose and fingers slipped under his ear. You turn his face toward the light. Eddie lets you without complaint, his breath warm where it fans over your thumb. You push your fingers further until they've threaded into his soft hair, your thumb brushing up under his eye. You part his mess of dainty lashes with your thumbnail until the beauty mark is clear in view. 

"That's so sweet," you whisper, awed. 

Eddie readjusts Junie in his lap with an overabundance of caution and doesn't speak. He's lax under your touch. 

"It's really pretty. You had it since you were a baby?" 

"I think so." 

You laugh under your breath. 

"What?" he asks. 

"It suits you." Something pretty hiding in plain view. 

"I heard," he says hedgingly, "that freckles are a sign of how you died in a past life." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Bet it was something really gross, like a parasitic worm-" 

"Ew." 

"Or someone stabbed me. Or shot me. With an arrow." 

"You're only twenty. Your past life would have still been in this century." 

Eddie opens his eyes just to glare at you. "Don't deprive me of a badass past life. How would you have had me die?" 

You push his hair from his face. "You know what I heard about them?" 

"What?" 

Fun to whisper with him like this. Like you’re younger than you are, trading secrets in the dim light. 

"I heard they're kisses from a past life." 

You raise your second hand to his cheek and cradle his face. 

Eddie leans into it. “You wanna give me one for the next?” he asks, a short fall from salacious. 

Your breath doesn’t catch. Your hands don’t shake. “Is that what you want?”

He falters. Bravado slips. Your heart skips a beat, worried maybe he doesn’t like you the way you’re thinking after all. 

“Y/N,” he says.

You can’t hear his rejection. You won’t. 

You close your eyes and kiss his cheek. Your nose slides over his skin, the heat of his blood under the surface warming your palms, and you steal a second there, two, breathing in his smell. If this is all you get, you can be okay with it. Eventually.

You pull away. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter 

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

please forgive any mistakes and how long it took, i have been a bit unwell! hopefully it won’t be too long before part four :3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

[sunboki]

— TEASER

You and Han Jisung are the ultimate best friends. While he’s busy nerding away, you’re filling him in on the latest and greatest drama. That’s until he brings up crushes. And I mean, what’re you supposed to say when he asks you that? It’s not like Jisung’s your crush… right?

📓 » Han Jisung x f. reader

GENRE┊non idol au, friends to lovers, (kinda) enemies to lovers, two idiots being oblivious, fake relationship au, highschool au, angst, fluff, slowburn

WORD COUNT┊estimated to be around 5k-6k words

WARNINGS┊profanity, lack of communication, childish pettiness, stupidity at insane levels

AUG’S NOTES┊if you don’t have a date this valentines, just know we’re both in the same boat ☹️ hopefully some hanji will help!!

THE BOYFRIEND STATUS TAGLIST — OPEN

The first night of your downfall all started in mid-January.

All was well and had been going well, until it wasn’t.

You’ve known Han Jisung since second grade, starting with having to apologize for knocking over his castle and him proceeding to cry even louder in the sandbox, snotty in his red and white striped shirt.

You swear that shirt is still in his closet.

And when he was wimping away in a corner, you were the one that got him out of his shell. To this day you’re convinced you’re the first person to ever witness the true Han Jisung, who starts slapping things when he laughs really hard, who gets overly competitive during board games, who keeps hundreds of mind-blowing tracks he’s produced to himself, and who (you wouldn’t admit it) has one of the prettiest smiles in the world.

Freshman year of high school you met Jisung again in your Geography class.

Initially, it took you a moment to recognize his face, having changed quite a bit over the years. And certainly not a bad kind of change. Although, his nerdy personality was all the assurance you needed to figure out it was him, apart from that he switched to contacts, grew his hair out more, and looked, y’know, “older.”

Older as in: what happened to you? ..Why are you so attractive?

But you won’t get too far into that.

Through the years he tutored you. Jisung had a knack for studying since day one, and despite occasionally looking like he could pass as a dropout (usually the week before finals), no one else could maintain better grades than him.

So, on a night both you and Jisung were slouched over your desk, procrastinating school work by rating people at school from most to least kissable, he turns to you, face halfway illuminated by your lamp.

“Do you like anyone?” Your boba-eyed friend asks while you aimlessly scroll through your camera roll in search of the photo you’d been talking about, mumbling a quiet “of course” in response.

Jisung makes an unconvinced noise and clasps his hands together, leaning forward.

“No like, like like anybody.”

Finally escaping your ‘rating people’s kissing-capabilities’ headspace and now entering into your ‘is this the question i think it is?’ one, you wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

It’s a strange question, not a Jisung-question, and you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer he stares at you.

You’ve never even thought about it really, so why are you so sweaty? Why does your heart feel as if it may just beat out of your chest, why is your mouth so dry?

Questions.

Clearing your throat and secretly praying it didn’t give away your piling anxiety, you feign a roll of your eyes, tapping your fingernail on the cool desk.

God, why are you so nervous?

“Um, nobody, why?” You retort, ignoring the scrutinizing squint of his eyes watching you.

It’s never like this. You’re the one that teases, gets him all shy, stumbling over his words. So now you suddenly feel like Jerry and he’s Tom.

Abnormal.

“C’mon, there has to be someone you think is cute,” He whines, and before you can stop it one word smacks you upside the head.

You.

“It’s Minho!” You shout, hurried and barely audible as if trying to tune out your inner panic.

Han looks stunned.

Han as in best friend, not crush. Right.

What were you thinking?

“..Min.. Minho?” He phrases slowly, evidently surprised.

Being completely honest, you’re just as surprised as he is. Minho is attractive, sure, but never in your life did you consider him like that.

Oh how you wished you could erase all of this from ever happening.

It doesn’t make sense. Because it’s not like you’re into Jisung. Or are you?

Nope. Nuh-uh. You were just caught off guard and unprepared. Not to mention it was an unexpected question, that’s all.

Fuck.

You like Jisung. There’s no point of lying to yourself anymore. From the start of seeing him again, those “friendly” gestures weren’t friendly anymore, they were intentional, pursuing. Walking from class to class together, constantly checking your texts, meeting his eyes only to smile like fools.

“Yep. Minho. That’s the guy,” Cutting each sentence shorter than the last, you nod fervently, avoiding his gaze.

Both soaking in utterly hellish silence, the tension was likely seeping through the cracks in your door at this rate.

He really shouldn’t have ever brought this up, and you shouldn’t have said Minho. So on the bright side, at least you’re both at fault here in the grand scheme of things.

“..Alright then.” He shrugs and goes back to writing down notes, ignoring how the room feels a hundred degrees hotter and that every inch of your soul is drenched in a cold sweat, plagued with the situation you landed yourself in.

What has gotten into you?

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #straykids x you #straykids x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fluff #straykids fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #straykids angst #han jisung x y/n #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #jisung x y/n #jisung x you #jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung angst #han x you #han x y/n #han x reader

[marvelous-llama]

Seventeen recs

<<original book

most of the mentioned works is 18+ NSFW, MINORS DNI

pls don´t hesitate to hmu, if any of mentioned links doesn´t work or you have suggestions for more fics... thank you so much for all the love and comments

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Jihoon x fem!reader, Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 10k + 17k) soulmate AU - angst, fluff, hurt/comfort in a world where soulmates exists, jihoon is faced with difficult decisions part 1, part 2

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen recs #s.coups #scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #s.coups x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups smut #s.coups smut

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 5

Sorry about that time I lied guys, I kept adding more to this than I thought I would, oh well. Enjoy me inserting my character into episode 5 basically lol. Also, your comments make me fucking cry, you guys are so sweet. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this journey with me. xoxo, dany

Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5|Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Chapter 9

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 4.6k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, family drama

You find yourself just sitting there, staring at Lucifer, trying not to panic. Lucifer shifted in his seat nervously, waiting for you to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Well.. the ones that did had a lot of cussing and fear that you did not want to let out onto him. You propped your elbows on your knees and rested your head in your hands, and took some time to breath.

You start to ask yourself why Lucifer would think this was ok, but you didn't need to ask, you already knew the answer. You said you would be there for him for stuff like this, and he was taking you up on it. You just thought you would be helping him in the same way you had been already, talking through it and holding him through the pain, not that he would actually want you to go physically go with him to see his daughter. If you had a little more time to plan and process this, you probably would have found this more sweet, but right now, all you could think of was how the King of Hell was bringing you out not only in public, but to meet his daughter.

Lucifer sat and watched your silent panic, 'Shit, nice going Lucifer, you really didn't think this part through did you? Now you are going to ruin your relationship with your daughter and your fri- friend? Friend? Were you friends? Errr, not important right now! You were going to ruin these two relationships that you cared a lot about in one day?! What is wrong with you?!'

"(y/n)... darling I'm so-"

"What did I say about apologizing to me when it came to this stuff?" you interrupted looking up at him, now with a more calm determination on your face.

"Uhh... to not?"

You smiled, "Good boy."

A shiver ran up his spine, oh this interaction was getting confusing for him. Something seemed to switch in you in an instant, leaving him confused but, relieved?

You chuckled and sat back in your seat, "Ok, I just needed a moment," you rubbed your hands over your face and back through your hair, "A warning would have been nice, but it was not possible at the time, so I can move past that. I said I was here to support you, so that's what I'm going to do."

Lucifer felt a blush form across his face, "Oh! Well... good! Th-thank you."

You smile over at him, "Now, what exactly am I going to be walking into here?"

"Well... she is showing me around her hotel, she said he needed help with something, getting a meeting with... Heaven..." he made a displeased face and shivered, "I really don't know about that, but she wants to see me and... I'm going to see what I can do to help her. Look around and see what she has going," he said with a far away look in his eyes.

"A meeting with Heaven? Why?"

Lucifer sighed and leaned back in his chair to stare out the window, "She wants to rehabilitate sinners, try to get them into Heaven. Probably to combat the yearly, now bi-yearly exterminations."

You had heard of the exterminations, but had not yet been present for one yet, you had arrived a few days after the last one, then learned that the next one had been moved up to six months after that instead of a year. The deadline was coming up in about another month. But... rehabilitating sinners to get them into heaven? Was that... possible?

"Is that possible?" you decided to ask allowed, "Rehabilitation of souls?"

Lucifer remained looking out the car window, looking down, then back up at whatever he was looking at outside, "No."

Well... one of the possible wedges in their relationship was already starting to make sense. How long had Charlie been working on this? Had they talked about this much? Probably not, Lucifer seemed to already be shutting down at the conversation with you. You didn't think it would be helpful to dig more into his thoughts on this topic.

"Ok, so... how do you want me to help? You have normally wanted our relationship to remain pretty discreet, so I'm not sure what all I can do here."

Lucifer looked over at you, and then shifted to take your hand, "I just... I want you by my side. I don't know how many people will be there. I don't expect many. Also, I would be fine just saying you were a friend of mine who I wanted to bring with... if you are ok with me referring to you as such."

You. Friends with Lucifer. Even as a front, that was something. Did he really think of you as a friend at all? It almost felt like you guys were friends, you certainly spent more time with him than anyone else you would call a friend. Stop. Back to the point. You were playing the role of his friend here. Ya, you could do that. 'Oh hey Charlie! Hope it's ok that I joined your dad, we were already hanging out when you called and I just wanted to tag along and see this hotel of yours!' Ya. Ya! This could work.

You gave him a big smile, "Ok!"

He gave you a big smile back.

"But you are not leaving until you have a real conversation about trying to connect with her."

His smile faded back into nervousness, and he rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll... I'll try."

You gave him a pat on the head and sat back in your seat. He remained holding onto your hand the rest of the car ride over.

_____________________________________________________________

The next couple of hours were... a lot. Charlie opened the door to the hotel and it was like a flip switched in Lucifer, he was talking a million miles a minute, full of charisma, hugging Charlie, looking around the hotel, greeting the members of the staff and guest, which there weren't a lot of, thank god.

Lucifer had quickly introduced you to Charlie as his friend, you gave you explanation that you had thought up earlier, and she bought it with a smile. Her energy was almost disgustingly sweet, the kind that made you want to pull away and gravitate towards at the same time. You could already see how similar they were, and it made you happy to see how happy he was to see Charlie, but both of their reactions also felt a little forced and over the top trying to interact with each other, both with a weight of anxiety clinging to their words and actions.

It also did not help that one of the staff, Alastor, the Radio Demon, was doing a lot to antagonize Lucifer in front of his daughter. You could tell that every action was meant to piss Lucifer off, it reeked of power play, but given how much it seemed that he actually supported Charlie you knew it was not a good place to step in. But seeing the way he toyed with Lucifer's already fragile emotions and relationship with Charlie made you hurt, and worry a little. You worried that Alastor might get in the way of these two getting a meaningful conversation. You resigned to standing over by the side and watched the interactions unfold in front of you.

At a certain point in the conversation, one of Alastor's old friends happened to barge into the hotel in the middle of the argument, briefly distracting Alastor. This day just seemed to keep getting weirder. You weren't used to being around this many other sinners in a social setting, and you tried as best as you could to hang out by the wall.

You were hoping that the new unexpected guest would distract Alastor long enough for Lucifer and Charlie to get sometime together. But no, Alastor sent his friend, Mimzy, over to talk with the rest of the staff while he walked back over to Charlie and Lucifer to continue their tour. Damn, this guy was nothing if not persistent to make Lucifer's time here all that much harder than it already was.

Lucifer gave you a look of 'Please save me and come with', you shook your head and tipped your head towards the stairs. You were here at the hotel with him, but he needed to have this conversation with Charlie without you. Also without the others, but who knows if that was going to happen at this point.

He sighed, knowing you were right, slapped the grin back on his face, and went upstairs with Charlie, Alastor, and Charlie's girlfriend, Vaggie. You made a note to yourself about the way Lucifer used his charisma as a coping mechanism, you already knew that, but here it was blaringly obvious to you.

The other members of the hotel, Husk, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, and Niffty, joined Mimzy at the bar as they talked about her relationship with Alastor. After talking for a few minutes, you heard one of the voices yell out, "Hey toots, what about you? What's your story, eh?" You look over to see Angel Dust and Husk looking at you.

'Oh crap. What do I say to them?' You stare blankly at them for a couple seconds. You had no problem talking to them, but seeing Angel Dust here made you a little nervous, he was one of Valentino's boys. Sure, porn and prostitution were not exactly the same, but there was some amount of overlap in the community. Luckily, you thought it would be more likely for you recognize him, than it would be for him to recognize you. He was a big star in the industry, and prostitutes don't get their name spread as easily unless they were really popular or also doing porn on this side.

"What, is the "friend of his royal highness" too good for us, or somethin'?" Angel scoffed at you.

You shook your head, "Oh! No, I'm sorry, how rude of me. Sorry you just looked familiar and I was trying to place from where."

Angel turned out more towards you with a smirk, "Ah, you a fan a' my work, baby? I'm Angel Dust, the famous pornstar" he said adjusting his chest fluff with his lower two arms and looking at you with sultry eyes.

"Right! That makes sense. I do believe I have seen... some of your work," you try to act a little sheepish as you walk a little closer to them.

"No need to be shy, baby, nothin' wrong with enjoyin' a little porn," Angel purred. You again try to act sheepish and brush away the comment.

"So uhh, Husk was it?" you said addressing the bartender.

"Ya, nice to meet you. (y/n), was it?" he said flatly, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Uh, yup!" You saw with a bit of nervousness. Why was he looking at you like that? Did he recognize you? Or was he just sizing up someone who came in here claiming to be a friend of the King? You couldn't tell. It was because he could tell you were being fake, but you didn't know that, and he was not about to tell you.

"Cool", he looked quickly over at Mimzy with a glare, who was currently preoccupied my Niffy, "Excuse me for a minute," and he disappeared upstairs.

"Don't mind him," said Angel, "He's a bit of a sour-puss at first, but he gets better when you get to know him. Trust me." Angel said with a smile and a wink.

You and Angel continued to talk for a while longer, he was actually really funny and easy to talk to. You wished it wasn't necessary for you to keep your secret about your relationship with Lucifer, you didn't think you could mention your profession without giving that away. Luckily, Angel didn't ask about what you did for work, he mostly asked about what it was like to be friends with Lucifer, and you gave him as some indirect answers but tried to keep it interesting. Stuff like his duck room, stuff that Lucifer wouldn't mind you talking about. He asked how you both met, you make up some story about how you had been hired to do something around his house, you ended up talking and hit it off, which was not entirely untrue. You just left out how the job was fucking him, and that it had spiraled into the much more complex and wonderfully confusing relationship that you two had today.

Angel picked up that something felt off about your story, but had been working on that whole "boundaries" thing with Husk, so he figured it was better not to push. Especially with someone he had just met. Besides, he liked you so far, he hoped you would come back around, and didn't really want to see what down happen if he pissed of the friend of the King of Hell.

During your conversation, Husk had come back down behind the bar, looking a little shaken. You and Angel didn't have time to ask before someone started... trying to ram down the front door?!

Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie quickly teleported back into the lobby. 'Could Lucifer teleport? What the fuck?' At the same time, Alastor emerged from the floor from a pile of shadows on the floor of the lobby.

Apparently, Mimzy had fucked with some of the Sharks and then ran here to hide. Awesome, didn't like her anyway. Lucifer was being, very short and dismissive about the situation towards Charlie, not doing anything about it while Alastor went out and dealt with the Sharks.

"Mhmm, you see? What'd I tell you?" Lucifer said, as Charlie stared out the now broken front doors of the hotel at the battle outside, "Charlieeee. Sinners are violent psychopaths, hell-bent on causing as much pain a destruction as they can. There is really no point in tryin-"

"Dad, stop!" Charlie interrupted, "He is defending this hotel. It may be a little more... sadistic than I'd hoped, but he's doing it for me! How come he can have faith in me but my own father can't?!"

The hotel fell silent as the violence outside came to and end, Alastor looking out at his job well done and dealing with Mimzy. Angel whispered something to Husk and... pulled out some popcorn? There was too much going to begin to start unpacking that.

This was Lucifer's chance to be open and honest, to try to repair the rift and find some understanding between them. He needed to be vulnerable with her, which was the thing he was most scared of. He looked over to you, looking for guidance. You returned a sharp look of 'Dude, fucking TALK TO HER, be fucking REAL WITH HER, for the fucking love of GOD.'

He sighed, and he took the first step into rebuilding his relationship with his daughter, which involved about being honest and vulnerable about how he had tried this all before, trying to rehabilitate sinners, and how Heaven and its order scared this living hell out of him. And even more so, how he was scared of losing her in the process, telling her how much he loved her.

This was part of the story he hadn't even told you yet.

Charlie responded with her own feelings about growing up distant for him but loving him through their small bits of connection, the stories and dreams he would share with her, and how it had sparked her own dreams that she now fought for. The dream to save her people, more than anything.

You watched as Lucifer started to soften, and together they opened up about wanting to know each other, wanting to work together, wanting to achieve their dreams together, and not let life try to pull them apart again. You even got to see his big, beautiful angel wings for the first time, which were an incredible sight to see. Their discussion ended in hugs and tears.

"Ok," Lucifer said ending the long hug, "I can get you the meeting, but once you're in Heaven... I won't be able to go with you... Will you be ok?"

Charlie took Lucifer's hands with a smile, "I'll be fine."

Lucifer smiled back, "That's my girl."

Lucifer looked over at you, "(y/n), I uhh... should probably go work on this now, I don't know how long it will take, should I take you home or..."

"I... could stay here longer... If that is ok with you? And everyone else, of course," you said looking around at the others, mostly Charlie and Angel, who both smiled at you. You looked back at Lucifer, who nodded.

"Ok, I'll come back for you when I am done. Thanks for being flexible," he smiled warmly, with eyes that seemed to flicker with a spark of life you had yet to see in him.

"No problem, now get this girl that meeting," you said looking at Charlie with a smile, "she's got some lives to change."

Charlie beamed back a smile at you, then looked at Lucifer. He sighed, tapped his can on the ground and softly said, "Good luck kiddo," as he disappeared in a swirling cloud of red smoke. The room goes silent, outside of Charlie and Vaggie briefly talking and holding either other in a sweet embrace.

"So," you say, addressing Charlie after she finished her moment with Vaggie, "What does a girl gotten do to get a tour of this fabulous establishment of yours, Miss Morningstar?" You say with a flicker of playful mischief in your eyes. Charlie beams you another award winning smile as she extends a hand out to you, inviting you to follow her.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!"

______________________________________________________________

You spent the rest of the evening getting a tour from Charlie and Vaggie, and talking with the others at the hotel. It wasn't anything fancy, but the company was nice and it was so funny to see how much Charlie was like her father, except for her spirit had not been broken yet as his had. You prayed that it never would, because it was beautiful to watch. You couldn't help but feel both jealous and inspired by her.

Was this how Lucifer used to be before all of the pain he endured? You hoped now that she was back in his life that this part of him would light up again, without all of the fake smiles and hidden tears behind locked doors. If that light you saw in his eyes was any indication, you were pretty sure it was already starting.

Alastor seemed less interested in giving a tour now that Lucifer was not around to torment, but you could tell he was also sizing you up a little and putting on a little bit of a show for you with a story and a big smile. You would laugh but not get too pulled into his antics or get tripped up by him, which seemed to entertain him a little as well as agitate him.

Angel and Husk seemed amused and impressed by how you could keep up with Alastor, while Niffty ran around cleaning and asked if Lucifer was always so boring or if he was more of a "Bad Boy" with you. You just laughed and told her that he could have his moments, Niffty lit up and gave you a maniacal giggle in response as she went back to hunting cockroaches. You looked at the others, Angel shrugged, "Don't try too hard to figure her out, you might get a headache." You laughed, and spent some more time talking with Husk and Angel, Husk seemed to warm up to you the more you talked, but you could tell he would eye you a little whenever you were "putting on more of an act". He must be good at reading people, you respected that, but also knew that would make some interactions hard.

Angel was easy to talk to, he was full of energy, loved gossip, and never ran out of stories, many of them centered around his work and his boss, Valentino, but Husk would try to reel him in so that he wouldn't get to heated in front of "new people". You wished you could talk with him about your job, not that bonding over trauma was the healthiest thing to do, but Angel seemed to care a little bit more about others than you expected, everyone here did. Even Alastor, in his own... unique ways.

Could redemption really be possible? You knew Lucifer said it wasn't, but even just by being around this group, you felt that they weren't like other sinners. They were... kinder, especially Charlie and Vaggie. You weren't used to bonding with others well, in hell or when you were alive, but this... this felt different.

This hotel had something special. Maybe... maybe you could... try out the hotel too? Who knows about redemption, but this would be way nicer than living above the brothel. Would that be possible? Uhh... that might make things complicated with Lucifer. But maybe... could you quit the brothel? Work and live here? Just be friends with him? Or... more?

'Whoa...'

'What?'

You shook your head '...that was weird.' Anyways, you were getting a little swept up in the moment, best to not get swept up in the fantasy of moving here. You would have to think about it, didn't want to make things more complicated than they were already starting to be. Plus, you had no idea yet how Charlie's meeting with Heaven would go. The hotel could be blown off the face of the circle by like... Angel Nukes or whatever. Probably best to see how this pans out.

Eventually, Lucifer would arrive back at the hotel in his swirling vortex of red clouds. Charlie ran over to her father, asking how it went. He gave her a thumbs up and a tired smile, "All set up." Charlie smiled with tears in her eyes, as she gave her dad a big squishy hug and thanked him profusely. Lucifer lit up in a smile as her hugged her back.

After a few minutes, they released each other from their long embrace, and Lucifer looked over at you, "I hope these hooligans didn't cause you too much trouble while I was away."

You smile from your seat at the bar, still next to Angel and Husk, "Nope, just the right about of trouble actually," you say looking at the two sitting with you, and then out at the others.

"Good. Well, it's time to head back, are you ready?" Lucifer said, you nodded and starting saying your goodbyes, hugging those that wanted one, mostly Charlie, but also Vaggie and Angel Dust, and waved goodbye to the others. You saw Alastor eyeing you and Lucifer with a sinister grin as Lucifer snaked an arm around you, preparing to activate another teleportation.

You quickly call out to Alastor, he narrows his eyes at you in curiosity, "Keep up the good work buddy, and never lose that smile! You know you're never fully dressed without one!" The last thing you saw before being enveloped in smoke was Alastor's impossibly wide smile somehow splitting into a further, more devious, jagged smile across his wicked face. Before you knew it, you were back in Lucifer's room.

Lucifer looked at you with playful irritation, "Why did those have to be your parting words?"

You shrugged, "As a challenge, if he is going to make your life miserable, I'm just going to do it back whenever I get the chance. It'll be fun!"

Lucifer rolled his eyes with a groan. He then picked you up and starting carrying you towards the bed, "Already missy, time for you to do your job." Being suddenly picked up had you responding with a startled laugh. For how small his statue was, you would constantly forgot how strong he was, he just always looked so fragile and meek when he was sleeping in your lap.

You look up at him from his arms, pushing down the urge to just stare at the details of his beautiful face from this angle.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup," he said, putting you down on the bed and crawling up into his spot on your lap, wrapping his arms around you waist and nuzzling his head on your shoulder. You enclose your arms around him and play with his hair.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Lucifer shook his head into your neck, "Cuddles now, talk later."

"Fair enough," you say as you hold him close. You feel the tension from his body slowly melt off away in your arms, until he was almost asleep.

As Lucifer laid in your arms, trying to fight off the taxing day of both seeing his daughter again for the first time in forever, getting the pleasure of Alastor, and dealing with Heaven's irritating meeting request system (where he mostly had to wait until the staff stopped screaming before he could even make his request and start talking to anyone that could begin setting up the process of scheduling a meeting) ... it had actually been a good day. Like... a really good day. One of the best days he has had in... what felt like forever. The meeting had him a little nervous, but, he had his daughter back, and he was going to do everything to make sure he supported her and never had to live without her again. For the first time, he felt like he could actually start rebuilding some sort of a relationship with her. It would take time, but it was worth it.

He then looked up at you, your beautiful (e/c) eyes, the hero of his day. Since the day he met you and every day since. He didn't want to put you on a pedestal, he knew you weren't perfect, but he didn't want you to be. God, did you feel like the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. As far as he was concerned, you were his friend, maybe even a best friend, maybe even... errr... something greater than a best friend! ...whatever that could be. He knew he couldn't tell you that, but he felt it in his heart. He wanted to believe that you wouldn't have done all of this just because it was your job.

"Hey," he said sleepily, "Thank you for coming with me... I needed that... I needed her back... my Charlie... and now... I'm getting happy again... and its all... because of... you..." Lucifer then, guess what? Feel asleep.

His words made your breath catch. It took everything in you not to start shaking as the tears started to roll down your face, as he slept in your arms. Today felt like such a victory for you, well for him, but also for you. You felt like you had actually done something worth while, something that meant meaningful for once. You were able to help this beautiful, sweet, kind, loving, angelic creature start to find hope and connection again.

The best part of all was that he, in return, had started to give you hope again too.

______________________________________________________________

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