#when i first read the submission i was very confused but i get it now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

domjaehyun · 2 years

Text

pairing. johnny x fem!reader

genre. fluff, mild angst, smut, soulmate!au, college!au (they’re grad students, though)

word count. 30k

contents. explicit smut (soft dom!Johnny, not exactly submissive but not super dominant either!reader, public sex, slight exhibitionism, nipple play (receiving), fingering (receiving), oral (receiving), unprotected sex (she’s on the pill), praise)

notes. this is one of my commissions, requested by someone who would prefer to stay anonymous, and i just want to say thank you for your charity donation and your incredible patience with me! i would also like to dedicate this to my love, my bestie roxie, whose birthday it is today! (read: the day i initially tried to post this) positive feedback is always appreciated, as are donations! enjoy your read!

i. “i think that possibly, maybe i’m falling for you.” - landon pigg, falling in love at a coffee shop.

“Can I get a matcha latte with soy and honey?” You hear a familiar voice ask at the register, and you turn to see the middle-aged woman that comes in every Tuesday and orders the same thing.

“Matcha with soy and honey?” Soyeon mumbles, confused, and the regular’s face twists briefly into discomfort before she points over your co-worker’s shoulder directly at you.

“Can she make it?” The woman asks hopefully. “She knows how I like my matcha.”

“Sure!” Soyeon says immediately, all too eager to switch places with you for the time being. You two swap spots and you shoot the woman a welcoming smile as you start her drink.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” She says, relieved.

“Of course I’m here,” You reply with a smile as if it were obvious. “Who else would make my honey matcha mix?” She smiles good-naturedly and moves aside so Soyeon can continue taking orders. Before long, her drink is finished and you hand it to her with a smile and a napkin wrapped around it.

“You’re the best!” She takes a sip of her drink and her eyes slide shut in bliss, a content smile curling her lips. “For you.” She offers, handing you a five dollar bill.

“Thank you,” You reply gratefully, pocketing the tip. “See you next time!” She waves as she makes her way out of the café.

“What is so special about her matcha?” Soyeon asks curiously, looking at you from over her shoulder.

“It’s really just a regular matcha but with honey drizzled in,” You explain, and she nods in understanding.

“You always know the best ways to make drinks taste even better.” Soyeon turns to you, showing you the now-finished cake pop you were working on. “Is this good?”

“Perfect.”

“Dope.” She places it in the display window and leans up against the counter with a loud sigh. “What a day, huh?”

“...You’ve been working for an hour, and only have half a cake pop to show for it.” You snicker, and she frowns at you.

“I have taken twelve orders!” She says defensively, and you snort.

“And made zero of those drinks.” You point out with a wry smile, and she narrows her eyes at you.

“It’s my first week,” Soyeon whines, and you pat her shoulder comfortingly.

“I know.” You assure her. “I’m teasing.”

“Good.” She fakes a dramatic sniffle before pushing herself off of the counter. “Back to work!” She chirps, clapping twice and rushing off to the back room, mumbling something about checking inventory.

“There’s no damn inventory to check,” You mutter, rolling your eyes, “because I just did that this morning.”

“Do that often?” A voice calls out from behind you, and you whirl around to see a tall, very handsome guy standing by the register with a small smile on his face. At your look of confusion, he gestures to the air around his head. “Talk out loud to yourself?”

“Only when the voices in my head get too loud,” You joke before freezing. What a ridiculous thing to say.

To your surprise (and relief), the guy laughs, his eyes crinkling cutely with amusement. “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah.” You’re damn near breathless with relief and also with astonishment at just how handsome he is. Something about him, however, feels…familiar in a way you just can’t seem to place. “Can, um, can I get you anything?”

Duh, you dolt, you scold yourself, that’s why he’s here.

“Yeah,” He chuckles, no doubt amused by your floundering. “Can I get a large iced Americano?”

“Sure,” You say immediately, thankful to have something to do so you don’t just stand there looking stupid. You set about making his drink and search your brain for something to say to pass the time. “Do you…come here often?” You stop short and stare blankly at the floor, willing the powers that be to have drowned your voice out so he didn’t hear you. When you peek over the espresso machine, he’s staring at you with an amused expression, his eyebrow raised in intrigue. “I ask because, uh…I work here–”

“Right.”

“–so I come here often–”

“Of course.” He’s only getting progressively more amused the more you talk and part of you just wants to shut up already, but you’re helpless as words spill from your lips. The only plus is that he seems to be getting a good-natured kick out of your fumbling, and his smile is very warm and inviting. You make eye contact briefly, and it feels like time stops, that oddly familiar feeling tugging at your subconscious thoughts again before the moment passes and you drop your gaze.

“—and I don’t ever see you, so…yeah.” You finish lamely, staring down at the complete Americano as if you could jump inside and, if you’re lucky, drown in it.

“My friend told me about this place, so I thought I’d give it a try.” Tall Cute Guy smiles as he hands over his card and you charge it, waiting for the machine’s sound of approval before you hand over his drink. He leans forward conspiratorially as you hand his card back, and you find yourself leaning in too, ears trained on his voice when he whispers, “I think I’ll be coming by more often.”

“Yeah?” You say, mentally slapping yourself at the embarrassing amount of hope in your response.

“Yeah,” He agrees, leaning back and finally taking his card from your hand, your fingers brushing against his briefly. You suck in a sudden breath at the way your stomach floods with butterflies, and when you look up from your hands, he’s watching you with a curious, wondrous expression. He felt what you felt; he had to have felt it, what with the way he’s staring at you, both of you frozen in the moment.

“Cool,” You mumble as an afterthought, and that winning smile is back on his face like it never left. “Was it your ever-so-charming barista that swayed you in our favor?” You joke, and he smiles even wider than you thought possible.

“I think that could be a factor,” He teases playfully, and your lips curl up into a nervous smile. “The voices in my head are really hyping this place—and the charming barista—up right now.”

“Tell them I said thank you,” You chuckle, and he nods resolutely.

“Will do.” He raises one—large, you manage to notice—hand in a wave, saying, “I’ll see you around?” You send a wave back just before he turns around and exits the store and promptly collapse against the espresso machine in exhaustion.

“That was really something,” Soyeon drawls, amused, and you exclaim in surprise, whirling around to face her.

“How much did you hear?”

“Damn near all of it,” She answers with a mischievous smile.

“What happened to checking the inventory?” You ask accusingly.

“Pretty quick of a task to do when your co-worker’s already done it that morning.” She beams at you and you narrow your eyes back at her.

“You suck.” You ball up the rag you use to wipe the tables and throw it at her, laughing when it hits her square in the chest.

“You love me!”

“Unfortunately.”

“So what was his name, anyway?” Soyeon asks, and you turn to look at her in dismay. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get it.”

“…I won’t tell you.” You mumble, embarrassed, and she groans in anguish, clapping a hand to her forehead.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You guys should have been there,” Soyeon whispers loudly, nudging you with her foot from across the table. “I’ve never seen her so flustered!”

“Man, I wish I’d seen it,” Soojin huffs, and you glare at her. “Sorry.”

“I don’t blame you, though,” Soyeon continues, blowing a bubble and popping it loudly enough to attract the negative attention of the table next to you. “He was fine.”

“Would you keep it down?” You whisper emphatically, and Soyeon rolls her eyes. “This is a library!”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out again,” Yuqi says worriedly, and Soyeon hesitates before slumping in her seat and raising her hands in surrender.

“Fine,” She mouths. Her bored gaze scans the room as you and Yuqi return to your coursework and Soojin starts rifling through the Cosmopolitan magazine she picked up on the way in.

“Hey, look,” Soojin pipes up excitedly, smoothing out the magazine on the table. “‘10 Tricks to Make Him Head Over Heels.’”

“Just what you need,” Soyeon teases you, and you stare blankly at her until she blows a raspberry and sits back. “You know I’m right.” Her gaze trails up and away from your table, looking for something to occupy herself with, before she gasps loudly, making the three of you jump.

“No way,” Soyeon breathes in surprise, and you look up at her, half-annoyed and half-curious, before setting your pen down in defeat.

“What is it?”

“More like who is it,” Soyeon replies with a devilish smile, and that tugging feeling from earlier returns, twisting and pulling and spilling hope everywhere as you hang onto her next words. “It’s your loverboy from the coffee shop.”

You swallow thickly before following her gaze to a spot behind you and, sure enough, there stands Tall Cute Guy, searching the bookshelves for something. You can’t manage to look away for some reason, the pulling, almost aching sensation only lessening when you watch him, so you sit there, fully pivoted in your seat, staring dead at him.

Unfortunately for you, he must be able to feel you staring two holes into the side of his head, because he turns to look around the room, his eyes landing on you after what feels like moments of waiting. His face lights up in recognition and he smiles widely, raising a hand in greeting, and something about the crinkle of his eyes unlocks a distant nostalgia in you, a longing for something you can’t quite place.

You lift your hand to return the gesture, giving him a small smile before turning back around to face your friends.

“He is fine,” Soojin whispers, and you roll your eyes.

“He’s staring at you,” Soyeon sing-songs quietly, and you whine in protest, wishing your notebook could tuck you in its pages protectively like a bookmark and close on you, shielding you from any prying eyes.

However, no such miracle happens, and you’re left to helplessly trail your gaze after Tall Cute Guy as he makes his way back to his table which is just out of sight enough that you have to crane your neck slightly to get a better view of him.

For what feels like hours, the two of you play eye tag, with you watching him until he looks up at you and then promptly looking away, only to repeat the cycle in a matter of seconds. After your sixth round—yes, you were counting—Soyeon growls in frustration and kicks your foot none too gently under the table.

“Ouch, damn it!” You hiss, and she glares daggers at you. “What?”

“I can’t sit here and watch you two stare at each other on and off for another second.” She huffs, sitting up in her seat. “I’m going to get some food.”

“I’m coming!” Soojin chirps, closing her magazine.

“Me too,” Yuqi adds, and you stare at her in betrayal.

“Et tu, Brute?” You whisper for emphasis, and she laughs, squeezing your shoulder gently.

“It really is painful to watch you, y’know.” She says sympathetically, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “D’you wanna come?”

“No, I’m about to outline this essay while the reading is still fresh in my mind.” You mumble in defeat, pulling your laptop out of your bag, and she nods in understanding.

“Bring me back some chicken!” You whisper loudly at their retreating backs, and Soyeon turns to face you, shooting you a thumbs up of understanding.

“Soy garlic?”

“Yep!” You nod to emphasize your point, and she salutes you before turning around and exiting the library with your two other friends. You peek over at Tall Cute Guy’s location to see him poring over a book, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Just as you’re looking away, he looks up and, after scanning the room, makes eye contact with you for what feels like the millionth time this evening. He looks around at your friends’ now empty seats, and shoots you a puzzled look. You pantomime an eating action, and he nods, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile as he returns his gaze to his book.

You’re finally getting somewhere with your essay outline, thank the universe, and you decide to peek at Tall Cute Guy as a reward of sorts, only for your face to fall when he’s not in his spot. His bag is gone, too, so you figure he’s left for the night.

You’re swallowing a dejected feeling that, frankly, shouldn’t even exist, when a hand holding a drink appears out of your peripheral vision, startling the everloving daylights out of you, and it’s all you can do to swallow your yelp of surprise, eyes darting up to the owner to find—

“Hey,” Tall Cute Guy says in a low voice, smiling down at you like you’re an old friend he hasn’t seen in a while.

“Hey.” You reply, at a loss for words.

“This is gonna sound crazy,” Tall Cute Guy chuckles, running a hand through his hair, “but have we met before?”

You try to hide the way your face falls—did he really forget you that quickly? Swallowing your disappointment, you smile up at him.

“We met at the cafe earlier.”

“No—of course I remember that,” Tall Cute Guy chuckles, almost in disbelief, and you absolutely can’t hide the relieved sag of your shoulders. “I mean before today.”

“…Not that I know of,” You reply slowly. I would definitely have remembered a face like yours.

“I just…” He trails off, turning to lean against the table you’re sitting at. “I can’t shake the feeling that I know you from somewhere.”

“Can I be honest?” You ask softly, and he looks over at you expectantly. “Neither can I.”

“Great,” He exhales in relief, laughing quietly. “It’s not just me.”

“Nope,” You reply, popping your lips on the ‘p.’

He stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot for a moment. You drum your fingers lightly on your laptop.

“Well, do you wanna—”

“Do you mind if I—”

You both stop short, laughing nervously, and you gesture for him to speak.

“I was gonna ask if you would mind if I sit here.” He says slowly, pointing at the unoccupied chair beside you, and you shake your head immediately, pushing your stuff over to make room for him.

“It’s all yours.” You reply, and he settles down in the chair, his long legs stretching out under the table. “Something wrong with your old spot?”

“Nah,” He answers, looking over at you with a grin. “Voices in my head told me to keep you company.”

“Well, damn,” You chuckle. “I owe them another thank you.”

“You can give it to me, and I’ll pass it along to them.” He responds, wiggling his brows playfully and when you laugh, you can’t shake the feeling that this has happened before. Before you can dwell on the thought for too long, Tall Cute Guy clears his throat pointedly and pushes the drink on the table closer to you. “I got you this, by the way. Seemed like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Really? Oh, wow, thank you.” You mumble, stunned, taking the drink. Shock fills you when you realize that whatever he ordered looks suspiciously like your regular order, and you look up at him. “How do I know you didn’t do anything to this drink?”

“Do I look like that kind of guy?” He gasps in mock hurt, clutching his chest.

“You can never be too careful.”

“Very true,” He agrees. “It’s boba—they sealed the top, not me.” He points out, and you nod. He has a point.

You stab through the plastic covering with the straw he passes over to you and take a tentative sip, eyes blowing wide when—

“It’s my order.” You mumble, surprised.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“It’s—it’s brown sugar boba milk tea—how did you know my exact order?” You stammer, and he shrugs with a small smile, the first hint of shyness you’ve seen from him all day.

“I just got a feeling that this was something you’d like.” He answers, and you sit back in your chair, taking another appreciative sip and chewing the boba, swallowing them before regarding him again.

“So, Mr. Boba Expert,” You begin, and he snorts in surprise. “Do you have a name, or should I keep making up titles for you?”

“It’s Johnny,” He supplies with a widening smile, and you give him your name, reaching a hand out to shake his—why the hell did you go in for a handshake? He looks down at your hand in mild amusement before reaching out and taking your hand in a firm handshake (during which you attempt to think about anything other than how his hand easily dwarfs your own). “What are you working on?” He asks, jerking his chin towards your laptop which has fallen asleep.

“Essay for one of my Literature classes.” You answer, mindlessly scribbling on the trackpad to wake it up. The screen lights up once more, and you save your work before turning your attention back to Johnny.

Johnny. You turn his name over in your head like a rock you’d find at the beach, studying the ridges and spots, syllables and inflections. Rolling it off your tongue in your mind, you’re almost mesmerized by the simplicity of it all, the lack of complexity surrounding the perplexingly familiar male in front of you.

“Don’t mind me, then,” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book, flipping it open to a bookmark which he places on the table, and starts to read. You can’t get a good look at the book cover without making it obvious, so you turn your attention back to your laptop, finishing up your thesis. After a while, curiosity starts to eat you alive, and you turn to face Johnny, propping your cheek up on your fist.

“Yes?” Johnny hums without looking up, and you let out an amused scoff.

“You’ve got, like, a sixth sense for that, I swear.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s the voices in my head.” He responds with a wry smile.

“Well, tell them to quiet down for a second; I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.” He replies simply, and you lean forward, peering at his book cover.

“What are you reading?”

“A collection of love poems by Pablo Neruda,” Johnny answers, and you make a small sound of comprehension. “Wanna hear one?”

“Sure,” You agree, and he beams at you, scooting his chair closer to yours and setting the book flat on its spine so you can see the pages.

“This one is called ‘If You Forget Me,’” Johnny murmurs, and begins reading the poem aloud to you. His voice is a soothing hum that almost fades into the background and gradually, your eyes trail from the words on the page to his hands and up to his face—you swear you could count each of his eyelashes—where you falter, mesmerized by his handsome features. It takes you a moment to realize when Johnny stops reading, and yet another moment still to realize that he’s watching you watch him.

When you do finally catch on, you can’t seem to move away, intrigue keeping you rooted in place as Johnny studies your features before settling on gazing directly and plainly at your lips. You don’t know how long you two sit there, far too close for strangers, but you do know that it startles both of you when your phone’s ringtone sounds out in the previously silent library.

As you fumble for your phone, you avoid the disapproving stares from other students and answer the call, ducking down to dodge the glares being shot your way.

“Soyeon, is there a reason you called instead of texted?” You mutter.

“I didn’t feel like typing.” You can hear her defensive pout, and you sigh in defeat, massaging your temple that’s not pressed to your phone. “We’re pulling up in front of the library with your food and a desire to go home.” She explains, and you groan, hurrying to pack your stuff up.

“An earlier heads up would be appreciated.” You gripe, closing your laptop with a loud noise, whispering an apology to your fellow library patrons.

“Sorry,” Soyeon huffs petulantly.

“I’ll be right out.” You mumble quietly, and you two bid your quick goodbyes before you hang up and turn to Johnny, apologies written all over your face. “My ride's here.”

“No worries,” Johnny assures you, leaning back in his chair in a relaxed slouch. “Have a good night—get home safe, alright?”

“Okay,” You smile, shouldering your bag. “Thanks again for the boba.”

“No problem.” He mirrors your smile and you offer a small wave before turning on your heel and power-walking to the exit. You rush towards Soojin’s black Jeep and climb into the backseat next to Yuqi.

“Your face is so sour, it’s like we interrupted something.” Soyeon teases, her eyes widening slightly when you stare blankly at her. “Did you and Loverboy talk or something?”

“Yeah,” You grouch, taking your bag of food when she offers it and sitting back in your seat as you take a sip of the boba. “Or something.”

ii. “this is the start of something beautiful.” - ed sheeran, this.

“Dear, remember I have to leave early today,” Ms. Adams reminds you, and you nod, smiling up at her from your seat as you check in library books. “You’ll be fine to train the new hire, right?”

“Yep!”

“Excellent—I always know I can count on you.” She says warmly, waving goodbye before disappearing around the corner. You keep checking in books for…well, you don’t know how long it’s been, but it’s apparently been long enough for almost half the library patrons to clear out since you started scanning.

You get up to stretch your limbs and head to the back room, settling down in your favorite chair and pulling your laptop onto your lap. Your progress into working on your essay is interrupted by a tentative knock on the door.

“Must be the new hire,” You mumble, getting up to answer the door. To your surprise, you’re met with—

“Johnny?” You say, confused.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked at the library.” He smiles good-naturedly at you and you can’t help but match it.

“Yeah; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” You answer. “You’re the new hire?”

“Sure am,” He smiles wider, puffing out his chest slightly, and you can’t help but laugh at his proud expression.

“Well, come on in.” You invite, stepping to the side to let him into the back room. He follows after you readily and slips his bag off his shoulder, placing it in the chair you gesture to. “I’ll walk you through the training in a second, but I’m assuming you know the Dewey decimal system, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Johnny assures you. “Dewey and I go way back.”

You snort in amusement, and a sheepish grin overtakes his features.

“That wasn’t very cool, was it?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Johnny,” You reply with a teasing lilt, heading for the main library area. “I never thought you were cool.”

“Hey!”

“So those are the basics, really,” You finish off your explanation after what feels like ages of you just talking, and admittedly, your jaw is starting to ache.

“Seems painless enough.” Johnny nods slowly in understanding before clicking his tongue. “I got this.”

“Great!” You chirp.

“Are you still working on that essay?” Johnny asks curiously, and you sigh.

“Yep. It’s due this Friday.”

“I see, I see. Well, do you want me to reshelve these books,” Johnny pats the pile of books you checked in earlier, “while you work on it?”

“That would be amazing,” You admit, relief taking over your body as you shoot him a quick thumbs up and make your way back to your laptop. After an hour of just straight working, you jump in surprise when Johnny comes into the back room.

“Sorry,” He chuckles, hands raised in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” You sigh, relaxing against the back of your chair. Johnny sits at the table, taking the seat to your left, and pulls out his laptop. The second he opens it, music starts playing—loudly—and you both jump in surprise.

“Shit, sorry,” Johnny mumbles, trying to find out where the sound is coming from.

“No worries,” You say, trying to hold back a laugh, and Johnny finally turns off the music, smiling sheepishly at you. “That’s a good song,” You comment, wanting to ease his worries.

“You know that song?” He looks surprised, and you can’t help but snicker.

“Pretty much everyone knows Coldplay.”

“Okay, true,” Johnny agrees, and you smile, leaning back in your seat. “It plays at, like, all the parties, anyway.”

“It really does,” You laugh, and his eyes light up.

“You go to parties?” He asks curiously.

“I go from time to time, yeah,” You answer with a small shrug, and he chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

“Did you hear what happened at the party on Saturday?” He asks, grinning mischievously.

“What, when that guy got the brilliant idea to try and do a keg stand and almost broke his wrist?” You laugh, and Johnny snorts loudly in amusement.

“That ‘guy’ is my friend, Taeyong—and he actually fractured it.” He informs you and you stop laughing abruptly, embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

It’s Johnny’s turn to laugh now, and he waves you off dismissively. “Don’t worry about it; I thought it was funny as hell.”

Sighing in relief, you shift in your seat to angle yourself more towards Johnny who, you can’t help but notice, is already facing you, his whole body pushed away from his computer.

“I have a question,” Johnny breaks the momentary silence, and you look at him with your eyebrows raised expectantly. “How have we been off each other’s radar this whole time? I mean, we're even in the same field of study!”

“Maybe we met at a party and forgot?” You supply, but Johnny shakes his head immediately.

“I would remember if I met you.” He says earnestly, and you try to ignore the way your cheeks warm up from the unexpected compliment.

“Yeah?” You want to smack yourself for how…simpering you sound, but it’s already out and there’s no taking it back.

“Yeah. You know the voices in my head?” Johnny asks, his lips turning up in a wry smile, and you nod with a laugh. “Haven’t shut up about you since we met.”

You blink at him, stunned. “Did you just indirectly tell me you haven’t stopped thinking about me since we met?”

“It wasn’t that indirect,” Johnny corrects, grinning as he rests his elbow on the table and chin in his hand, smiling contently as he watches you. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Clearly,” You mumble, trying to conceal the nervous giggles bubbling up inside of you as he studies you without an ounce of shame. The unfamiliar tingle of vulnerability floods through every bit of you, anxious warmth spreading as you seem to channel every bit of nervousness you expected Johnny to feel. “Y’know…I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.” You mumble, and he raises an eyebrow in intrigue.

“Oh, yeah?” He moves closer just enough for you to notice but not enough to encroach on your space. “Cute.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You mutter, narrowing your eyes at him in a joking manner.

“It’s already up there.” He replies, grinning as he taps his temple with one finger.

“Oh, boy.” You can’t help but laugh, and his face brightens as he watches you.

“Very cute.” He hums, and you splutter in surprise, waving your hand at him dismissively.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, you’re one of those?” You raise an eyebrow.

“One of those…?” He waits for you to finish.

“Brats.” You finish, and he bursts out laughing, his laughter only building when you look at him with narrowed eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m far from a brat.”

You let out a skeptical hum. “I dunno…If it looks like a duck and talks like a duck—”

“You want me to prove it to you?” It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows, and his voice drops lower as he takes on a serious yet suggestive expression, and you yelp in alarm, waving him off in surrender.

“That’s fine—you’re fine, don’t prove it!” You exclaim, and he starts laughing all over again. This time, you can’t help but join him. “You’re a menace.”

“I know.”

“What are the chances of us watching something I wanna watch?” Soojin whines, and Soyeon huffs.

“I wanna watch this, though.” She says, gesturing to some cheesy rom-com on the screen.

“We should just take a vote.” You suggest, but Yuqi shakes her head.

“There are four of us…what if we tie?” She points out, and you lean against the wall, exhaling loudly.

“Then I won’t vote. Yuqi, be the tiebreaker?” You offer, and they pause before shrugging. “Great. Be right back.” You head to your room and grab your favorite blanket, coming back just in time to catch Soyeon sulking while Soojin smiles brightly.

“I swear, you two bicker like you’re Tom & Jerry.” You snicker, setting up your spot on the couch.

“We wouldn’t bicker so much if Soyeon didn’t pick on me,” Soojin says pointedly, staring at Soyeon accusingly.

“I don’t pick on you—”

“Okay!” Yuqi cuts them off with a loud clap. “Can we start the movie? Our food is gonna come soon.”

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” Soyeon mumbles. “Hey, wait—speaking of: how are you and Loverboy?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively and you narrow your eyes.

“His name is Johnny. And we’re fine—wait, why did food remind you of Johnny?”

“Because he’s a snack,” Soyeon blinks at you like it’s obvious. “Duh.”

“…Can we evict her?” You ask. “I seriously think we should evict her.”

“Aw, come on, that was funny!” Soyeon complains.

“It wasn’t.” You, Soojin, and Yuqi pipe up in unison, looking at each other in surprise before laughing.

“Great, you’re bonding over my misery.” Soyeon gripes, and Yuqi throws a pillow in her direction.

“Are not, you big baby.” Yuqi laughs, and a knock on the door halts any further discussion. “I’ll get it!” She hops up, rushing to the apartment door and opening it. Out of sight, you hear distant voices and Yuqi’s chirpy, “Thank you! Have a nice night!” She rounds the corner with four bags of food, looking more than a little overwhelmed.

“Come put it here,” You urge, moving to help her, but she manages to set the bags down just in time before she drops them. Going through the bags, you each pick out your respective orders before collapsing back onto the couch.

“Can we start the movie now?” Soojin asks excitedly, and Soyeon gestures at the screen, where the title screen of ‘She’s The Man’ is displayed.

“Go ahead.” She replies, grumbling slightly, and you all settle into your spots as the movie starts. As expected, however, less than twenty minutes into the movie, you’ve paused it and are now just lying on the couch talking to each other.

“You know what’s so strange about Johnny?” You say, and Yuqi looks up at you, chewing her food in slightly puffed-out cheeks. “We both have this very weird feeling that we’ve met before.”

“Well, maybe you have,” Soyeon answers. “Like, at a party or something.”

“We definitely haven’t,” You reply, screwing up your face in thought. “Johnny says he’d definitely remember that.”

“Ooh, did he, now?” Soyeon teases, and you groan, kicking the air in her direction.

“Yes, he did,” You reply, fighting down the smile that threatens to reveal itself at the memory of Johnny that day at the library. “I still can’t believe he got a job at the library, like, shortly after we met…what a weird coincidence.”

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence.” Soojin says slowly. “Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell you something.”

“Pfft, yeah, right.” You snort dismissively, shooting her a skeptical look. “What message could that be? That we’re destined for each other or something?”

“Well, maybe you two came into each other’s lives for a reason!” She defends, and you pause at that, looking up thoughtfully.

“Okay, I’ll go with that for now.” You agree, and Soojin smiles, pleased with herself as she takes another bite of her food. “Okay, enough about me, uh…Soyeon!” Soyeon looks up from her food, mouth practically bulging with food and her expression like a deer in headlights. You two blink at each other. “Okay, never mind.” You say, and she looks back down at her food. “Oh, yeah—Yuqi, how’s that code you were trying to beat last night? Did you figure it out?”

“Yeah, I forgot a stupid semicolon in the middle of the function I was using to loop through my array.” She announces proudly, and you and Soojin look at each other and back to Yuqi.

“I’m gonna pretend I know what that means,” You say cheerily, and Soojin nods in agreement.

“I hate when that happens,” Soyeon groans, and Yuqi and she share a look that you and Soojin assume is one of understanding.

“Yeah, me too.” Soojin sympathizes, and Soyeon looks over at her with a blank expression.

“Didn’t you just say you don’t know what that means?”

“Well, yeah, but I wanted to be a part of it, so I made a joke.” Soojin mutters, slightly grouchy, and you nudge her with your shoulder.

“It made me smile,” You comfort her, and she smiles at you.

“Can we finish this movie so we can go to bed? I’m sleepy.” Yuqi complains, gesturing at the paused screen, and you all mumble your agreement.

“Yeah, next person to pause the movie has to do dishes for the next three days.” Soyeon says, and you grimace.

“Deal.”

iii. “and i dreamed last night that you loved me.” - omara portuondo, si llego a besarte.

You’re in the kitchen, finishing up the meal so you can eat it, and you’re so focused on what you’re doing that you don’t notice when Johnny comes up behind you, resulting in a violent flinch when you feel his presence out of nowhere.

“Hi, beautiful.” His voice is low, a murmur as he wraps his arms around your waist. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” He chuckles, pushing past your hair to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Did too.” You mumble petulantly, your heart still racing.

“Didn’t,” He assures you, his hands unwrapping from around you to hold your waist. “I just missed you.”

“Well, the damage is done,” You huff. “My heart’s pounding.”

“Oh, yeah?” Johnny’s voice has a playful lilt to it, and you don’t catch onto his intentions until it’s a moment too late and his hands are spinning you around to face him.

“Wh—Johnny—”

“I’m making it up to you,” He replies innocently, and brings you closer to him, pressing your head against his chest before starting to sway you two from side to side rhythmically.

“There’s no music.” You point out, and he shrugs.

“Don’t need it.”

“I would argue that you do.”

“Well, I would argue that you should stop arguing and embrace this little moment we’re sharing.”

“…Fine.”

“Great.” You can feel his smile as he presses his lips to the top of your head in a fond kiss. “Heads up!” He chirps before leaning down, dropping you into a low dip and laughing as you yelp.

“Johnny!” You exclaim in a hushed voice.

“Why are you whispering?” Johnny snickers. “We’re all alone,” He hums the last part, teasing you, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. “Which means I can do this,” He chuckles, leaning in and gently bumping the tip of his nose against yours before standing you both up.

You laugh in delight as he spins you and only laugh harder as he presses loud, obnoxious kisses to your face. He pauses when his lips are hovering over yours, and you swallow the excitement and nerves building in your throat.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips just barely brushing against yours, and—

You sit straight up in bed, breathing hard. The entirety of your body is warm and buzzing with anxious energy as you look around your dark room as if Johnny could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out.

He is doing no such thing.

What is most jarring to you, however, is the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. You just met Johnny the other day, so why did your dream feel so goddamn familiar?

You begin to realize that something weird is going on…and you’re going to figure out what it is.

“You had a horny dream about a hot guy you met,” Soyeon says slowly, flipping her French toast in the pan. “That’s not abnormal.”

“First of all, it was barely horny. But, no, I’m so serious—it felt like it had already happened.” You explain, stressing the last couple of syllables. “I feel like you’re not getting me.”

“You’re right,” Soyeon agrees, turning to face you with her hand on her hip. “I’m not getting you.”

“Before it got a little…frisky,” You try to recount the memory as carefully as possible, “I just felt this overwhelming…calmness? Like I—I felt…”

“Calm?” Soyeon supplies unhelpfully.

You blink at her impassively. “Safe.” You answer finally, brows furrowing thoughtfully. “I felt safe.”

“That sounds soft as hell,” Soyeon mumbles, balking when you glare at her. “Soft in a good way! Like…domestic.”

“I’ve never felt like that before.” You mutter, looking down at your hands. “Vulnerable but, like, okay with it.”

“That sounds like love,” Soojin chimes in as she makes her way into your now-crowded kitchen. “Who’s in love?” She asks curiously, peering at both of you.

“No one!” You exclaim. She looks at you for an uncomfortably long time. “We were talking about a dream I had–”

“Where she was in love,” Soyeon snickers, dragging out the word. “And horny.”

“I was not–it was barely horny–”

“Aw, with Johnny?” Soojin coos as she and Soyeon bulldoze over your voice like you’d never even spoken, and you slump in your chair, crossing your arms and pulling out your phone to glower at its bright screen.

“Yep,” Soyeon answers smugly, reaching for another piece of bread. She looks from the bread in her hand to the mix she made for the French toast and back at the bread before sighing loudly.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Made too much mix,” She mutters.

“That’s what you get for teasing me.” You smile to yourself, and she glowers at you.

“Shut up. Do you want French toast?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck. Soojin?”

“Hm?” She looks up from her phone with a start.

“Want some French toast?”

“Nah, I want something salty.”

“No one’s gonna help me eat this?” Soyeon complains.

“Help you eat what?” Yuqi comes into the now very crowded kitchen, drying her hair with a towel.

“Made too much French toast,” Soyeon grumbles.

“I’ll eat some.” Yuqi offers, and Soyeon brightens up, turning back to the stove and continuing to cook. “What are you guys bickering about now?”

“She’s in love with Johnny,” Soyeon says far too casually, pointing back at you with her thumb. Yuqi turns to you, mouth agape, and you growl under your breath.

“I am not in love, damn it!”

“Then why are you having romantic dreams about him?” Soyeon shoots back.

“I don’t know!” You groan, rubbing your face in a failed attempt to calm yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Try not to read into it too much,” Yuqi says comfortingly. “Maybe it was just because you’re starting to like him?”

Resignation looms over you like a thundercloud, rumbling and hovering threateningly, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It feels like more than that, but…I got nothing, so I guess I’ll leave it alone.” You mutter.

“That’s the spirit! Now, Yuqi, come get your French toast.” Soyeon beckons Yuqi closer, and Yuqi approaches eagerly, plate already extended.

“You should make French toast more often.” Yuqi hums pleasantly after taking a bite of one of the pieces.

“I can’t,” Soyeon shudders. “The mix-to-bread ratio is going to make my hair fall out.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You laugh.

She shrugs. “Just like you.”

“Wha—rude!”

The library is at medium-full capacity, people spread out in the main area, and the comforting smell of books surrounds you, bringing a smile to your face as you head to the front desk to check in for work.

You’re signing the timesheet when you hear shuffling behind you and you look over your shoulder to see Johnny standing behind you with his phone out and a small frown on his face as he studies it.

“Hey,” You say after a moment’s hesitation. Seeing him in person is making the dream from the other night push to the forefront of your mind again, and butterflies flutter frantically in your stomach as you make eye contact.

“Hey,” Johnny replies, meeting your gaze for a moment before his brows furrow slightly and he looks back down at his phone.

“I’m done signing in,” You inform him in a small voice, handing him the pen. “It’s all yours.”

Johnny clears his throat. “Thanks.” He moves forward and takes the pen from your hand only to drop it in surprise when your fingers touch slightly. “Sorry,” Johnny’s apology comes out in a breathless, nervous chuckle as he bends down to pick the pen up.

You decide to write his odd behavior off, deciding that maybe you’re just projecting your nerves onto him, and head to the back room lounge, taking a seat in your favorite chair at the table.

Johnny walks in a moment later, pointedly avoiding eye contact, and your brows furrow in confusion as he pulls up a chair to the same table and sits down, all without turning his head in your direction.

“How was your weekend?” You ask softly, and he finally spares you a glance, albeit a bewildered one.

“It, uh…it was good.” He answers finally. “How was yours?”

“Good,” You reply, nibbling your bottom lip nervously. The silence that follows your statement is thick and overbearing, and that cloud that loomed over you this past weekend slowly starts to manifest above your head once more.

“Johnny.” You say, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

“Hm?”

“I know why I’m being weird…why are you being weird?” You ask plainly, and you watch as he reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, eyes shyly moving to look at you before looking back down at the table.

“…I had a dream the other night,” Johnny breaks the tense silence, and your brows raise in intrigue. “You were in it.”

You swallow thickly in an attempt to soothe your now dry throat. “What, um…what were we doing?”

“We were in the kitchen,” Johnny answers slowly, and you could swear your heart stops beating for a second. “You, um…you were cooking dinner, and I came in the kitchen and—”

“I think I had the same dream,” You cut him off quickly, cheeks blazing as you recall the romantic turn that it took.

Johnny’s eyes widening, he sits forward in his seat. “No way.”

“Way.” You confirm, and he laughs in surprise, running a hand through his hair.

“But it didn’t…feel like a dream.” Johnny explains. You remember the incredibly safe feeling you had that night, as well as the feeling that— “it felt more like a memory.”

“Yes!” You sit up straight in shock. “Exactly; it felt like I’d been there before.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not alone,” He laughs, relief plainly on his face. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I really don’t know. It might not mean anything,” You say, regretting the words the moment you see Johnny deflate slightly. “Got any ideas?” You immediately try to remedy the situation, and a bit of the light returns to Johnny’s eyes.

“Do you know about soulmates?” Johnny asks, and you freeze, blinking down at your hands.

“Kinda,” You reply slowly. “I know that the theory is that some people have a soulmate, and some people don’t…and that there are a bunch of different ways to be linked to someone.”

“Yeah.” Johnny opens his phone again, scrolling through it for a moment before his voice breaks the silence again. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Kind of,” You mutter.

“What do you mean by ‘kind of?’” You can feel Johnny’s curious gaze practically boring holes into the side of your head.

“I think they might exist,” You answer simply, idly fiddling with the zipper on your pencil case. “I don’t think I have one, though.”

“What makes you say that?” Johnny sounds almost defensive, and you can’t deny that it takes you by surprise. Shifting your gaze to meet his, you’re met with his furrowed brows and his heart-shaped lips curved into a slight frown.

You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him frown.

“I just…I don’t know,” You laugh, but it’s hollow. “I feel like there’s a one in a million chance that someone has a soulmate, and I just don’t think I’m that one. I don’t think I’m that lucky.”

“I see.” Johnny nods thoughtfully. “I was doing some research earlier,” He says, showing you his phone for a moment. You shift closer to read over his shoulder, and you see the word “soulmate” in the header, immediately piquing your interest. “Do you want me to send it to you or should I read some of it out loud?”

“Uh, both.” You stammer. You think back to the day you two met and how he read a Pablo Neruda poem to you; his voice was low and soothing and was a breath of fresh air with the security and comfort it gave you.

“Okay.” He looks at you with a small smile, and the butterflies in your stomach seem to return with a vengeance, fluttering around in a frenzy. You avert your gaze after a moment of solid eye-contact, and heat flares up all throughout your body when you can still feel him looking at you.

“Read,” You huff with a laugh, nudging his arm with your shoulder. “The words are on your phone, not my face.”

“Maybe your face is nicer to look at.”

“Johnny—”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” He laughs, turning his attention to his phone. “But only because you sound cute when you whine.”

“I wasn’t whining.”

“Sure, you weren’t.” His voice drips skepticism, and you narrow your eyes at him. “I’m reading!” He defends himself before you even get the chance to scold him, and a laugh slips from you before you can stop it.

As Johnny starts to read the article, you zone out almost immediately, instead focused on the way his voice wraps around you like a tight, warm hug. Every dip and raise in his inflection feels like you’re being gently swayed from side to side, and you don’t think you ever want it to end. You think back to the dream you had; how domestic it had all felt, how safe you felt—it was like no harm could come to you.

You think, for a moment, that there may be an echo of that comfort that resides solely in Johnny’s voice, and how this man sitting next to you has managed to make you feel safer in a matter of days than anyone you know ever has.

Your name being called snaps you out of your reverie, and you jolt slightly, turning to look at him.

“Did that make sense?” He asks, and your mouth goes dry. He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“I didn’t hear a word you said,” You admit sheepishly, and his eyes crinkle, a mischievous glint to them as he smiles teasingly at you.

“What were you thinking about?” He asks with a lilt that suggests he already knows, and you balk, looking in a far corner of the room you two sit in as if it holds a suitable distraction.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” You huff, and he wiggles his brows at you with a cheeky grin. “It was just about your voice.”

“My voice?” He sounds surprised, and when you manage to look at him again, his expression is thoughtful. His eyes slide over to meet yours and his eyes get that cheeky little twinkle again, his lips curling into a smug, toothy grin as he leans closer to you, bending down to maintain eye contact when you duck your head. “So you like my voice, huh?”

“I’m gonna get you fired, Johnny.” It’s an empty threat and he knows it, the poorly restrained smile curling your lips serving as a clear indicator that you’re joking.

“Don’t interfere with a man and his money.” He warns you, narrowing his eyes right back at you and pointing a threatening finger at you.

“You’re about as threatening as my childhood teddy bear.” You huff dismissively, and have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the laugh that bursts out at his offended gasp.

“I can be threatening!” He exclaims defensively.

“Sure you can,” You hum, patting his hand comfortingly. “Just not to me.”

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“Sure do.” You answer, unbothered. “Now what was the article saying?”

“Oh, yeah!” He sits up straighter. “It said that soulmates exist over several lifetimes, and that—”

“Several lifetimes?”

“Hush.”

“Sorry.” You mutter sheepishly.

“It’s okay. They exist over several lifetimes, getting reincarnated with a new body and the same soul and, therefore, the same link. Sometimes,” Johnny looks back at his phone for a moment, “these past lives and select memories may manifest as dreams—” He looks at you pointedly. “—that serve as guides to help the souls find each other in their current lifetime.”

“…Wow.” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He lets out a low whistle. “I mean it’s not definite, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence. That could also explain how I guessed your drink order the other day.”

“Mhm,” You hum distractedly, your mind racing. The notion of having a soulmate is almost laughable to you, because you have a hard time believing you could be that lucky.

However, as you look at the hope shining in Johnny’s eyes as he observes you and note the growing feeling of excitement in your stomach, you think there may be some truth to it.

iv. “i keep getting this dizzy feeling, this dangerous feeling.” - chungha, roller coaster.

“Ah, fuck,” You mutter to yourself. The book in your hand scrapes uselessly against the top shelf you’re trying to put it in, just ever so slightly out of reach. “Johnny?” You whisper into the aisle, hoping your voice is just loud enough to get his attention but quiet enough to avoid the wrath of the students in the library. “Johnny?” You try again a bit louder. After no response, you sigh and turn back to the shelf, only to flinch at Johnny’s sudden appearance, a startled yell ringing throughout the library. The resounding shushes make you wince, thankful to be concealed in the aisle.

“Sorry,” He laughs.

“You scared me,” You exhale slowly, and he smiles apologetically.

“What’d you need?” He asks, and you hand him the book you’re holding.

“I can’t put this in its place,” You say, frowning, and he mimics your expression playfully.

“Poor you,” Johnny teases. “You’re too short—”

“I’m not short,” You argue. “This bookshelf is unnecessarily tall.”

“Okay!” He puts his hands up in surrender before reaching up and putting the book away.

“Thank you, John.” You huff, and he raises an eyebrow.

“John?” He asks curiously.

“It’s a nickname.” You explain slowly, raising your eyebrows back at him.

“You must like me,” Johnny chuckles. “I mean, if you’re giving me a nickname.”

“Mm, you’re alright, I guess.” You hum, turning back to the bookshelf.

Johnny snickers and leans down so his lips are by your ear, his hand resting on the small of your back. “That’s it?” He muses softly. “Just ‘alright,’ yeah?”

“Yeah,” You say slowly, refusing to let on how he’s affecting you.

“You’re difficult,” He murmurs, and a thrill runs up your spine as his lips graze your ear. “What’s it take to please you, hm?” His comment’s underlying message doesn’t go unnoticed, and you freeze halfway through grabbing a new book.

“Very funny, Johnny.” You mumble.

“Who’s laughing?” He asks curiously, voice hushed as his fingers dance along your lower back. “I genuinely want to know.”

“You want to know how to please me, Johnny?” You press, turning your head to face him slightly—he doesn’t move back, resulting in your lips barely an inch away, so you turn back around. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean?” He dodges your question and you roll your eyes.

“Stop being evasive.” You huff, and his responding chuckle has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, a buzz of excitement running through your body.

“So you like when I’m direct?” He asks, and you, against your better judgment, nod. “Then here you go.” He lets the lobe of your ear slip between his lips in an almost-kiss before he murmurs, “I think you should thank your lucky stars that we’re not alone in this library right now.”

“Yeah?” You want to sound challenging, but all that leaves you is a breathy mumble.

“Yeah.” His fingers press into the skin of your lower back before he pulls away. “But you’ll see what I mean later—after all, we’re closing up together.” When you whip your head around to face him, he lifts his eyebrows suggestively before heading out of the aisle, leaving you to stare at his back in stunned silence.

Sneaking a glance at the time, you jolt when you see the numbers 11:15pm staring back at you. Whatever Johnny meant by seeing what he meant would be coming much sooner than expected—in about 45 minutes, to be exact. Every time you cross paths with Johnny, it seems as if he’s already been looking at you, his unwavering stare making your skin tingle with anticipation and excitement.

Once the last group of patrons starts packing up to leave the library, you start to prepare to close up for the night. You breeze by Johnny in a random bookshelf aisle, only to yelp when he wraps an arm around your forearm and tugs you towards him so you crash against his chest unceremoniously.

“Johnny!” You whisper loudly, and he chuckles, gazing down at you fondly. “I need to do a sweep of the library,”

“Wait for just a moment, yeah?” He murmurs sweetly. “I wanna talk to you.”

“Talk to me or stare at me like you’ve been doing all night?” You ask pointedly, and he smirks.

“Something you wanna get off your chest?”

“Yeah,” You huff. “Stop staring at me.”

“Is it bothering you?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to stop if it wasn’t bothering me.” You reply, staring up at him with an unimpressed expression.

“Maybe I don’t want to stop.” He shrugs, moving closer to you, and your throat dries up as you realize just how close you two are. You can smell the mint gum he’s chewing, the fresh linen scent of his clothing, and you could count each of his lashes if you tried hard enough, you think. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

“Why?” You furrow your brows, frustrated, and it’s Johnny’s turn to look unimpressed.

“Why?” He echoes, looking at you pointedly. “Because you’re gorgeous, maybe that’s why.” He takes an experimental step toward you and smiles mischievously when you step back reflexively. “Maybe I like watching you bustle around the library.”

“Are you flirting with me?” You ask incredulously.

“I have been for ages, but I’m glad you’re all caught up now.” He replies patronizingly, and you roll your eyes.

“Ages—Johnny we’ve known each other for, like, what? Three weeks, maybe?” You laugh in disbelief, and he smiles innocently, stepping closer to you again. It hits you, when the backs of your shoes hit the bookshelf behind you, that he’s been deliberately stalking towards you, backing you into a tight space with ease, and his lips curl into a sneaky smile when you both realize you’re exactly where he wants you to be.

“First of all, it has been three weeks—cute that you’re keeping track.” He teases, holding up one finger as you go to defend yourself. “Second of all…don’t tell me you don’t feel this, too.” His voice lowers to a suggestive murmur, and you avert your gaze immediately, his eyes too intense to handle.

“Johnny…” Your voice is quieter than you expected, your supposed warning sounding more timid than authoritative.

“Plus,” Johnny continues without acknowledging that you’ve even spoken, “I think we’ve known each other much longer than that…don’t you?” When you don’t respond, dazed and unmoving, he takes the opportunity to put one hand by your head and lean down so you’re face to face.

“You’re staring again,” You complain, and he chuckles quietly.

“This better?” He drops his gaze to your lips, and your eyes widen in a panic.

“No, it’s not!”

“Sorry,” He coos unapologetically. “Gotta make sure I don’t miss.” Before you can ask what the hell he means, he moves closer and seals his lips over yours.

Johnny’s kiss reveals far more about him than you expect it to—namely, the amount of restraint he’s been exhibiting these past couple of weeks. He starts slow, with careful movements of his lips against yours, not yet daring to up the ante until he’s sure you won’t back out.

It’s not until you clutch the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer to you that he allows himself to let loose a bit and indulge in his fantasies. He brings you even closer to him with a guiding hand on your hip, his thumb slipping under your sweater to stroke the bare skin there. He angles his head just a bit more to the side so he can part your lips better and ease his tongue into the mix, and your content hum only spurs him on further.

He steps forward confidently, backing you up towards the bookshelf, and nips at your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth gently. You sigh his name, syllables laced with desire, and there’s a shift in the atmosphere so sudden—yet deliberate—that it’s practically palpable. Johnny grips your hips tightly and presses himself against you, roughly pushing you up against the bookshelf behind you, which gives slightly under the sudden added weight of you both, but that’s the least of your worries as Johnny groans wantonly into the kiss.

“Been thinking about doing this for ages.” He admits shamelessly, his hands pushing their way under your sweater to the underside of your bra to caress your breasts, greedy, eager fingers seeking out, finding, and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric concealing them. The appreciative sound you let out in response, though partially swallowed by Johnny’s searing kisses, drives Johnny one step closer to insanity. One hand abandons your breast to snake behind you and deftly unhook your bra, returning to your front so he can push the undergarment above your breast, an air of triumph about him as he grins into the kiss.

Large hands cup your breasts, kneading the supple flesh as Johnny’s knee nudges itself between your legs and he breaks the kiss to travel down your neck to your chest, his mouth alternating between leaving addicting kisses and nipping so roughly it draws out weak whines from your buzzing lips.

He slips a hand between your legs, caressing your inner thighs before stroking along the seat of your pants, the heel of his palm pressing against your concealed core just enough to be pleasurable but not enough to relieve any of the tension rapidly growing between your legs.

His mouth, however, is on a different mission as he kisses wet spots around your nipple, trailing his tongue around the areola teasingly before looking up at you curiously. He huffs in amusement when he sees your frustrated frown and takes your nipple into his mouth, eliciting a whine from you. You cover your mouth with your hand only for Johnny to tug it away from your lips.

“I wanna hear you,” He says, his gaze pinning you in place. If you weren’t certain you were about to have the issue handled, you would have to have a moment of embarrassed silence for the way warmth blooms between your thighs, arousal starting to stain a damp spot into the seat of your underwear.

He drops down to his knees so he’s level with your chest and sucks your nipple, tugging it with his teeth gently and chuckling at the appreciative hiss you let out. He swirls his tongue around the raised bud, sucking on it and letting it slip from his lips with loud, wet sounds repeatedly.

Your brain feels like it’s working overtime, your mind straining to hear the whereabouts of the other patrons of the library, and when you move to peer around the bookshelf, you’re relieved to see the last of the patrons exiting the library, the door shuttling quietly behind them. Your glimpse of their retreating back is short lived, Johnny pushing on your shoulder so you’re flattened up against the bookshelf once more.

He sponges kisses across your chest, moving to repeat his actions on your other breast, while his fingers unbutton your jeans, clumsily yanking them down to your mid-thigh so he can slip his hand into your underwear, tracing circles around your clit teasingly.

“Fuck,” You gasp when he catches it between two fingers and pinches it gently, your hips involuntarily canting upwards towards his touch.

“Fuck—step out,” He grunts distractedly, now more focused on peeling your jeans off down to your ankles as he dots languid kisses to the swell of your breasts. Once you step out of your bottoms, he hooks his fingers in your underwear and makes them follow the same route as your pants, dropping them on the floor carelessly before returning his gaze to your now bare core. He spreads your legs wider, hungry eyes roving over your bare thighs and glistening pussy, and groans under his breath as one hand moves, possibly subconsciously, to palm his length through his pants. “So fucking pretty,” He murmurs in awe, and your face floods with heat. “Can I have a taste? Hm?” He’s lilting like he’s teasing you, but his eyes look as if they’re pleading with you, the desperation so raw and pure that it forces a nod out of you before you even know what you’re doing.

He drapes one of your legs over his shoulder and brings his face closer to your core, pressing experimental kisses up your thighs and watching your reaction as you squirm under his touch impatiently.

“Johnny,” You complain quietly, your voice cracking as it attempts to sound out above a whisper, and he nods, attaching his mouth to your core without any further pressing.

“So wet—” You’re not even sure he’s talking to you, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over as he mumbles into your pussy, groaning in bliss as he drags his tongue up your folds in slow, heavy, purposeful strokes. He laps at your arousal before he reaches up and spreads you open for him, focusing the tip of his tongue on flicking your clit back and forth rapidly. A loud exhale of surprise slips out of you, and he gently tugs your hood up so he can devote his actions to stimulating the small bundle of concentrated nerves.

“Please,” You find yourself gasping, eyes rolling back as your head tips back to rest on the bookshelf. “Please, please, please.” You don’t even know what exactly you’re begging for, but you know that what Johnny’s doing feels incredible, your hips rolling up to meet his mouth with every movement, and you don’t want him to stop.

“S’good, fuck,” He moans wantonly, partially slurring his words, before sucking your little bundle of nerves into his mouth and humming around it, sending delicious vibrations up through your body, the sensation buzzing deliciously and dizzying you. He’s so engrossed in your clit, laving over it with his lips and tongue, that you don’t notice his free hand moving towards your entrance until he breaks away from you to stick two fingers into his mouth, loudly sucking on them before pulling them away. A string of clear saliva trails between the and his bottom lip, the connection breaking when he brings his hand between your legs and presses the slick digits into you slowly.

His eyes watch you in wonder, eagerly drinking up every micro-expression you make at the feeling of his slender digits moving inside of you. He curls his fingers towards himself and starts to stroke along your inner walls teasingly and experimentally until he locates the fleshy patch of nerves that makes you gasp loudly.

“There we go,” He mutters triumphantly, grinning as he starts to fuck his fingers into you while he returns the attention of his mouth and tongue to your folds and clit. With his wide, fat tongue devouring every bit of arousal your pussy leaks out, his nose nuzzling against your clit in an almost-just-not-enough rhythmic movement, and his skilled fingers stimulating your g-spot, it’s only a matter of time before you climax, and you do so loudly, an uncharacteristic whine falling from your desperate lips as you buck your hips towards his face, lips, tongue, fingers, everything.

His fingers don’t stop pistoning in and out of you, his mouth falling away to press hot, wet kisses to your stomach as he smoothly and deftly finger-fucks you to the edge of another climax, this one building so intensely that it feels like your legs are going to give out.

“This time, say my name.” It’s a wonder you can understand him, his words almost completely slurred as he watches in adoration as your pussy takes his fingers.

You oblige—you were probably going to do that, anyway—and whisper his name loudly, your voice cracking on the last syllable into a plaintive whimper when your second climax rolls over you, wracking your body like ocean waves. Only once your body’s stopped reflexively moving to meet him in your orgasmic state does Johnny remove his fingers. He stands up and starts freeing his length from his pants and boxers with one hand while the two fingers previously inside of you get stuffed into his mouth, his eyes gazing intently into yours as he licks and sucks them clean of your arousal.

You watch in awe and mild fear as he strokes his length, his large fist pumping up and down slowly, and rubs his thumb into his slit every time he reaches the reddened head of his cock.

“Please tell me I don’t have to go hunt down a condom.” He half-grunts, half-laughs, and you nod in a daze, still wondering how the fuck you’re going to fit all of him inside of you.

“Pill,” is all you can think hard enough to say, and his shoulders sag in relief, moving towards you and nestling the head of his cock between your thighs.

“You ready?” He asks gently, and you nod, feeling more at ease when his free hand links with your own and squeezes encouragingly. “Deep breath.” He urges softly as he pushes into you, and you suck in a loud breath, whispering swears under your breath as the feeling of his length filling you up leaves you breathlessly. “Good girl,” He coos, and you moan weakly, your voice cracking pathetically as he pulls out slightly and starts to thrust into you, building a rhythm that has you digging your nails into his hand to keep from crying out.

“Johnny,” You whine, dragging the syllables out as he fucks into you, and he groans in response, his free hand gripping your hip to steady himself as he delivers long, deep, hard strokes.

“So tight,” He hisses, his head falling forward as he bites down on his bottom lip. When he angles his hips just right so they hit a spot that has you unable to contain your moans any longer, you tug on his shirt to pull his lips to yours, the passionate kiss silencing your pathetic whimpers into his mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it only adds to the heat of the moment, reality sinking in as you realize with a thrill of excitement that he’s fucking you—while you’re almost completely nude—in your campus’s public library, the doors not yet locked to ward off anyone who might want to enter.

“So good,” You gasp out desperately as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“Taking me so well, look at you,” He praises, and you can feel whatever’s left of your self-control slipping away at the compliment. “Nice and deep, yeah? That’s how you like it?”

“Fuck—yes,” You stammer, slipping your hand between your legs to massage your clit and urge on your climax. “Johnny, I’m gonna–”

“Good,” He grunts, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Come for me, yeah?”

Your clit practically aching with the pressure of your impending climax, you fall apart around him with a far too loud cry of his name and a string of expletives you’d rather not repeat. The release is nothing short of bliss, the coil wound tight in your belly finally snapping and filling you with pleasure that makes your jaw drop in ecstasy. You’re so engrossed in your orgasm that you only notice Johnny’s close behind you when his hand on your hip grips you with almost bruising strength.

He speeds up to a rapid pace, the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin resounding throughout the large library, and lets out a long, low groan as his head tips back and he releases into you, his climax only heightened when your walls flex and squeeze around his length, an involuntary shudder of pleasure traveling up his spine.

He comes to a stop, bottoming out in you, and hesitates, both of you catching your breath. After a moment, Johnny pulls out of you slowly and you cringe slightly at the sudden empty feeling. “That was—”

“Exhilarating,” You finish with a laugh, and he laughs with you, running a hand through his hair.

“You know—…never mind.” Johnny starts but trails off as you bend down to put your jeans back on.

“What is it?” You ask curiously, and he looks down at the floor before looking back up at you hopefully.

“After we get all, um, cleaned up…I know this diner that’s still open, if you’re hungry.” He offers, and you smile warmly and nod.

“I’d love to.”

“So, Soyeon—you’ve met her, I think; she works with me at the café—is studying computer science.” You explain, and Johnny raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, that’s so cool,” He comments, and you nod with a smile, proud of your friend.

“It is! She wants to be a software engineer, which is fitting, in my opinion.”

“Why do you say that?” Johnny asks curiously.

“She’s hopeless with machines and equipment; she’s a disaster at the café with the drink machines.” You chuckle fondly. “Literally just the other day, she got milk foam all over the counter because she couldn’t work the frother.”

“Yikes,” Johnny winces sympathetically. “Good thing she has you, then.”

“Very true,” You agree. “Soyeon’s kind of a spitfire, really; spunky, sarcastic, and very dramatic. She and Soojin, another one of my roommates, bicker all the time; Soojin’s a sweetheart, a little spacey, but she has her fiery moments, you know? She’s going into nursing, and I can’t envision a better field for her—she’s just so caring and attentive. Then there’s Yuqi—wait, I’m sorry,” You pause, sheepishly laughing. “I’m just kind of rambling, aren’t I?”

“I love it,” Johnny assures you, paying rapt attention to you. “Go on, tell me about Yuqi.”

“Okay,” You say slowly, eyeing him to give him a chance to change his mind. When he raises his eyebrows expectantly and gestures for you to continue talking. “Yuqi is in computer science, too, but she wants to be a full stack developer.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Johnny admits, and you lean closer over the diner table, beckoning Johnny closer.

“I don’t really know, either.” You confess, continuing when Johnny grins, clearly amused, “I used to know, I swear! It just…slipped my mind temporarily, is all.”

“I’ll keep your secret,” Johnny promises, acting out zipping his lips shut and locking them. The gesture is far more endearing to you than you think Johnny’s aware of, his silly yet sincere reaction bringing a fond smile to your face.

“Yuqi’s probably the most responsible out of the four of us,” You say thoughtfully. “She’s almost always the voice of reason, but between you and me? That girl is a chaotic little devil when she’s got a couple of drinks in her.” You whisper, and Johnny laughs, his eyes crinkling cutely as he does.

“That reminds me of my friend Taeyong; he’s chill, a little quiet usually, but place him in a house party, and he…” He trails off, shaking his head in amusement.

“And he…does keg stands and gets himself injured.” You finish for him, and Johnny snickers.

“Exactly.”

Your waiter comes up to your table with your orders, and your eyes light up as you reach to relieve him of your plate, an excited smile on your face as you stare down at your cheeseburger. When you look up at Johnny, he’s holding his phone up aimed at you, and you pause, lost.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side in confusion when he nods. “Why?”

“You just looked so happy,” He explains with a fond smile. “I wanted to save the memory.”

“Do I at least look good in it?” You ask hopefully, and he leans forward, beckoning you closer to him.

“You look beautiful.” Johnny says earnestly, and you freeze, not expecting such a sincere compliment.

“Maybe it’s the post-sex glow,” You joke, lowering your voice slightly, and Johnny chuckles.

“You know, I was just thinking about earlier, actually,” He says, and you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“What were you thinking about?” You ask before you bite into a French fry.

“How we kind of…did this whole thing backwards.” He laughs sheepishly, gesturing between the two of you. “I was supposed to ask you out on a date before…the library,” He explains, and your face warms as you recall what took place less than an hour ago. “In my defense though, there were…extenuating circumstances.” He adds, and the edge to his attentive gaze raises questions in your mind.

“Oh, really? Like…?” You prompt, your voice trailing off as his gaze, far more intense than it has been since you set foot in this diner, unnerves you. You feel undressed and vulnerable all over again and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking of scenarios involving Johnny, yourself, and being bent over this very table.

“Do I need to elaborate?” He questions, speaking slowly and deliberately, and you realize quickly that he’s probably got similar thoughts swimming around his mind. You shake your head, picking up a fry and eating it to avoid his probing gaze. “Noted.”

The thoughts and desires you’re experiencing are getting to be a bit overwhelming at this point, so you scramble to find something else to change the topic to. “So—what do you like to do? Like, in your spare time—I’m guessing photography is up there,” You say, gesturing to his phone on the table.

“It is,” Johnny confirms with a nod. “I have real equipment, too—cameras and stuff like that—but I make do with my phone most of the time. I also really like poetry; I go to a lot of open mics and poetry readings in my spare time.”

“Oh, yeah! Didn’t you read me a poem by Pablo Neruda the day we met?” You recall, and his eyes light up happily.

“You remembered,” He says, pleasantly surprised, and you nod, smiling. “Pablo Neruda is my favorite poet.” He says, and you hum thoughtfully.

“What else? I want to know more about you,” You urge him, sitting forward as the desire to get to know the male sitting in front of you builds and builds until it’s impossible to ignore.

“What do you want to know? That question is always so hard to answer,” He chuckles, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

“You know what? It really is. I don’t even know why I asked it, because I never know what to say.” You can’t help but laugh at yourself and Johnny thankfully joins in.

“I feel the same way,” Johnny assures you. “Like, where do I start?”

“Yeah! Like, how deep am I going?” You agree emphatically. “Do you want to know my favorite color or, like, what keeps me up at night?” You say, half-joking, half-serious, and Johnny snorts loudly in amusement, the sound causing you to join him in laughing.

As the two of you sit there in the diner, snickering to each other about various little things, you can’t help but think that you could get used to this.

“Johnny.” You say flatly, not looking up from your laptop.

“Mm.”

“Johnny.”

“Mm.”

“John.” You finally turn to look at him, rolling your eyes as you take in the sight of him. He’s got his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand as he stares at you with glazed over, dreamy eyes and a dopey smile on his face.

“You know that you haven’t typed a word since you opened your laptop, right?” You ask, sighing loudly, and he blinks slowly, gradually rousing himself from his zoned-out state, and shifts his attention to his laptop, typing for barely ten seconds and returning to his previous position. “What did you even write?”

“My name,” He answers simply, turning his laptop towards you. You look at his screen and at the document open to see—

“Johnny, you didn’t even finish your name.” You laugh incredulously. “You typed ‘Johnny S.’ and left it at that.”

“She’ll know whose paper it is,” He defends himself. “There’s only one Johnny S. in the class.”

“Whatever,” You sigh, fighting back the amused smile that’s curling your lips. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I would like,” Johnny says slowly, turning your chair to face him, “some attention.”

“You realize you would get more attention if you let me finish my paper instead of just staring at me the whole time I’m trying to work…right?” You point out, and he wrinkles his brows thoughtfully.

“I’m more of an instant gratification kind of guy.” He replies with a teasing wiggle of his brows, and you roll your eyes, the snicker bubbling up inside of you escaping before you can restrain it. “See? You like it.”

“Shut up,” You mumble with a smile, turning your chair back to face your laptop. You can still feel Johnny looking at you, so you reach over and press two fingers to his cheek, gently pushing his head so he turns back to face his laptop. “Work.” You urge him, and he sighs in anguish so loudly that it garners several shushes and a few lingering judgmental stares from surrounding students.

He does start to type again, thankfully, and the two of you work in a comfortable silence until—

“Are you serious, Johnny?” You half-groan, half-laugh as the sound of a snack wrapper crinkles beside you.

“I got hungry!” He retorts defensively, reaching in the bag and pulling out six individually packaged mini Kit-Kat bars, lining them up on the table neatly. “They’re matcha flavored,” He announces proudly, and you nod.

“That’s great, Johnny.” You say, and he smiles, clicking his trackpad a few times before standing up.

“Be right back—I printed something.”

“Okay,” You whisper back, and he disappears around the corner. As you type, your gaze keeps drifting over to the matcha Kit-Kat bars, and you give into temptation, leaning over and taking one from the row. You unwrap the treat and pop it into your mouth, chewing quickly and stuffing the wrapper in the bottom of your bag. You swallow not a moment too soon as Johnny rounds the corner and comes back to his seat, sitting down and looking over the papers he just got from the printer.

You think you’re in the clear for several peaceful minutes until he reaches for a Kit-Kat bar and hesitates halfway there, his hand suspended in the air. He looks at the Kit-Kat bars and around the table before his eyes land on you, narrowing suspiciously as he points an accusing finger.

“You stole one of my Kit-Kat bars.” He says in surprise, and you look over at him as casually as possible.

“I did no such thing.”

“You stole my snack!”

“I did not steal your snack!” You say in the exact tone someone who stole someone’s snack would use if they were trying to deny stealing someone’s snack.

“I had six Kit-Kat bars out here.” He points to the four snacks, and you look at them thoughtfully before shrugging and returning your attention to your laptop.

“Maybe you had five.”

“Are you gaslighting me?” He gasps dramatically, and you snicker despite yourself.

“No.”

“…Fine. You definitely stole one of my snacks, though, which is one thing—but now you’re lying about it.”

“I am not lying.” You lie.

“You know, I actually brought out six so I could have three and you could have three.” He admits, and you shift your attention to him out of the side of your eye. “But I don’t share with liars.”

You roll your eyes, your brows furrowing before you give in. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I stole one of your Kit-Kat bars,” You confess, and he raises his eyebrows, not surprised.

“I know that.”

“Okay, great.” You reply, frowning. “…Can I have another one?”

“Hm…” Johnny taps his chin with a pensive look on his face, and you want to roll your eyes but exercise restraint, figuring you attract more flies with honey than vinegar. “Fine. But only because you look so cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” You whisper defensively, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sure, you’re not.” He says sarcastically. “I’ll trade you—a Kit-Kat for a kiss.”

“We’re in the library!” Your hushed response is as indignant and disbelieving as can be, and Johnny looks around as if it’s the first he’s hearing about your whereabouts.

“No one’s looking.” He points out.

“Someone could see us.” You whine quietly, and he blinks at you expressionlessly.

“So?”

“You’re just gonna ask for more later.” You complain, and Johnny shrugs, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

“Not my problem.”

“You suck.”

“Less complaining, more kissing. You would have had your Kit-Kat by now if you just kissed me, you know.”

You narrow your eyes and lean over towards Johnny, the male meeting you the rest of the way and pressing his lips to yours in a brief kiss. You move to pull away, but he catches the back of your neck, pulling you back in with a low murmur of, “I know you can do better than that,” and swallowing your hushed yelp of surprise as he parts your lips with his tongue, the pink muscle flicking at the inside of your mouth. Your begrudging façade melts away as he nibbles at your bottom lip gently, and you hum contently into the kiss. He finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours and blinking at you with heavy-lidded eyes that, if you’re honest, make you want to skip the homework and pull him into a private study room.

“Can I have the Kit-Kat now?” You ask, and he chuckles.

“Baby, you can have the whole damn bag if you keep kissing me like that.”

“Why are you wrinkling your nose?” Johnny laughs, pulling you closer to him. Your legs tangling together under the covers, the two of you lie in his bed comfortably as a playlist of Johnny’s choosing plays quietly.

“It smells like sex,” You huff, grimacing, and Johnny rolls his eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I have a sensitive nose!”

“Oh, really?” He asks, grinning mischievously as he leans in. “Well, your sensitive nose should learn to appreciate the scent of making love.” He wiggles his brows suggestively.

You lift your head up from his bare chest and stare at him blankly. “‘Making love’ sounds so cheesy,” You shudder, and Johnny splutters indignantly, propping himself up so suddenly that it sends you slipping off him to land on his mattress with an “oof.”

“‘Making love’ is romantic!”

“It’s cheesy.” You stick to your guns, and he playfully narrows his eyes at you.

“Would you rather I say ‘fucking you into the mattress?’” He raises an eyebrow, and you yelp in alarm, covering your ears.

“That’s just bad.” You frown disapprovingly.

“Well, what do you suggest, Little Miss Picky?” He asks, and you pause to think for a moment.

“You could just call it ‘having sex,’” You suggest, and he rolls his eyes.

“Where’s the passion, the emotion, the love?” He complains, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“It’s implied!”

“It most certainly is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too—y’know what?” You stop yourself, and Johnny looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“Agree to disagree.” You propose, and he strokes his chin as he considers it. “…Tick tock, John.”

“Fine.” He agrees, and lies back down on the bed, pulling you back onto his chest. “Y’know, you’re the only person I let call me John.”

“Mm, really?” You hum softly, and he nods.

“Yeah. It sounds cute when you say it.”

“I guess that makes me special.” You smile, and he scoffs.

“I think you knew that already, but I agree; it does make you special.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you’re so content you could practically purr. The music drops in volume suddenly as Johnny’s phone dings from his nightstand, and you shift off of him so he can reach over and grab it, settling back down when he returns to his spot. “Oh, I totally blanked on that,” He mutters to himself as he reads the notification. “I just got a text from my family friend who’s getting married in about a month and a half—hey, wait; do you want to come with me to the wedding?”

“Really?” You ask, surprised. “Me?”

Johnny gives you an unimpressed look. “No, the other person lying in my bed. Yes, you.”

“Hm…” You pretend to think, stroking your chin much like Johnny had earlier.

“Oh, come on. Free food, free drinks, and time spent with yours truly,” He coaxes you in a singsong cadence.

“You actually had me at the free food and drinks.” You smile, patting his chest gently. “I can’t say no to that.”

“Wow,” He draws the word out as he fakes offense, shifting you and rolling on top of you as you laugh. “I’m hurt!” He huffs, but his widening smile as he leans down to kiss you says otherwise.

“I was kidding,” You assure him, your voice muffled against his lips as he refuses to break the kiss.

“Too late. The damage is done.” He pulls back just enough to say, lowering his hips down against you, and you swallow a lump in your throat when he asks in a softer, more serious voice, “I want to know how you’re gonna make it up to me.”

“I–well–” You start, but the feeling of Johnny’s length, hot, hard, and heavy, dragging along your inner thigh effectively wipes your mind clean. If you’re being honest, you almost entirely forgot you two were naked, the surprise of the reminder swirling in your now empty mind along with your disbelief that he’s hard again so quickly. “I can’t focus when you’re doing that.” You complain, and he coos in faux sympathy.

“Poor baby.” He taunts, reaching a hand between you two to stroke two long fingers along your slick folds, letting out a soft chuckle when you open your legs wider for him and sigh blissfully. Shortly after his fingers leave your skin, you feel the head of his cock pressed against your entrance and you quietly gasp in surprise.

Johnny mimics your gasp teasingly, the sound cutting off in favor of a groan that slips from his lips when he pushes into you slowly.

“Wait–” You stammer, and Johnny pauses, looking at you in concern. “The wedding.”

“Yes?” His concerned face shifts to confusion.

“What’s the color scheme?” You ask, and Johnny shoots you the most deadpan, unimpressed look you’ve ever seen from him.

“Dark green.” He answers simply, returning his attention to pushing into you.

“Are we talking like a forest green, or an emerald—”

“Can we talk about this when I’m not inches deep inside of you?”

You close your mouth. “Fair enough,” You agree, and he grins, bottoming out and dipping down to kiss you slowly.

“Great.”

“A wedding?” Soojin and Soyeon say in unison, gaping at you in surprise. You flinch at the volume of their combined voices, quickly looking around the restaurant to see if you’ve caught any unwanted attention. Finding no one, save for one man sitting alone who looks away when you meet eyes, you turn your attention back to your friends sitting across from you in the booth.

“Yeah…” You confirm cautiously, shooting them an uneasy look.

“You guys, like, just started seeing each other.” Soyeon says carefully. “Isn’t it a little soon for a wedding date?”

“Well, I mean, kinda, but the wedding isn’t for, like, a month and a half. I think the wedding party needed to know how many guests were coming so they knew how to plan.” You explain.

“…I guess that makes sense,” Soojin says slowly.

“And besides–” Your words are cut off when the waiter approaches, carefully balancing your respective orders in his hands. “Oh, thank you!” You take your plate of enchiladas, Soojin and Soyeon each taking their orders off of his hands in turn.

“Enjoy, ladies.” Your waiter says warmly, and you smile and nod before he walks away.

“God, this looks so good.” You gush, practically bouncing in your seat with excitement. “I wish Yuqi didn’t have class; she loves this place.”

“We can always buy her something for later,” Soojin suggests.

“Good idea.” Soyeon agrees, biting into one of her enchiladas and chewing, going to speak until you put your hand up to silence her. “What?”

“Please chew and swallow first,” You say, reaching over and patting her hand. “I promise it can wait.”

Soyeon glowers at you, but thankfully waits until she’s swallowed to speak. “I was gonna ask you what you were saying before the waiter came.”

“Oh, right! I was saying, besides, it’s not like it’s our wedding. It’s Johnny’s family friend’s wedding, and I’m just his plus one.” You explain. Soojin and Soyeon share a skeptical look before looking back at you, and you grimace. “I don’t think I like you two when you’re on the same team; you’re better when you’re bickering.”

“Oh, hush.” Soojin waves you off. “Just don’t go all ‘flight risk’ on Johnny, okay?”

“I– wh–when have I been a flight risk?” You ask defensively, and Soojin stares at you blankly. “When?” You press, and Soyeon sighs.

“With that guy from undergrad, sophomore year—you two unofficially dated for a month and when he wanted to go exclusive, you avoided him for the rest of the school year.” Soyeon holds up one manicured finger. “There was that guy in the band in junior year–”

“Oh, yeah, didn’t he write a song about you?” Soojin interjects, and Soyeon snaps in confirmation, holding up another finger.

“That’s the one!”

“Okay–” You start, but they continue.

“Then there were those two guys in senior year–” Soojin adds, reaching over and putting up two more of Soyeon’s fingers.

“I get it!” You interrupt them before they can get a good rhythm going. “I get it.”

“I’m just saying,” Soyeon comments, putting her counting hand down, “that you have a history of running when things get serious. And I may not know Johnny too well—you should let us meet him, by the way—but he seems like a good guy from what I’ve heard from you.”

“He is a good guy,” You echo, a smile creeping onto your face. “He’s funny, kind, charming, easygoing, and he makes me feel so at ease when we’re together.”

“Good! Now that that’s settled,” Soojin says before she points her fork at you, making you raise your hands defensively. “What’s the color scheme for the wedding?”

“Dark green,” You answer. “Like, emerald green, kind of.”

“Do you even have an emerald green dress?” Soyeon asks curiously, brows furrowing as she thinks. “I’ve never seen you with a dress that color.”

“I definitely don't have a dress that color.” You sigh, and Soojin claps excitedly.

“We can go looking for one today! After Yuqi gets out of class.” She says, and Soyeon shrugs.

“I don’t have anything else planned today.” She agrees, and you nod slowly.

“Sounds like a plan—can someone please text the group chat and let Yuqi know? I have enchilada sauce on my hands.” You ask hopefully, and Soojin nods, putting her fork down and picking her phone up. She sets it back down and shortly after, your and Soyeon’s phones ding with the notification.

Soyeon clears her throat and leans forward conspiratorially. “You know, I wonder if I have a soulmate–”

“Soyeon.” Soojin says sharply, and Soyeon glares at her.

“What?”

“Swallow your food.” Soojin scolds.

Soyeon rolls her eyes but, yet again, swallows before she speaks next. “You two are so…persnickety about that, for crying out loud.”

“I didn’t know you knew big words like ‘persnickety,’” Soojin muses with a teasing smile. “And it’s gross, that’s why we care so much.”

“You’re gross.” Soyeon retorts.

Soojin scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re a child.”

“And we’re back to normal,” You sigh as your two friends stare each other down challengingly.

v. “we were the stormy rain…we were love, we were love.” - esteman, fuimos amor.

Thunder rumbles overhead and the skies are gray with all the rain clouds, and Johnny comes up behind you, resting his hands on the windowsill on either side of you. “I’m sorry it’s raining, my love.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s not your fault,” You sigh, still frowning, and Johnny places both hands on your hips, gingerly turning you to face him. He leans down so you two are face to face and offers a hopeful smile, moving his head closer playfully until you crack a smile, laughing and pushing on his chest gently.

“If I could move every rain cloud for you, I would.” He professes, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “I’m serious! Anything to see that smile I love so much.” His voice softens, lower now, more urgent, and very earnest, as he reaches up to cup the side of your face in his large, warm palm, and a shy, bashful happiness warms your cheeks as you look up at him, believing every word he says.

“You are more than enough to make me smile,” You assure him, and he grins at that, moving his hand from your hip to lace his fingers with yours. He brings your linked hands up so they’re level with his mouth, and he presses a kiss to the back of your hand before leaving softer kisses on each of your knuckles. The giggle that bubbles out of you is timid and utterly smitten as your lover gazes down at you with twinkling brown eyes.

“Oh, really?” He asks, a secretive edge to his tone, and you nod despite your slight confusion about what he could be getting at. He smiles wider, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and releases your cheek, tightening his other hand’s grip on your hand and heading towards the front door, shushing your confused stammering. He leads you out of the house and all the way to the middle of the street as rain pours down on you both.

“Johnny, what are you up to?” You ask, laughing in disbelief, and he finally stops, turning to face you with a bright smile before pulling you into a tight embrace filled with so much love and warmth that you could almost forget the cold rain seeping through your clothing—almost.

“Kiss me.” He urges, and you cock your head to the side in confusion. “Kissing in the rain is romantic, right?”

“I mean—yes,” You start to answer, but he draws you in closer, his nose nuzzling against yours in a loving gesture before he speaks again.

“Then we might as well put the rain to good use, right?” He murmurs playfully, not giving you a chance to respond before slotting his lips with yours and enveloping you in a slow, deep, loving kiss. You all but melt against him, adoration soaring all throughout your body as you swoon at the antics of your lover, and he chuckles against your lips before pulling back slightly. “Good?”

“Perfect,” You reply in a whisper, biting down on your bottom lip to restrain the smile that threatens to overtake your face.

Johnny gently tugs on your chin, freeing your bottom lip, and smiles down at you adoringly. “Told you I’d do anything for that smile.” He reminds you, and his arm around your waist tightens before he spins you around, eliciting an excited yelp from you, and dips you romantically to capture your lips in a kiss far more passionate and eager than the last.

“I love you,” You sigh happily when you two part, and he smiles back at you.

“I love you,” He murmurs, and you believe him.

You wake up in a full-body sweat, heat buzzing through your body in an almost electric sensation. You sit up in bed, throwing your covers off of yourself and rub your temples as you recall the dream you just had. That feeling of safety and comfort from the first dream you had about Johnny is just as present in the dream you just woke up from, if not stronger, and you find yourself swinging your legs off of your bed and walking to your window; outside of which, you note, it has started to rain.

vi. “maybe i’m afraid to fall in love; ‘cause what if it’s not reciprocated?” - pink sweat$, honesty.

“Yuqi, you don’t get it!” You complain, pulling your blanket around yourself tighter. “These dreams—the feeling I get whenever we’re together—I genuinely think there’s something going on.”

“Well,” Yuqi hums thoughtfully, “I think—and hear me out—that you two really might be soulmates–”

“That’s terrifying!” You whine, kicking your legs uselessly. “What if we are soulmates and something goes wrong?”

“What could possibly go wrong?” She asks curiously, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“He could get tired of me,” You stammer. “We could have a fight—a big one—and spend the rest of our lives hating each other and stuck together.”

“You sound stupid.” Yuqi points out, and you whip your head around to glare at her, your friend raising her hands in defense. “I’m just saying; the universe put you two together, so wouldn’t it already have accounted for any arguments you two might have?”

“Well…yes, but–”

“But what?” Yuqi presses, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“But what if the connection we have right now fizzles out? It’s new right now, and exciting, but what if we’re only coasting on the fact that we might be soulmates?” You tilt your head back to rest on the back of the couch, and Yuqi sighs loudly. “Be less excited to help me,” You gripe sarcastically.

“I’m not upset that I’m helping you,” Yuqi explains, “I’m upset you won’t listen to reason.”

“I am listening to reason!”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Fine—reason with me.” You challenge, and Yuqi pantomimes strangling you, growling under her breath before sitting up straighter and looking you directly in the eyes.

“The universe has put you two together.” Yuqi says slowly.

“The universe has put us together.” You echo.

“Whatever bond you two have will only strengthen as time goes on,” She continues. “Especially if you guys are having dreams of past lives together where you’re very much in love.”

“…Okay, that’s true.” You mutter.

“See?” Yuqi presses, nudging you with her knee. “There’s your sensibility rearing its head.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You grouch, brows furrowed as you stare at your nails.

“Why do I feel like you’re still freaking out?” Yuqi asks flatly, and you stare at your nails even harder.

“I should clip my cuticles,” You mutter nervously.

“Girl–”

“They’re growing out!” You defend yourself.

“I feel like you’re spiraling.” Yuqi sighs loudly, and you frown deeply.

“I kind of am,” You mumble, and when Yuqi moves to protest, you hold up a hand to stop her. “I’ll sleep on it,” You propose, “and I’ll figure out what to do.”

Yuqi stares at you, her brows furrowed in concern. “Okay,” She acquiesces, raising both hands in surrender. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” You say honestly, “I really don’t. But hopefully, I can figure out what to do.”

“You could always ask Johnny what he thinks.” Yuqi proposes, and you nibble at your bottom lip nervously.

“Yeah,” You sigh. “Thank you for putting up with my ranting, by the way.”

“What are friends for?” Yuqi asks with a smile, leaning in to hug you. Her tight embrace calms your tortured spirits ever so slightly, and you hum contently. “I’m touched you came to me.”

“Soyeon would’ve gotten fed up with me immediately,” You chuckle. “Soojin, bless her heart, would have derailed the conversation almost instantly. You’re the most level-headed friend I’ve got.”

“Thanks!” She chirps. “You’re, uh, pretty level-headed, too—when you’re not being completely obtuse.”

“Obtuse?!” You exclaim, indignant.

“What would you call your behavior a couple of minutes ago?” Yuqi asks, an eyebrow raised as she looks at you, unimpressed.

“Conflicted!” You answer defensively.

“You’re pronouncing ‘obtuse’ wrong.” She teases, and you reach behind you on the couch for a cushion to chuck at her. “You can whack me but you can’t whack the truth!”

You pause, your features screwing up in confusion. “What does that even mean?” You ask through an amused snort, and she shrugs, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know,” She admits. “But it got you to stop trying to hit me.”

“…Touché.”

“Have a good night, Ms. Adams!” You bid the head librarian goodbye as you and Johnny head out at the end of your shifts.

“Get home safe!” Johnny waves in her direction.

“Thank you, dears.” She replies with a warm smile, returning Johnny’s wave, and you smile as you exit the library, Johnny holding the door open for you.

You two walk together up until your paths part ways, and you’re almost reluctant to leave him, frowning as you look up at him.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” You say hopefully, and Johnny doesn’t say anything in response, just watching you with a slightly distracted expression. “Johnny?” You wave your hand in front of his face, and he blinks twice rapidly, his eyes refocusing on you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…wanted to tell you something.” He says carefully, and you nod encouragingly, gesturing for him to continue. “I had another dream about us the other night.”

“Me too,” You reply, and he perks up slightly.

“Good, because that’s partially what’s giving me the guts to say this. We’ve been hanging out for a couple of weeks now, and things feel like they’re getting a bit more serious.” He starts, and you balk, your throat drying out immediately, not even remotely expecting him to go down this avenue of conversation. Your thoughts go back to your conversation with Yuqi and your reasoning flies out the window, leaving only your feelings of panic with you.

“Johnny–” Your voice trembles with nerves and, if he hears you, he ignores it, continuing on.

“I wouldn’t even be suggesting something like this so soon if I didn’t genuinely think you were my soulmate–”

“Johnny,” You whine nervously, anxiety rapidly building up inside of you and sending panicked jitters through your body until you’re shifting your weight from foot to foot, shuffling in place awkwardly.

“I really like you, and I was wondering if you wanted to make things official–”

“I have to use the bathroom!” You blurt out, and he stops, blinking in a stunned silence. “Yeah. Like, really badly.” You lie.

“Okay,” Johnny says slowly, and you have to avert your gaze at the look of confusion and budding hurt on his face. “…Is that all you wanted to say?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You mumble, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“You didn’t want to say anything about anything I just said to you?” His sadness is audible at this point, impossible to ignore, and it compels you to look back at Johnny, your heart aching instantly at the myriad of emotions written plainly on his handsome features. You see everything—the hurt, the offense, the dejection—but what hurts the most to see, you think, is the lone ember of hope still alight in his eyes, and you have to look away before you speak again.

“I–I’m so sorry, Johnny, I, um–I really have to go.” The words spill from you like vomit, practically ripping themselves free from your throat as it closes up with unexpressed emotion. You can’t even look at him again as you turn on your heel and start speed walking back to your apartment, the sound of your pounding heart beating rapidly in your eardrums.

If you’d looked behind you, you’re sure you would have seen Johnny’s face fall completely, his wounded heart and pride snuffing out that one ember of hope he’d still had burning, as he stands perfectly still, frozen almost, staring after you and wondering how things could have gone so south so suddenly.

You know for a fact that your heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. So you don’t look back, your path in front of you blurring as frustrated tears build up in your eyes.

“Let me get this straight.” Soyeon mutters, running a hand over her face in a tired exasperation. “Soojin and I specifically warn you not to go all ‘flight risk’ on Johnny, and…you proceed to do just that a matter of days later.”

“Yes,” You say sadly. “Please don’t beat me up about it,” You interject as Soyeon sighs, “I’m doing a good enough job on my own as it is.”

“What even happened?” She asks in a scandalized hush. “Yuqi said she talked to you about it the other day—”

“And when I saw him and all that hope—that vulnerability—in his eyes, everything she said slipped from my mind and I just panicked.” You explain, forlorn. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“So in your attempt to avoid hurting him,” Soyeon says slowly, as if waiting for you to absorb her words and your thought process, “you hurt him.”

“I’m an idiot.” You groan, dropping your head in your hands.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Soyeon sighs sympathetically.

“Really?” You look up hopefully.

“Oh—well—you are an idiot,” She elaborates, and you drop your head back in your hands. “I just wouldn’t have said that.”

“Great.” You mutter bitterly. You look out of the café windows, hoping to find some random passerby to distract yourself from your spiraling thoughts, only for panic and alarm to seize you in its freezing cold, iron tight grip. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” You whisper, pacing back and forth in a frenzy as you see Johnny’s familiar frame approaching the café, accompanied by his friend who, judging by the cast on his wrist, you presume to be Taeyong.

“Is that Johnny?” Soyeon follows your gaze, eyes wide, and you nod, not even knowing what to do with yourself at this point.

“I was never here!” You whisper-shout, ducking into the back of the café to hide amongst the boxes of supplies.

“Are you seriously hiding–” Soyeon’s incredulous and, truly, you can’t blame her.

“I was never here!” You stress, poking your head back out and just before you duck back in the safety of the back room, you could almost swear you catch Johnny’s eye.

The bell above the entrance rings as the door swings open, and you position yourself behind the curtain obscuring you from the customers’ view to listen in as Johnny and his friend approach the counter.

“Good afternoon!” Soyeon greets pleasantly. “What can I get you today?”

“Can I get a large black tea with boba?” You hear Taeyong ask. “With a milk foam, too, please.”

“Sure thing,” Soyeon replies. “And you?”

“Um…yeah, can I get a large iced Americano?” Johnny requests, and your heart aches at the hollowness to his voice. It’s perfectly polite, as he always is, but the warmth you’re so fond of has disappeared, and your heart sinks as you realize you’re to blame. “Are you working alone today?” He asks, attempting to sound offhandedly curious, and you blanch as you realize that, one, he most likely did see you, and, two, he’s trying to figure out if you’re still here.

“…Sure am,” Soyeon lies smoothly. “Just, uh, little old me working the counter and the drink machines.”

“I hear you,” Johnny, for what it’s worth, does attempt to sound conversational, but the hurt in his voice is unmistakable, only confirming to you that he absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt saw you before you ducked in the back room minutes ago. “I hear you loud and clear.”

You space out for the rest of their conversation, only catching the tail end of Johnny’s and Taeyong’s bickering about who should pay, as guilt practically consumes you whole. You never once dreamed of hurting Johnny, so why the hell are you doing it so much? Your vision gradually clouds with tears and you reach into one of the open boxes on the shelves for a napkin, your fingers instead grabbing a coffee filter.

“Good enough.” You mutter dejectedly, dabbing at your eyes and cheeks with the filter, supposing that its slightly rough texture and therefore unpleasant sensation can serve as part of the universe’s punishment for your stupidity.

“Have a nice day!” Soyeon calls out, and the overhead bell rings once more. You wait with bated breath to make sure they’re out of sight before you reemerge, but Soyeon calls to you. “Good news.”

“What’s that?” You whisper back loudly.

“They’re gone, so you can quit whispering like you’re on some confidential mission.” She sighs, and you shamefully re-enter the main area, dragging your feet forlornly. “Bad news.”

“What’s that?” You mumble, your mind admittedly elsewhere.

“Johnny definitely knows you’re here and that you hid from him.” She pats your shoulder comfortingly.

“You heard that too, huh?” You mutter, and she nods.

“Sure did. ‘Loud and clear.’” She quotes his words back at you, and it takes everything in you not to literally wail in anguish. “It hurt watching him; he looked like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re making it worse!” You can’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spill down your cheeks, and Soyeon gasps in alarm, pulling you into a hug immediately as you quietly cry into her shoulder.

“Shit, I didn’t think you were gonna cry,” She mumbles worriedly, shushing you soothingly and rubbing your back in comforting circles. “I just wanted you to realize that your actions have consequences.”

“Oh, trust me, I know that.” You gripe, voice muffled in the fabric of her sweater.

“So what are you going to do?” She asks, clearly expecting and hoping you answer correctly.

“I’m gonna apologize to him,” You respond resolutely.

“When?”

“Tomorrow—at work in the library.”

“Great. You got this!” Soyeon cheers encouragingly, and you sigh.

“I sure hope I do.”

“Good evening, Ms. Adams!” You greet the librarian in a hush as you walk behind the main desk.

“Hello, dear,” She responds warmly, but it fades into the background as you sign your name on the timesheet and can’t help but notice Johnny’s name is missing. Not wanting to raise suspicion, but unable to dismiss your curiosity, you turn to Ms. Adams and lean against the wall as casually as possible.

“Ms. Adams?”

“Yes, dear?” She asks, not looking away from her computer, and you look down at your hand, inspecting your nails as nonchalantly as possible.

“Is, uh, Johnny coming tonight?” You ask, hoping you sound as unbothered as you want to appear. “I just want to know if I’m closing up alone tonight.” You follow up in a rush, cursing inwardly as you realize that your unaffected façade is slipping.

“Mm, no, he’s not, dear.” Ms. Adams answers. “He called today and asked if he can switch his days to Tuesdays and Thursdays, actually.” She continues, and your heart practically drops to the pit of your stomach. “Would you like me to help you close up?” She offers, turning to face you with a concerned frown, and you shake your head immediately.

“No, it’s not a problem,” You answer, waving dismissively. “I was just wondering. I don’t mind closing alone.” You reassure her, and she nods with a pleasant smile.

“Okay, dear.”

As you head to the back room and set your bag down, you can’t help but shift your gaze over to the spot where Johnny usually sits, his absence practically sucking the air out of the atmosphere.

There’s a sound at the door and you practically break your neck snapping your head up to look, half-hoping, half-wishing to see the tall male in the doorway. Your wish goes ungranted, as it’s just Ms. Adams coming in to get something out of her purse. You smile weakly as she exits the room, trying to conceal the growing ache of disappointment in your chest.

You have absolutely no doubt that Johnny switched his shifts because of you, and you can’t even deny it at this point—you miss him already. You’re not sure if it’s the soulmate bond you two have or just your natural feelings for him, but you feel…unfulfilled. As if you’re waiting for something that never comes.

Sighing, you trudge back out to the main area of the library, heading towards the bookshelves while pushing the cart full of books to be reshelved.

Hey, universe, you think, I could really use a sign of what to do right about now.

However, you aren’t entirely sure you’re prepared to hear what the universe has to say.

vii. “opposed to my heart, i let out hurtful words. i gave you a hard time, and i'm struggling too.” - exo, universe.

“Okay, so run through the signs again,” Soyeon says with a mouth full of popcorn.

You roll your eyes and grimace at the sight but choose not to comment, instead blocking her mouth from your view with one hand as you sit forward in your spot on the couch. “Okay, so—first it was the angel numbers,” You start. “First, I noticed that every time I’ve looked at my phone recently, it’s been 2:22.”

“What does 222 mean?” Yuqi asks curiously.

“It’s basically a soulmate sign from the universe; it usually means a relationship is coming or that you’re on the right track romantically.” Soojin explains, her words slowly coming to a stop as everyone turns to look at her in surprise. “What? I know about the universe and stuff!”

“Very interesting,” Soyeon mumbles, giving Soojin a suspicious once-over. “Okay, well, that could be a sign.”

“Yeah, but I also was at a café the other day—the one we work at—and I was buying my usual and Eunji was ringing me up, and she said there was a special promotion on that drink, and the total rang up to $2.22!” You continue, and Soyeon raises her brows.

“Don’t you usually get the brown sugar milk tea boba?” Soyeon asks, and you nod emphatically, widening your eyes to make a point. “But–isn’t that drink, like, five dollars? What discount would make it total $2.22 exactly?”

“See?! That’s not a coincidence!” You yell triumphantly. “And—oh, my God, and—I was sleeping the other night and I woke up humming this song I literally haven’t heard in years.”

“What song was it?” Yuqi asks, sitting forward curiously.

“…It’s called ‘John My Beloved.’” You answer slowly.

“No way that’s a coincidence.” Yuqi responds, and you snap your fingers and point at her excitedly.

“And it was playing on the radio when I clocked into work at the café that same day!”

“That’s freaky.” Soojin mumbles, and you nod in agreement.

“It is! I also keep feeling like I’m seeing him everywhere, but whenever I try to get a closer look, he’s gone.” You sigh.

“Well, maybe you are seeing him.” Yuqi suggests, and you frown.

“No chance—he’s been avoiding me like the plague since I rejected his confession.” You say.

“And since you hid from him in the café.” Soyeon adds, and your frown deepens as you slump against the cushions. There’s a moment of sympathetic silence before Soojin tentatively breaks it.

“Well…aren’t you supposed to go to that wedding with him next weekend?” She asks, and you nod hesitantly, wincing at the idea of going to such a romantic event with the man who may or may not be your soulmate after you brutally rejected him.

“Well, if he’s not talking to you, how’s that gonna work?” Soyeon wonders, and you shrug.

“I don’t know. I just know that he already RSVPed to it and put my name down as his plus one, so there’s no backing out.” You mumble.

“Well, why don’t you confess to him again there?” Soojin suggests.

“I would never upstage someone’s wedding!” You exclaim indignantly, and Soojin rolls her eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be in front of everyone,” She answers. “Just pull him aside during the reception and tell him how you feel.”

“Oh…I guess I can do that.” You mutter nervously, and Soyeon reaches over, pulling you into a comforting hug. Yuqi joins in, followed by Soojin, and you all sit there for a moment, embracing each other. “Thanks, you guys.” You say gratefully as they pull away one by one.

“No problem,” Yuqi answers, smiling warmly at you. “Can we continue the movie now? We’re almost done with it.”

“Sure thing,” You agree, grabbing the remote and pressing play. “No way.”

“What?” Soyeon asks, and you gesture at the screen.

“We paused the movie exactly an hour and eleven minutes in.” You roll your eyes.

“111 means new beginnings,” Soojin supplies helpfully.

“Thanks, universe! I get it!” You say loudly and a bit sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling. Yuqi follows your gaze.

“What are you looking at?” She asks curiously.

“The universe…” You explain, looking back down at your hands awkwardly. “Like…the sky? The universe?”

“Where else would she look, Yuqi?” Soyeon snickers. “It’s not like the universe is standing specifically in that corner over there.” Soyeon’s too preoccupied with giggling to notice Yuqi’s narrowed eyes in her direction and therefore misses when Yuqi launches a pillow at her, hitting her in the side of the face.

“What was that for?!”

“Being snarky.” Yuqi sticks her tongue out.

“What are you, a child?” Soyeon retorts, chucking the pillow back at Yuqi.

“Can we play the movie, please?” Soojin cuts the two of them off, and you take the opportunity to press play.

“I’ll get my revenge.” Soyeon mutters.

“Shh!”

“But–”

“Shh!” You whisper, pointing to the television, and she huffs.

“Fine.”

You’re lost in your thoughts, angel numbers and worries running through your mind, when you bump into none other than Johnny, who’s got his attention devoted to a book in his hand.

“Johnny, hey!” You greet slightly breathlessly, and he offers a tight smile in reply, sending an anxious buzz all throughout your body. Your mind is filled with the numbers 222 and, propelled by your faith in the universe, you decide to address your worries. “I’m actually headed to work, so I’ll make this quick,” You speak in a slight rush, and Johnny raises his eyebrows expectantly, a wary expression on his face. “I was thinking about your confession—I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually—and I wanted to tell you that, um…I accept it.”

Johnny says nothing, his expression unreadable, so you focus instead on the book in his hands before you continue, the silence quickly becoming unbearable. “I’ve been seeing signs from the universe and they’ve pretty much been telling me that I made a mistake when I told you I wasn’t ready, so—well—now I’m telling you that I am ready and that I think you’re right about us being soulmates.” You feel like you’re rambling, so you force yourself to stop there, tentatively looking up at Johnny when he still doesn’t speak.

You’re not sure what exactly you expected from him, but it definitely wasn’t for his face to be a mix of unimpressed and offended. You blanch at his stony expression, opening and closing your mouth wordlessly before you finally speak. “I’m done now.” You say, wordlessly indicating that it’s Johnny’s turn to speak. When he looks away from you and half-scoffs, half-laughs in disbelief, worry settles in your chest, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you nibble it anxiously. “Johnny, please say something.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” He says slowly, his voice flat and guarded. “I mean—first of all, I feel like I deserve something more than an accepted confession that you decided to ‘make quick,’ as if it’s something insignificant you can just say offhandedly.” He sounds almost incredulous, hurt plainly written on his face, and your heart drops in panic. “Secondly—I just—nothing you said just now made it sound like you want to be with me, y’know.” He pauses to laugh in disbelief, clearly offended. “You say the universe has been sending you signs and that you made a ‘mistake’ when you rejected me. Maybe stop looking at this as a mistake to be fixed and realize the gravity of the situation.”

“I do realize the gravity of–” You start, but Johnny silences you with a look.

“I don’t accept—I don’t know—whatever that was,” He chuckles humorlessly, and your face warms instantly with embarrassment and hurt, and you pray that your eyes don’t start watering at least until he walks away. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t even apologize—how could you think that was even an okay response to my confession?” He asks in confusion, stammering for a moment before continuing on, “I think you should take some time to yourself and think about if this is really what you want, and, if it is, come find me and try this again—preferably with more time and preparation than a brief, rushed exchange, with some indication that you, I don’t know, actually care about me, and—and preferably with some sort of apology for not only rejecting me, but also completely dodging me. Yeah, I saw you that day in the café.” He says, his voice accusatory.

“Johnny, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” You try to say, but Johnny shakes his head dismissively.

“I have class right now. See you around, I guess.” He mutters, stepping around you and continuing down the sidewalk. You stand there in silent shock, face heated, and tears finally trailing down your cheeks. You wipe them away in a hurry and look down at your phone, noting, with a sad sigh, that it’s 2:22pm.

“I’m sorry about the paper paycheck,” Ms. Adams says with a frown. “Payroll messed up the direct deposit for this pay period, but it should be fixed by the next payday.”

“It’s no problem,” You assure her, smiling comfortingly as you take the check from her hand.

“I just need you to sign here.” She places a clipboard on the desk and presses a finger to an empty line. “It’s just to confirm we gave you your paycheck.” She explains as you quickly skim the words.

“You got it,” You say, quickly signing your name on the line. You notice the blank spot under your name and realize that Johnny’s name is supposed to go in that space. You frown to yourself, thinking back to the last time you two spoke, which was nothing short of disastrous, and how you conveniently have yet to cross paths again in a whole week and a half.

As if the universe is watching and laughing, you hear Ms. Adams greet someone you can’t see, and your mouth dries as her words register in your head.

“Hello, Johnny! Sorry for the inconvenience with the paper paychecks.” She says, and you slowly turn around, realizing there’s no way to slip out unnoticed. Johnny’s standing a couple of feet away from you, waiting to approach the desk, and he’s looking past you to speak to Ms. Adams.

“Don’t worry about it,” Johnny comforts her with an easygoing smile. “I was coming in to work, anyway.” His gaze moves from behind you to looking directly at you, the ease of his smile slipping slightly as some of the warmth leaves his eyes. He looks uncomfortable more than upset with you, the tall, usually confident male shifting his weight to one foot and rubbing the back of his neck as you two look at each other wordlessly.

“Hi, Johnny.” You mumble nervously, offering a small wave as everything in you screams to avert your gaze.

“Hey,” He greets you just as quietly, shifting his attention to the desk behind you. “I, uh, gotta sign that, right?”

“Huh? Oh…yeah. Yeah, you do.” You answer, handing him the pen. You notice with a pang of sadness that he deliberately avoids touching your hand when he takes the pen from you. “See you later, Ms. Adams.” You bid the elderly woman a goodbye as you move away from the clipboard, and she smiles, waving at you. “Bye, Johnny.” The sadness and unease can’t help but creep into your voice, your face feeling warm and the backs of your eyes stinging as you blink rapidly in an attempt to will away the building urge to cry.

You’re halfway to freedom, the library door in sight, when Johnny calls your name, and you turn hopefully, looking to the left of him in the hopes to conceal the tears that are about to come.

“You’re still coming with me to the wedding this weekend, right?” He asks carefully, and you sniffle as discreetly as possible, nodding with a strained smile.

“A promise is a promise.” You answer, and he nods. If he notices you’re about to cry, he politely chooses not to comment, instead looking down at the floor.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up around noon.” He says.

You shoot him an awkward thumbs up. “Sounds like a plan.” You turn on your heel before he can say another word and speed walk to the exit, the urge to cry thankfully fading. What’s left, however, is a residual discomfort settling deep in your bones and a building uneasiness.

How the hell are you going to get through this wedding with him?

“You got this,” Soojin assures you as you turn and inspect your appearance in the mirror anxiously. “Just take deep breaths and remember that it’s just for a couple of hours.”

“This is going to be the longest day of my life,” You moan in anguish, and she coos sympathetically, coming up behind you to wrap you in a hug.

“I know, I know,” She sighs sadly, resting her head on your shoulder. “But it’ll be over soon, and then you can come home and tell us all about it if you want.”

“Thanks,” You mumble dejectedly, and sigh before releasing her and tugging at the neckline of your dress.

“Oh, stop, you look beautiful.” Soojin assures you, swatting your hands away gently, and you both jolt at the sound of the doorbell ringing. “Oh, it’s noon already?” She mutters in surprise, and you swallow thickly.

“I guess so.” You say quietly, and Soojin looks at you, sympathy and worry written all over her pretty features, before surging forward to hug you tightly once more.

“You got this!” She whispers loudly, and you nod half-heartedly. “If all else fails, text me!” She offers as you head to the front door.

You shoot her a thumbs up, wipe your slightly sweaty hands on your dress, and open the front door to see Johnny standing there, looking extremely handsome in his suit and emerald green tie.

“Hey,” You smile nervously, and Johnny doesn’t respond for a moment, staring at you with a dazed expression on his face. “…Johnny?”

“Sorry.” He apologizes, blinking several times before he looks more like himself. “You look…stunning.” He compliments, and your smile starts to feel a bit more genuine.

“Thank you,” You say bashfully. “You look very handsome.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, albeit a bit shyly. “You all ready?”

“Yep! Let’s go.” You say, stepping into your heels and grabbing your purse. You step into the hallway and shut the front door behind you, the locks sliding into place as Soojin locks the door from the inside for you. You two walk down the hallway to the elevator and wait quietly, the ding of the arriving elevator breaking the loaded silence.

“You first,” Johnny offers, gesturing to the open door, and you give him a small smile.

“Thanks.” You step into the elevator and Johnny’s hand drops to the small of your back in a reflexive comforting gesture, his palm hot against the fabric of your dress and setting off a full-bodied warmth and a tentative flurry of butterflies. As if he can feel it too, he removes his hand the very second you’re steady in the elevator, the movement so quick it feels panicked, and averts his gaze entirely as he presses the button to the lobby.

I’ve definitely got my afternoon cut out for me, you think nervously.

viii. “in the end, it’s you.” - astro, always you.

The ceremony is beautiful, the bride a vision in white as her teary-eyed father walks her down the aisle, and the tension lessens between you and Johnny enough for him to squeeze your hand comfortingly when a few tears spill forth.

You don’t entirely feel like admitting to Johnny that the reason you’re crying is not just because of the emotional ceremony, but also because of your worry about the situation between you and him and that you may have fucked up your shot at ending up with your soulmate.

The reception is fun and loud, the personalities of the eclectic newlyweds shining through in the latter half of the event with the upbeat music playing and the overall din of excited, eager chattering amongst the guests. The dance floor is packed with enough people dancing on their own that it feels natural to go in alone, letting the crowd conceal you from Johnny, who’s standing off to the side laughing with some of the groomsmen.

You lose yourself in the music, dancing until your feet are sore—which is quicker than you may have liked, due to the height of your heels. You make your way out of the throng of dancing bodies, sitting down in a chair at an empty table and slipping your heels off partially to give your feet a chance to breathe.

You’re massaging one of your heels when you hear a tired but happy sigh beside you, and sit up to see the bride sitting next to you with a content smile on her face.

“Congratulations,” You say with a warm smile, her joy infectious.

“Thank you!” She’s breathless, presumably from all the dancing, and she laughs quietly. “It almost doesn’t feel real, y’know?”

“Yeah, I bet,” You agree, chuckling.

“Excuse me for asking, but you came with Johnny, right?” She asks, and you nod. “He and my family go way back; he’s always been such a chill guy, y’know? Really makes people feel at ease when he talks to them.”

“He’s great,” You echo, pushing an unwilling laugh past your lips. The furrow in the bride’s—Hyuna’s, you think, Hyuna is her name—eyebrows comes and goes so quickly you could almost have missed it, and she turns towards you more, cocking her head to the side curiously.

“I don’t mean to pry,” She says carefully, “I really don’t. But that ‘he’s great’ didn’t sound too convincing.” She finishes, and you look at her, balking internally as her questioning eyes search yours.

“He is great,” You assure her in a rush. “I just…think I may have messed up with him a bit.”

“Oh?” She asks curiously, leaning back in her seat as her expression shifts to sympathetic. “He’s a pretty forgiving guy.” Hyuna assures you.

Your laugh is hollow. “I don’t know if he wants to forgive me after what I did.”

“Damn,” Hyuna winces, letting out a low whistle. “What’d you do?”

“It’s no big deal,” You rush to dismiss the topic. “It’s your special day, and I don’t want you worrying about some random guest’s problems.”

“Hm.” She hums thoughtfully. “Did you bring me a wedding gift?” She asks out of the blue, and you grimace uncomfortably.

“…No, no one sent me the registry.” You answer slowly, feeling embarrassed, and she hums again, as thoughtful as before.

“Well, then, for my wedding gift from you, I want you to tell me what’s wrong with you and Johnny so I can try to help fix it.” Hyuna says with a wry smile, and you laugh in surprise, not expecting her words.

“Well,” You start, “Johnny and I think we’re soulmates. He confessed to me, but I freaked out and rejected him, and then it was awkward, and then the universe gave me a bunch of signs—I’m talking angel numbers and strange coincidences—that we’re meant to be together, so I went and confessed to him, but he said my confession didn’t seem sincere enough and felt forced—which, to be honest, it kind of was; I was really nervous and I missed him. Anyway, he turned down my confession and said he wanted me to be sure before I confessed, and now things are really up in the air.” You explain, the words spilling from you in a rush. You realize that you’re not even looking at Hyuna, your gaze instead fixed on one of the name cards on the table, and shift your gaze to look at her sheepishly.

She looks pensive, brows furrowed in thought, and she doesn’t speak for several moments. The music from the dance floor does surprisingly little to conceal the silence growing between you two, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the clasp on your purse.

“We’re soulmates, you know.” Hyuna finally speaks, breaking the silence. “Hyojong and I.”

You can’t contain your surprise, gaping at her wordlessly. She laughs good-naturedly at your expression and nods to confirm her words further.

“How did you know?” You ask, the words coming out far more urgently than you mean for them to.

She looks off to the side thoughtfully, a content smile curling her lips. “I think…I think we just kind of knew. We met in a supermarket one day—he bumped into me and dropped a whole container of grapes, and, when I was helping him pick them up, we made eye contact and he smiled, and…I don’t know, it just felt like I was—”

“Home,” You two finish in unison, and she looks back at you with a growing smile.

“Yeah.” She says softly, and her gaze shifts to look elsewhere. You follow her gaze this time and see that she’s looking at her husband, Hyojong, who’s joined the small group of groomsmen Johnny’s talking to. “I know it sounds sudden, but I mean it; I really just knew. It’s less of a loud confirmation from the universe—no glowing light or disembodied voice, you know? It’s more of a feeling. When you’re together, everything feels right…like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

“Huh,” You mumble quietly, still watching Johnny with the groomsmen. “I think I get it.” As if Hyojong can sense her looking at him, he turns, the newlyweds locking eyes from across the room, and his face lights up as he smiles and waves at Hyuna. You look at Hyuna, who’s smiling fondly and waving back, and back at Hyojong before you feel the urge to shift your gaze to Johnny.

He’s already looking at you, a small but inviting smile on his lips as he lifts his glass up to you in a silent greeting. You can’t help but smile back, the music fading into the background as you look at each other and practically feel the hope between you two.

“You might want to try again,” Hyuna murmurs in your ear. “Weddings are peak romantic environments.” She nudges you with her shoulder lightheartedly, and you swallow the lump in your throat, looking back at her briefly before nodding.

“What if he rejects me again?” You ask nervously, and Hyuna looks at you, then Johnny, then back at you with a secretive smile.

“I have a feeling he won’t.” She says with a knowing grin, and you nod again, this nod more intent than the previous one, and slip your heels back on before standing up. You don’t miss the surprised lifting of Johnny’s eyebrows as you walk towards him, your eyes on him and him only.

“Hey,” You say, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Hey.” His smile is even more inviting up close, filling you with hope and all the resolve you need.

“Congratulations,” You say to Hyojong, and he smiles with a polite nod.

“Thank you,” He replies, and you return the gesture before looking back up at Johnny. You realize that the music that faded into the background earlier wasn’t fading because of your own budding cinematic moment, but because the DJ was making an announcement, the man saying something about “slowing things down” before a slower song—you recognize it as ‘I Won’t Let You Go’ by GOT7—starts to play.

“Do you wanna dance?” You ask Johnny, and surprise flashes across his expression briefly, quickly replaced by a tentatively playful smile.

“Yeah,” He agrees, and it feels like a weight lifts off of your shoulders as he downs the rest of his drink, sets it down on the table behind him, and offers his arm to you. You take it and you two walk to the dance floor, turning to each other before you link your hands behind his neck and he mirrors your actions, his hands clasping together against the small of your back.

“Are you having a good time?” You ask tentatively, and he nods, smiling.

“Yeah, it was great catching up with my old friends.” He answers, and you smile, relieved he’s in good spirits.

“Was the champagne good? I haven’t tried it yet.” You question, and he gives you a funny look.

“I had ginger ale,” He says after a moment of silence, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I drove, remember?”

“Oh. I mean, I could’ve driven us back,” You reply, shrugging.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He dismisses your concerns with a soft shake of his head and a reassuring smile. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah,” You assure him, smiling.

“I saw you talking with Hyuna earlier.” He comments casually, and you swallow as you remember why you called him onto the dance floor to begin with. “Girl talk?”

“Something like that.” You murmur quietly, looking down at his tie and studying the thread work. You feel an anxious breath swelling up inside of you and you let it out slowly, bracing yourself for his reaction to your next words. “They’re soulmates, y’know.”

“Really?” He muses softly, and you nod, still not looking at him. As if the word triggers a shift, his arms tighten ever so slightly around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you feel hope building inside of you, empowering you to place your head against his chest tentatively. He stiffens for a moment, and you lift your head immediately, an apology already on the tip of your tongue, but he gently presses your head back down on his chest, his hand lingering for a moment against the side of your head like an almost-caress before he brings it back to his other hand and pulls you in even tighter. You feel him sigh and wish you could look up to place the emotion he’s feeling, but he pushes your worries away when you feel the warmth of his cheek against the crown of your head.

“Yeah, Hyuna told me.” You say, your mind and body now hyper-aware of every movement he makes on even the smallest of scales. “Did you not know?”

“I had my suspicions.” He answers thoughtfully. “Something about them just makes sense on a level that I can’t really explain. It’s also—well…never mind.” He trails off, and you frown, bringing one hand from around his neck to play absentmindedly with his matching dark green pocket square on the breast of his suit.

“It’s also what?” You press carefully.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, and you almost resign yourself to not receiving a response, instead letting the soft rise and fall of his chest soothe you as he breathes.

“It’s also the way they look at each other.” He explains finally, and you hum in acknowledgement as you process his words. “Something about it feels so sure, so comfortable. It’s like they’ve known each other for lifetimes.”

It’s like the way we used to look at each other, you think, but you keep that thought locked up tight in your chest. However, the way that Johnny’s holding you, like he’s scared to lose you—no…like he refuses to lose you—fills you with a reassurance and emboldens you to heed Hyuna’s advice, silently praying with the universe for a more favorable outcome than last time, because, truthfully? At this point you’re not sure you can even take another rejection.

“Johnny?” You say nervously, picking your head up from his chest and looking up at him with a worried frown.

“Mhm?” He looks back at you with curious eyes and, if you’re not mistaken, there’s hope twinkling in them.

“I am so sorry.” You apologize sincerely. “I’m sorry for everything; how I responded to your confession, how I tried to confess to you, for avoiding you and just for how I’ve been acting in general,” Your words come out a bit hurriedly, and concern furrows Johnny’s brows as he moves to speak. “Just—wait one second, I really want to say this.” You request, and he nods in understanding, wordlessly allowing you to continue. “I was really scared, you know.” You explain. “I never—I mean never—thought I would be someone lucky enough to have a soulmate. So I was waiting for some sort of sign, I think. Some sort of grand gesture from the universe to tell me that it would be okay to fall recklessly, that we were meant to be together forever in this lifetime…and the next ones after this.

“I was talking to Hyuna earlier, and she helped me realize that there is no grand sign. It’s just a feeling you get, and…Johnny, I have never felt more at home in this world than when we’re together. Even right now, with the awkwardness going on between us—I feel so safe when I’m with you, and I think that’s what this whole soulmate thing is all about.” Your voice cracks on the last syllable as tears fill your eyes, and Johnny reaches up, almost without thinking, to wipe away the first tear that falls.

“I don’t wanna sound corny or anything, but I get it now, I think. Love is scary. It’s a sacrifice of sorts, and it happens very much on purpose. It’s a purposeful choice that you make every day, where you choose to reveal the part of yourself that you don’t let other people see…and you choose to let someone in and let them tinker around in there, choosing to trust that they won’t hurt you. So, I guess,” You let out a small, nervous laugh as another tear falls, and you avert your gaze, “what I’m really trying to say is that I truly believe you’re my soulmate, and even if, by some fluke of the universe, you’re not, that I still would like to, uh…let you in and let you tinker around. And maybe, if you forgive me and still feel the same way, you could let me in, too.” As your last words leave you, you can’t help but feel an immense weight lifting off of your shoulders, an exhilarated smile coming to your face as you laugh breathlessly.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re not looking at Johnny, your gaze actually trained unwaveringly on his shoulder, and you tentatively shift your gaze to his face, your heart in your throat. “I’m done now.” You announce in a small voice, and Johnny chuckles, the sound so fond that you feel you could collapse against his broad chest, trusting entirely that he would catch you.

“Can I say my piece now?” He smiles down at you playfully with his brows raised curiously, and you nod quickly, laughing despite your nerves.

“Please.”

He doesn’t say much. “Great,” He murmurs, and he’s dipping you low and pressing his lips to yours so eagerly and fervently that it takes your breath away. His arms wind around your waist so tightly that you couldn’t move if you tried—not that you want to, anyway—and you wrap your arms around his neck even tighter, a small sob of relief escaping you as he presses kiss after kiss to your uncontrollable, unwavering, positively radiant smile.

“I would be honored to love you on purpose,” He says through a brilliant smile that rivals your own. “My heart is open for you, whenever you’re ready to head on in.” He jokes, and a giggle bubbles up inside of you like the champagne you have yet to taste, leaving you positively drunk on ecstasy as you laugh in delight. It’s not really that funny, but you’re so damn happy that you can’t stop, your laughter spurring Johnny’s own, and you two stand in the middle of the dance floor, laughing, swaying, and very, very in love.

“I’ll get it!” You announce when you hear the doorbell ring, springing up from the couch and heading for the door. When you open it to Johnny’s tall frame in the doorway, you smile at him and lean up to press your lips to his in a quick but sweet greeting kiss. “Hi,” You murmur against his smiling lips.

“Hi,” He replies warmly, moving in for one more kiss before straightening back up. He peers past you briefly before he leans closer and whispers, “Can I be real with you?”

“Always.”

“I had to hype myself up in the mirror before I left to come here.” He confesses, and you raise your brows in surprise.

“Why?” You can’t help but laugh fondly.

“I need the approval of your friends,” He whispers back emphatically, and you roll your eyes, an amused smile quirking the corners of your lips.

“You’ll be fine,” You assure him. “Wanna know how I know?”

“Yes, please.”

“Firstly, you could probably charm a houseplant if you put your mind to it.” You say truthfully, and he snickers. “Secondly, I made them promise to be on their best behavior. Thirdly, and possibly most importantly—you brought the food,” You finish, taking said bags of food from his hand and smiling, “and we love food.”

“Okay…” Johnny says more so to himself before perking up. “Okay. I got this.”

“You sure do.” You assure him, patting his chest comfortingly before dropping your hand to link it with his.

“Stop hogging your boyfriend!” Soyeon calls out loudly from the living room and you roll your eyes, tugging him after you. “Come to mama,” She says excitedly, rubbing her hands together, and you stop short, glaring at her in offended disbelief. “Why’d you stop?” She complains.

“What did you just say?” You say carefully, and Soyeon’s brows furrow as she looks at you with a confused look on her face. As if something clicks into place, her eyes widen in alarm and she puts her hands up defensively.

“I meant the food!” She explains quickly, and you pause, embarrassed.

“Oh…right. Sorry…that’s my bad.” You chuckle sheepishly, leaning forward and placing the bags of food on the coffee table. “Everyone, this is Johnny.” You say proudly and turn to Johnny, nudging him gently with your elbow. “Say hi, Johnny.”

“Hi,” He gives a small wave, smiling politely. “Soyeon…Soojin…and Yuqi.” Johnny looks at each of them in turn before turning to look at you expectantly. “Right?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Soojin says happily before reaching into the bags on the table in search of her food. You head towards the couch, Johnny in tow, and settle into your favorite spot, patting the space next to you invitingly. He sits down and drapes his arm over the back of the couch and around your shoulders, relaxing slightly when you lean against his chest.

“Hey, now that there’s an odd number of us,” Yuqi says, gesturing to the five of you, “I think we can actually vote on a movie this time.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Soyeon pauses her rifling through the bags of food to acknowledge Yuqi. “I propose we watch something to make Johnny feel comfortable. Like, uh, an action movie or something.”

“I’m actually a rom-com fan.” He admits sheepishly, and Soyeon pauses, pleasantly surprised.

“You’re gonna fit in just fine, Johnny.” Soojin says with a comforting smile, and Johnny chuckles, unable to hide his relief.

“So, I hear you’re into photography.” Yuqi says, attempting to make conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I dabble.” Johnny replies casually, shrugging.

“Great! That means you can help whenever we need to take Instagram photos,” Soyeon insinuates with an innocent smile which widens when Johnny nods readily. “You’re a godsend; Soojin’s a terrible photographer.” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder in Soojin’s direction, and Soojin splutters indignantly.

“I am not! Maybe you’re just not very photogenic.” She retorts defensively, and Soyeon stares at her with a deadpan expression.

“I’ll flip all this shit over right now.”

“If you do, you’re cleaning it and buying us new food.” Yuqi threatens, and Soyeon sits back in her chair, rolling her eyes.

“You’re lucky I hate cleaning,” Soyeon mutters petulantly. “And buying things.”

“You love buying things,” You correct, “just not with your own money.”

“You got me there,” She chuckles, apparently already over her spat with Soojin.

“How does ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’ sound?” Yuqi proposes, gesturing to the television with the remote.

“I’m down,” You agree.

“Me too,” Johnny echoes.

“Sounds good,” Soojin and Soyeon say in unison before turning to look at each other in surprise.

The four of you sit in stunned silence, Johnny looking around at each of you questioningly.

“What am I missing?” He chuckles curiously.

“We never agree on a movie on the first try.” Soyeon says, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Maybe Johnny’s a good luck charm.”

“He’s my good luck charm,” You interject, shuffling closer to him. “Get your own.”

“Sure thing,” Soyeon replies easily. “Johnny, do you have hot, single friends?”

“I do,” He agrees, nodding with a smile, and Soyeon smiles mischievously.

“I will snag one.”

“Good luck with that,” Soojin snorts in amusement, and Soyeon turns to look at her suspiciously, her right cheek bulging slightly with food.

“What does that mean?” Her voice is a bit garbled from the bite she’s just taken, and Soojin grimaces.

“Oh, God.” Yuqi mumbles, rubbing a hand over her face in exasperation.

“Maybe work on chewing with your mouth closed like a polite member of society before you try and snag anyone.” Soojin replies with a taunting smile.

“I know where you sleep.”

“I know where you sleep!”

“Well, bring it on!” Soyeon exclaims dramatically, and you sigh, rubbing your temples.

“This is their best behavior?” Johnny murmurs in your ear curiously, not even trying to hide his amusement.

“I think,” You say carefully, making sure he can hear you over Soojin and Soyeon as they start to go back and forth, “that they forgot about that.”

“I see.” He chuckles. “At this rate, I don’t think we need a movie.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Yuqi chimes in as quietly as possible from her spot on your other side.

“Seriously,” You agree. “They like you as it is right now; don’t test it.”

“Noted.” He nods with a serious expression, and you chuckle. You catch Yuqi’s eye in your peripheral vision, and she makes a point of gesturing to Johnny with her eyes and offering you a silent thumbs up of approval. You beam proudly and turn towards Johnny, tilting your head up to speak quietly in his ear.

“You passed the vibe check.” You inform him, and his smile mirrors your own as he turns to look at you.

“Yeah?” He can’t hide his excitement, squeezing you in closer to him.

“Told you you’d be fine,” You remind him. He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering on the spot as he hums in acknowledgement.

Even with the chaos of Soyeon’s and Soojin’s background bickering and Yuqi’s visibly dwindling patience, you feel nothing but bliss and relief as your two worlds unite comfortably.

ix. “i’ll go wherever it leads me to you.” - saya, take me on.

Your music is playing on the speakers in the kitchen, the melody of ‘Take Me On’ by SAya filling the room, and you hum along pleasantly, slowly stirring the pot of chili soup you’re making. You feel Johnny before you see or hear him, the lifting feeling in your heart spreading through your body until you feel practically as light as air, and you feel about as giddy as a schoolgirl with a crush as his arms wind around your waist slowly, his lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hi,” He sighs happily into your hair.

“Hi, John.” You smile and turn your head up towards him for a kiss, your smile widening when he meets your lips in a short, sweet peck. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” He answers easily, swaying you two from side to side gently as you return your attention to the soup you’re making. “I missed you when I woke up.” You can hear the frown in his voice without even looking up, and you snicker fondly.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” You reply. “You’re just in time, though—the soup’s almost done.” You inform him, and he makes a sound of interest, leaning down and opening his mouth expectantly. “It’s hot, Johnny.” You laugh, and he furrows his brows.

“I’ll blow on it!” He promises, and you roll your eyes playfully before offering him a spoonful, taking it from the top of the liquid in the hopes that it’ll cool down faster. He blows on it far too quickly before taking the spoon into his mouth, his face screwing up in pain as he swallows and exhales repeatedly and rapidly. “Hot!”

“If only you’d had some sort of warning, perhaps,” You say sarcastically, both amused and concerned. He barely unwinds himself from you as he reaches for a cup from the cabinet and leans over to fill it with tap water, shooting you a playfully wounded look as water runs into the cup. He takes a few desperate gulps, audibly swallowing several times before setting the cup down with a sigh of relief. “Better?”

“Much,” He answers, his pleasant smile back on his face. “Before I almost burned my tastebuds off, I did actually taste it,” Johnny says, bringing himself down so his face is by yours.

“Mhm, and?” You press, expectant and hopeful as you wait to hear his reaction.

“It’s delicious!” He chirps, and you beam, relief flooding through you. ”And it’s my favorite,” He adds, squeezing you tighter.

“Yeah,” You echo, feeling slightly bashful.

“You’re too good to me,” Johnny sighs dreamily, kissing your cheek with an obnoxiously loud sound before straightening back up. “I’m not complaining, though—by all means, keep it up.”

“Aren’t you charming?” You remark drily, and he pulls you away from the stove, turning you around to face him and smiling down at you.

“Very,” He agrees with a wiggle of his brows. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, and then Johnny speaks again. “Y’know, I find it so much easier to be in your apartment now that your friends know and approve of me.” He comments.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah; I was kind of worried they wouldn’t like me.” He admits sheepishly, and you move to turn around, an indignant exclamation on the tip of your tongue, but he holds you fast and firm.

“Johnny,” You say, amused, “who in their right mind wouldn’t like you?”

“Some people might think I’m a lot to handle.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re a lot. Also, I’m a lot, so my friends are obviously used to it.”

“You’re not a lot,” Johnny protests, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“You have to say that; you’re my soulmate.”

“Yeah, I am,” He sighs dreamily. “I’m still getting used to that, you know; it’s so exciting.”

“It really is,” You agree, nodding. “I still find it kind of hard to believe that the universe picked me out of billions of people. Like, I never even win those scratch-off lottery tickets,” You stammer, Johnny laughing fondly as you continue, “and yet, I have a whole ass soulmate.”

“Yeah,” He hums thoughtfully. “What was the word you used that day at the wedding? Lucky?”

“Yep; but I’m feeling very lucky right about now.” You smile.

“Oh, yeah? What a lucky coincidence,” Johnny comments casually. “I’m also very lucky.” He moves so you can see his face and looks at you expectantly. When you remain silent, confused, he rolls his eyes and shakes you gently. “Ask me why.”

“Why are you lucky, Johnny?” You ask, playing along, and his smile widens.

“I am lucky because I have someone as wonderful as you loving me.” He answers, and heat blooms in your cheeks as you avert your gaze shyly. He ducks down so you two are looking at each other once more before he says, “I am also very happy.” He blinks at you pointedly until you catch onto his silent urging.

“Why are you happy, Johnny?”

“I am happy because I get to love you for the rest of our lifetimes,” He replies, moving his lips to your ear and whispering, “entirely on purpose.”

“You are so…” You trail off, shaking your head and laughing in mild disbelief.

“Romantic? Sweet? Lovely? Charismatic?” He supplies, and you blink up at him wordlessly.

“All of the above,” You answer, and he grins, leaning down to press his lips to yours once more. “Now let me finish the soup, please.” You carefully turn yourself around in his embrace to give your attention to the soup once more.

“Only if I can stay right here,” He reasons, and you shrug.

“Go ahead.”

The vibrations of his chest soothe you as he hums along to your playlist and sticks to his word, staying put right behind you and pressing small kisses to the top of your head.

x. “oh, i know i belong to you.” - eric nam, the night.

“Johnny, are we almost there?” You ask curiously, laughing as you tentatively walk forward.

“Yes, stop being so impatient,” Johnny laughs with you, keeping one hand firmly placed over your hands, which are cupped over your eyes. “And…we’re…here!” He announces proudly, removing his hand from your hands, which you remove from over your eyes.

You blink a few times to adjust to the lighting outside, your eyes finally landing on the blanket laid out on the grass under a tree, a smile coming to your face when you turn to face Johnny and he holds up a picnic basket excitedly.

“Surprise!” He’s practically bouncing in place, excitement radiating off of him. “I got your favorite,” He says, opening the wicker basket and letting you look inside to see the familiar packaging of your favorite order from the Korean barbecue chicken store you and your roommates always go to.

“Oh,” You say softly, smiling so widely you’re surprised the sound even makes it out undistorted.

“And I got your favorite drink,” He adds, setting the basket down on the picnic blanket and reaching into it to pull out your order from the café you work at. You stammer uselessly for a moment, looking at his happy, proud expression and beaming so brightly you fear your cheek muscles will start to ache. “Did I do a good job?” He asks hopefully, and you can only nod vigorously, cupping his face and pulling him down to your height, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him sweetly.

He wraps his arms around your waist immediately, holding you tightly as you two stand there kissing, humming appreciatively as you two part.

“You did a wonderful job, Johnny.” You assure him sincerely, and he puffs his chest out proudly.

“Awesome. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” He urges, walking you both onto the blanket and releasing you so you can both sit down. He hands you your food and a fork and takes out his food, opening the lid and promptly spearing a piece of chicken and taking a bite. You do the same, closing your eyes happily as you chew, until the feeling of eyes on you makes you reopen them to see Johnny watching you expectantly as he chews. “Good?”

“Perfect,” You correct, and he smiles proudly, eyes crinkling as he returns his attention to his food. The two of you eat in a peaceful silence, surrounded by the sounds of nature and people casually passing through the park you’re seated in, before Johnny speaks.

“I have another surprise,” He announces, covering his food back up and springing to his feet.

“Wh-Where are you going?” You laugh.

“I gotta get the other surprise!” He explains, turning on his heel and dashing to the edge of the sidewalk where his car is parked. He opens the door to the backseat and sticks his head in, presumably looking for said surprise.

“Johnny–”

“Got it!” He exclaims, emerging from the car and shutting the door, the car beeping as he locks it on his way back to you, and you see a metal box in his hand, your head tilting to the side curiously.

“What is it?” You ask, confused, and Johnny sits back down, opening the box. You peer inside curiously to see a few envelopes and a notebook and look up at him questioningly.

“It’s going to be,” Johnny explains, “a time capsule!” At your still lost expression, he adds, “I thought that, in the next lifetime, if one of us is—or both of us are—skeptical about soulmates, we can write our future selves letters right now explaining everything. That way, it’ll be easier to find each other.” He finishes with a bright smile, and you feel your lips curling up into a smile that appears entirely out of your control.

“That’s such a good idea,” You praise him, and if you thought he looked proud before, it’s nothing compared to now.

“I know, right?” He chuckles, pulling out the notebook and neatly tearing out a page, setting it on his box of chicken before handing you the notebook and a pen from the box. “You can lean on the notebook,” He offers, and you chuckle, adjusting yourself so you can write better.

“What a gentleman.” You murmur with a smile, and he grins. You two fall back into silence as you write your letters to your future selves, and you finish before Johnny, lifting your head to see him still bent over his paper. “I’m done,” You announce, leaning forward and plucking one of the envelopes from the box. You fold your letter up and place it in the envelope, writing your name on the front and sealing it before placing it back in the box.

“Done!” Johnny sits up and takes an envelope from the box, putting his letter inside and sealing it, writing his name carefully on the envelope and setting it down beside yours. “I was also thinking that, uh, we could write each other letters—like to our future selves, too.”

“You’re so romantic,” You tease, nudging him with your knee, and he smiles, showing the first hint of bashfulness you’ve seen from him all day as he rubs at the back of his neck.

“Thanks.” He chuckles shyly. You remove another sheet of paper from the notebook in your lap and hand it to him before hunching over your paper and starting to write, silence befalling you two once more as you focus on writing.

Dear Future Johnny,

This might be confusing to read, and hopefully you’re not alone when you find this, but I’m your future soulmate. In the lifetime I’m writing this in, that fact was very hard for me to grasp, so I can only hope you—and future me—can handle this better than I did.

I—past me, the one writing this—love you, Johnny. To be perfectly honest, I love you so much that it’s actually a little scary. I know the universe picked us out for each other, but I will make the conscious decision to love you every day that you let me, for years and lifetimes and future existences to come.

I’m going to keep this short, because the idea of writing this letter was kind of sprung on me and I don’t have all the words I want to say to you, but I hope we find each other soon in your current lifetime and that every moment we spend together is filled with love and comfort and happiness.

A worrying thought pushes to the forefront of your mind as you’re sealing your letter to future Johnny, the question practically burning inside of you while you write Johnny’s name on the front, doodling hearts around his name absentmindedly.

“Johnny?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up from his paper, still writing.

“What if we don’t find each other in the next life?” You ask, worry creeping into your voice. Johnny looks up at you with a concerned expression, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Like—what if we never make it back to this spot exactly? What if we’re not even born in this area—this country, hell, this continent—” Johnny silences you by reaching his arm out for you to come sit by him, and you do just that, letting him embrace you and kiss the side of your head.

“I don’t think the universe would let that happen.” He answers confidently, and you look at him to see that he’s already looking back. “I think we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

“Yeah?” You mumble, already comforted by both his words and the absolute faith he has in them.

“Yeah.” He confirms.

“You’re just on your game today,” You chuckle. “I mean, with the date, and the time capsule and letters—” You crane your head to peek at Johnny’s paper, which he covers immediately.

“Be patient, nosy.” He teases, and you smile and nod, bringing your food into your lap and continuing to eat as he finishes up his letter. “Okay, I’m done.” He says, relieved as he places his now sealed envelope with your name in the box.

“Are you gonna bury it?” You ask curiously, and he nods before a frown makes its way to his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot a shovel.” He answers, sighing.

“It’s okay!” You comfort him, squeezing his hand and nudging his side with your shoulder. He leans into your touch and a smile slowly replaces his frown.

“Yeah, I can just bury it some other time, right?” He asks, and you nod encouragingly.

“Exactly. Now, if I were you, I’d finish my food before the ants get to it first.”

“Ew.” He shudders, and you snort in amusement.

“Exactly.”

xi. “swear i feel you in my memory; i think i’ve seen you in my dreams. maybe you and i have history, but i don’t think you know me.” - sarah barrios & eric nam, have we met before?

You’re out on a walk with your dog, strolling through your neighborhood, when suddenly your dog freezes, her whole body stiffening. Before you can even hypothesize what she’s picked up on, she’s pulling you after her towards a grassy area in the park across the street that, if you’re being truthful, feels oddly familiar.

“W–What are you up to, you silly girl?” You laugh as your dog continues practically dragging you forward on her leash. She’s a girl on a mission as she reaches the grassy area and sniffs around the large tree. “Did you just really want to pee here or something?” You mumble, confused, but she only creates more questions in your mind as she sniffs at the ground and starts frantically digging. “What on Earth could you be looking for?” You mutter to yourself, genuinely baffled because she’s never really been the type of dog to love digging holes.

Shortly into your dog’s digging frenzy, you can hear her paws scraping against something that’s most definitely not dirt or anything natural, and you move closer to see what she’s found, your brows furrowing in confusion and surprise as something metal glints back at you. You crouch down and dust off the item, eyes widening when you make out the words “Time Capsule” printed clearly on what appears to be a metal box.

You pull the box out and set it on the grass, gingerly undoing the latches and opening it. You see four letters, two of which, to your complete and utter surprise, have your name on them in two different handwritings, and the other two are addressed to “Johnny” in the same handwritings.

“What the hell?” You mumble in confusion, sitting down on the grass in front of the capsule and picking up one of the letters with your name on it. “I don’t remember writing this.” You trail off nervously, staring down at what is unmistakably your handwriting. “And who is Johnny?” You open the letter with trembling hands and your heart in your throat, not sure what to expect.

Dear Future Me,

If you’re reading this, then congratulations! You found your way back to the Time Capsule. I don’t know how you found this spot again, but if you had help, make sure you give them a big thank you.

You pause to give your dog a kiss and she sits down as if she’s completed her job, settling her head in your lap.

This letter was written by you, but you from the past—a past life, to be exact. I’ll keep it brief, as I’m writing this on a date with our soulmate and want to get back to spending time with him.

“Soulmate?” You mutter, amused. “There’s no way I have a soulmate.”

I know you must be thinking that there’s no way we have a soulmate. But we do. The odds are a million to one, and we just so happen to be one of those ones.

“Holy shit.”

If you found this and you haven’t found your soulmate yet, he can’t be too far behind. The universe will always find a way to bring you two together.

“Hey—down, girl!” You hear a male voice call, and a ball of white fluff launches itself at your dog, your shriek of alarm going unnoticed by the two dogs who sniff each other’s behinds and promptly start playing with each other, restricted only by your respective grips on their leashes. “Sorry about that, she never does this.” The male apologizes, and you raise a hand to your brow to shield your gaze from the sun as you look up at him.

You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen this man before, so why does his smile feel like you’re coming home after an incredibly long journey?

In a moment of what can only be divine intervention, you open your mouth and blurt out, “Johnny?”

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he looks at you with mild confusion. “Yes; have we met before?”

“Yes, but—well, it’s kind of complicated.” You mutter, laughing under your breath. “But I think these are for you.” You reach into the time capsule and hand Johnny the letters with his name on it, watching as his brows shoot up into his hairline.

“What the hell?” He mumbles, moving to sit down beside you. For the first couple of moments as he reads, you take the opportunity to finish reading your own letter from your past self.

I’m genuinely hoping with all my heart that this letter helps you not be as foolish as I was in this lifetime; let Johnny in. Let him love you. I promise you won’t regret it.

Finally finished, you fold the letter back up and put it back in its envelope before returning your attention to Johnny. To your wonder, you can’t help but study his handsome features as he reads, from the slope of his nose to the flutter of his lashes to the heart-shaped pucker of his lips, and his large, broad stature with large hands that, if you’re honest, aren’t exactly helping you pay attention to the situation at hand.

You’re drawn out of your daze by Johnny calling your name almost experimentally, and you feel a tingling rush of…fulfillment throughout your body as you realize you love the sound of your name in his mouth and want him to say it again and again and again.

“This is unreal,” He laughs, and you can’t help but join in, shrugging as you’re at a loss for words.

“What did your letter say?” You ask, and he clears his throat, looking back down at the letter.

“Dear Future Johnny,

“This might sound crazy, but I’m writing this to you from one of our past lives. You might think this is some kind of fluke, but I promise you it’s not.

“If you haven’t already, you are about to get the opportunity to fall for the love of our life all over again, and I hope it’s every bit as exciting as you want it to be. She’s strong, smart, funny, kind, beautiful, and all yours to love.

“I’m hoping you didn’t stumble upon these letters alone; if you did, just hang tight and wait for our soulmate; the universe will bring you two together soon enough.

Be patient with her; if she’s anything like our love in this life, she’s hesitant to love and scared. Love her with all of your heart and show her she’s safe with us.”

Johnny finishes reading, and you rub at your cheeks in the hopes to dissipate some of the warmth that built up while Johnny read out the compliments about you from past Johnny.

“You have a very nice reading voice,” You mumble shyly, and he grins.

“Thank you. So,” He draws the syllable out. “Soulmates, huh?”

“Guess so.” You say softly, nibbling at your bottom lip to mask the excited smile that threatens to grow.

“Then I guess we should get to know each other a little bit better, yeah?” He chuckles, and you nod, the gesture far too eager for your liking. “Wanna get something to eat and hang out?” He asks as he stands up and reaches a hand out to help you up.

You murmur in agreement and take his hand gratefully, an unexpected gasp slipping out from you as a storm of butterflies builds up in your stomach almost instantly.

When the feeling has ebbed enough for you to focus on reality, you notice that Johnny’s eyes are glazed over slightly as he regards you and it makes you wonder—has he just had the same experience as you?

“You alright?” Johnny asks with a warm, curious smile.

You return his smile. “Never better.”

xii. “my answer is you.” - exo, my answer.

To My Love,

I practiced what I’d write here, but I think my nerves are making me forget everything. So I’ll just say some things I know to be true.

We are soulmates.

As sure as the sun will rise and set, I will love you.

I promise to be your safe place in every lifetime we spend together.

You may be scared, and I get it. The universe works in mysterious ways. I promise to be by your side through it all.

I will choose to love you in the little ways and in the big; from knowing your boba order, to wiping your tears away, to slow dancing with you in the kitchen, and everything in between.

Every day I find something new I love about you, like the way you sound when you laugh at my jokes or the way you tie your hair back.

We go together well. I love making dumb jokes and you love laughing at them. I’m calm when you panic, you’re responsible and grounded when I’m in my devil-may-care moments. We balance each other out, I believe, and the universe gave us to each other as a blessing.

If you get scared again, I will wait for you in this next lifetime and every one after that.

I am in love with everything that you are, have been, and will ever be.

I can’t wait to fall in love with you all over again.

See you in the next life,

Johnny (your soulmate)

You smile widely as you reread the letter you pore over every time you need a pick-me-up, so enamored with your lover’s words that you don’t hear him padding up to you from behind.

“I was wondering where you ran off to.” Johnny murmurs, voice hushed due to the late hour.

“Was just reading your letter to Future Me again.” You sigh happily, leaning against the edge of the windowsill. The moonlight that had previously illuminated the page you were reading is now gracing the floor, shadows of the swaying trees outside dancing in the light.

“Again? It’s so cheesy,” Johnny shudders with a laugh, moving closer to you and opening his arms for you. You step into his embrace, his warmth and comforting scent surrounding you as he sighs blissfully, holding onto you like he’ll never let go. “I’m way more composed now,” He sounds petulant and you snicker.

“John.”

“Hm.”

“Are you pouting?”

“No.” He lies.

“You are a grown man.”

“All I’m saying is that you could get way smoother lines from me now.” He defends, and laughter spills from you before you can stop it.

“Johnny, I don’t need ‘smooth.’ I like you rough around the edges. It’s more vulnerable and touching that way.” You explain, looking up at him and resting your chin on his chest. He looks down to meet your gaze, a smile slowly creeping onto his face.

“Okay,” He relents. He looks up and past you to the window and you follow his gaze, looking out to see that it’s started to rain. “Hey,” Johnny murmurs excitedly, grinning when you turn to look at him. “Wanna go out and kiss in the rain?”

“Really?” You laugh, surprised, and he nods, slipping his fingers between yours and pulling you towards the front door. “At least let me change out of my slippers!”

“I’m being spontaneous and romantic!” He whisper-yells back at you.

As he pulls you out of the door, you whiz past the analog clock on the wall, catching, at the very last moment, that it’s 2:22am.

i hope you enjoyed! donations are appreciated :)

ko-fi | cashapp | venmo | wishlist (if you’d like to support via paypal, please message off anon!)

#johnny smut #johnny suh smut #johnny seo smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #if this doesnt go in the tags i’ll actually cry

2K notes · View notes

pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

Text

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l and @sipsteainanxiety for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

1K notes · View notes