#I saw yet another post about a story about a
Text
авантура Цанмома у Београду
avantura Canmoma u Beogradu, or, the adventure of canmom in Belgrade
it's another one of these 'travels of canmom' posts! last time we went to Gamescom in Germany. this time I went to Belgrade for a company event.
I can't actually talk that much about this one because the main thing I was doing was cooking up game pitches for what we might work on next (kind of like a game jam but just for concepts), and while that was very interesting and I learned a lot about how to get ideas across in limited time and make judgements about what videogames might sell and how long they'd take to make and such... it is however probably not something I can talk in too much detail about yet, because we might end up making these games, so I can't be like 'the theme was x and we pitched y'.
so instead I will mostly talk about Belgrade! and show some of the photos I took that don't have game developers wandering around in them.
that's Nikola Tesla airport. did you know that Nikola Tesla was from modern-day Serbia (at the time, the Austrian Empire)? I didn't but I do now!
most of the week was spent in this fancy villa...
...which is called the Villa Saga Paradiso. it must once upon a time have been some stinking rich family's holiday home, because it's a super weird building, with such features as a pool table, swimming pool, tennis court, library, and even a weird kinda stage thing on the top floor. definitely full of weirdly shaped rooms and interesting old furniture, it felt kinda like a place a moomin might hole up. so here's some pics of the place.
also the view was kinda insane...
also! here's a pic of a Serbian snail that came out rather nice:
anyway on Saturday we went into the city centre to do some more touristy shit. I went to the two places in Belgrade that presumably everyone goes, namely the Fortress and the Temple. but I also got some shots of the city centre...
(also a tram shot for the trams girls in the audience)
so as you can see, the vibes of central Belgrade are p Southern European sorta architecture, lots of pale stone walls and tiled roofs and the like. but you also have these crazy cool looking tower blocks from the communist period...
...which were unfortunately quite hard to photograph out of a moving car window.
But yeah, we were on our way to the fortress.
Belgrade Fortress has a pretty storied history. At one point it simply was Belgrade; even after that, it's been occupied by variously the Byzantines, Turks and Austrians, who all made various additions and modifications to the fortress, and sometimes accidentally blew it up. Nowadays it's become a kind of park and tourist area, surrounded by the river, and thus some pretty impressive views...
as well as various things that tourists might like to look at, like statues of dinosaurs and tanks, and people dressed Historically.
apparently you're only allowed 30 images in a post, so let me make another one for the Temple, which was the craziest building I saw, and the butt statue...
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Calista's Dream
I am just pushing this story out like it's nothing. That's the power of Feyd Rautha Harkonnen because I've literally never posted any of my writing until this. I'm so inspired ✨️ I hope you all are enjoying the story progress once again future chapters will contain sexual content so 18+ please.
Warnings:blood consumption
Word count:2.8k
Chapter 2
The next morning was slow. It was customary to sleep in after a welcoming feast given the guests usually over indulged in much wine. I was just thankful for a brief reprieve before our official courting began. My hand was wrapped neatly by Dr. Yueh last night. It stung whenever I tried to flex my hand slightly. I’m still not sure what compelled me to slice my palm just because he requested it. At the moment it seemed like the right thing to do but upon further reflection, I think it was a mistake. I only showed him that if he insisted I would bend to his will, because that is exactly what I did. I gave him what he asked for. I gave him my blood and he loved it. I can still recall the look in his predatory eyes when he saw my bright red blood coat the dagger. For a moment I thought he might lick it clean but thankfully he did not.
“My lady, it’s time for your promenade with the Na Baron.”
I wash my face at my vanity trying to mentally prepare for the day ahead.
“He also requested a tour of the training yard. He needs to train daily, Lady Calista.”
“Of course thank you for informing me.”
With that she readied me for the mid day meal.
Yet again in the great hall Feyd Rautha and my father are seated identically to last night. They rise to greet me, but this time Feyd pulls out my chair without interruption from my father. I kiss my father on his cheek the same way I have every morning since I was a girl and he strokes my hair affectionately. Once I take my seat I greet The Na Baron with a simple
“Good Morning.”
My mother looks on with a sincere smile nodding her head in greeting. Her love had always been more reserved, more private than my fathers affections, but I knew she would do anything for me just as he would.
Na Baron Harkonnen seems taken aback by the display of affection between father and daughter and thus does not relay a ‘Good morning’ in return. The food is quickly delivered and everyone begins eating without another word spoken. In order to break the ice Cali faces Feyd.
“I was informed you wanted to see the training yard. One of the maids mentioned training daily back on Giedi Prime. Is that true?”
He cuts his eyes to her youthful face and damp hair.
“Yes, it’s true. Why do you ask?”
“I also train daily. Perhaps we could-”
“-Cali, no I don’t think that's a good idea.” Said Leto.
“I would be honored, my lady.” said Feyd.
Jessica and Leto looked apprehensive.
“Father? Is it alright?”
He nodded his approval, reluctant to offend the Na Baron.
An hour later I was dressed in my training garb which consisted of tight yet stretchy britches and a white peasant top tucked in neatly to the britches. I knocked on Feyd Rautha’s chamber in three sharp raps. He opened the door only a crack before seeing me and widening the gap.
“Are you ready Na Baron?”
He nodded once stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him. They walked silently together with him just a few short paces behind her, out of her peripheral vision.
“Our training yard has an awning so even when it rains we can enjoy the fresh air. The indoor area can get stuffy at times.” I was actually looking forward to sparring with him. I was eager to see if the rumors and gossip about him being a brutal animal were true. I felt a thrill deep down at the thought of it; seeing him for the beast he was rumored to be.
“Here we are.” I pushed open the large double doors where some of the men were training under Duncans supervision. He nodded to me acknowledging mine and Na Baron Harkonnen's presence, but he did not approach.
“Where would you like to start? Hand to hand perhaps?”
I offered hoping he would agree.
“Are you sure you’re capable?” He gestures to my wrapped hand that I had somehow forgotten about.
“It’ll be fine. It’s just sparring right?”
“Right.”
We make our way to an available mat standing on opposite sides of the circle. His eyes are watching me more closely than usual which seems impossible. He gestures for me to make the first move. So I approach him slowly and deliberately. I strike out at his neck before he swiftly dodges the blow countering with a blow of his own which lands on my left side. I expected him to be a bit slower given his stature, but I was wrong. Noted.
We trade blows back and forth, none landing. I was small and quick but he was using his size against me. He tried cornering me so I couldn't retreat before he grabbed hold of me. At the last second he was able to grab me and bring my back to his front. He wrapped his arms around my middle. For a moment we just breathe a bit worn out from the previous events. We had gone on for nearly ten minutes just grappling no one landing a single blow since his very first attack.
“You're fast my lady. I almost couldn’t catch you... almost.” He whispered right in my ear.
“You’re surprisingly fast for someone of your size, Na Baron. I’ll admit I was expecting slow but powerful blows.” I try to face him but his grip doesn’t allow for it.
“You adapted quickly. I was only able to land the first blow, I’m impressed, but you’re holding back.”
I try to turn to face him but he refuses to let me out of his grip.
“We’re just sparring are we not? Do you want me to unleash my full capabilities?”
“I will if you will.” He whispers yet again in my ear.
With that I fling my head back catching him while he leaned into my ear to speak. The blow is enough for him to momentarily lose his grip and I use it to my advantage striking him in his gut with my elbow and moving out of his reach.
He smiles a black toothed smile at me, and I feel pride briefly before he charges at me full force and before I can even think he slams me on the foam mat knocking the breath from my body. Now at the advantage he straddles me at my waist totally trapping my legs. I try to use the menuvors Gurney taught me to use against bigger opponents but he pins my hands flush against the mat earning the attention of Duncan and the other soldiers present.
I buck my hips trying with all my might to knock him off kilter, but it’s all for nothing. He’s too big, even with my years of training my strength will never be a true match to his. His eyes are even brighter than last night as I fight with everything inside of me to free myself. I manage to slip my bandaged hand out of his grasp from the sheer amount of sweat that has gathered there, and I slap him across the face with my full power. He grips my injured hand again this time squeezing it, pulling a whimper from me. I feel my cut reopen and he seems to notice this as well because he hasn’t looked away from my hand yet. I stop fighting and watch him intently as he removes the bandage exposing a small trickle of blood pooling on my palm.
Hunger. That’s what I see in his eyes right now and it frightens me to my core. I heard tales from Gurney that some Harkonnen partake in cannibalism, but I never thought my betrothed would be one. Slowly and with all the fluidity of a snake he leans down and licks the pool of blood into his onyx mouth. His tongue startlingly pink compared to his black teeth makes me gasp. I freeze in fear and watch him while still pinned down beneath him as he licks my hand free of any blood that has gathered. Once he finishes his task he slowly rises off of me. I continue to lie on the floor shocked until Duncan Idaho kneels beside me.
“Cali, are you hurt?” He asked as he looked me over, but I couldn't pull my eyes away from Feyd Rautha.
“I’m fine Duncan, we were just sparring.”
Who am I trying to convince? Every man here just saw him toss me around like a rag doll and lick my blood clean from my palm and now he’s staring at me like he wanted to come back over here and devour me bones and all. Duncan pulls me up to my feet, hands on my shoulders as he waits for me to shake off whatever spell I was under.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He persists.
I finally break my trance and look away from Feyd Rautha. I nod my head looking up at Duncan. He was like an older brother to me, somehow older but less mature. But here and now there was no playfulness in his eyes, only deep deep concern for me.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go get this taken care of.”
I gesture to my throbbing hand. Duncan nods at me and releases me from his grasp.I find myself looking at Feyd again, but now he only has eyes for Duncan.
“You will take her place, Atreides' pet.” He spits at Idaho.
That was the last thing I heard as I left the training room face red from all the pitying looks from the men there. He made a fool of me in front of them all. This is what my father was worried about I suppose. I just proved to everyone I’m nothing but a weak little girl.
I sit totally tuning out Dr. Yueh as he asks me about my wound. I couldn’t focus on a word he said. I felt so exhausted and weak physically. My father wanted me to be able to hold my own when this day came, but Feyd proved I was nothing compared to him. How would I survive this? What will my father say?
Later in the day I was soaking in a warm bath spiraling down a rabbit hole of self deprecating thoughts. I was nothing compared to him. If I hadn't been born so small. If I hadn't been born a girl. My back was stiff from the force of being slammed. I realize now, no one had ever handled me so roughly. No one had ever used their full strength on me before. Not Gurney, not Duncan, no one. The thought alone makes tears pool in my eyes. My own perfect little world has been shattered by the truth. I’m not the future Duke. I’m the future Duchess. The very taste is bitter on my tongue.
“I can feel your bad mood from the chamber door.”
I gasp, clutching my heart.
“Mother, you scared me half to death. When did you get here?”
My mothers emerald orbs stare deep into my chestnut ones.
“Speak plainly Calista, your father has already been informed of what transpired today in the training yard.”
I cringe to myself, holding my eyes closed to stop the tears from falling. My mother hated when I cried. I hear her move about the bathing room grabbing something before I feel her gently brush my hair.
“Talk to me, my girl.”
“He bested me. We agreed to stop holding back and he beat me so quickly- I- I can’t face him again.”
“Ah, your pride is wounded. So much of your father is in you my darling.”
“It’s not just pride, mother. I was- I was afraid of him.”
The silence is loud.
“You were afraid? Why?”
“He overpowered me so quickly, but I fought hard, so hard, and still he would not be moved by me.”
“You’re hiding something. I feel it.”
“He tasted my blood. He looked like a man starving, and I felt such an unfamiliar fear reach my heart.”
Jessica remains silent and just listens as she diligently brushes.
“He wanted to devour me.”
“Shhh. Don’t cry. I think perhaps what he exhibited was sexual attraction for you.”
“No Gurney told me about cannibalism amongst House Harkonnen. What sort of normal person licks another human being's blood.”
“Calista, blood can be...erotic to some. I highly doubt Feyd Rautha is a cannibal. I think he desires you and you brought that forth while sparring today.”
I open my eyes considering her words.
“I didn’t think of that.”
“You are innocent, I wouldn’t expect such a thing to cross your mind. You can use that desire to your advantage, Cali.”
“Yes, I suppose I can.”
There's an awkward silence before lady Jessica speaks up.
“Why didn’t you use the voice?” There was a tension in her shoulders.
“Because fear is the mind killer. I couldn’t even think.” She admits in shame.
“Do not be ashamed. Let this be a lesson to you Calista, for if you are ever in harm's way your greatest enemy is yourself.”
“I understand.”
“Get out of the tub. It’s time to entertain your betrothed, he still expects a promenade before the evening meal.”
With that she pulls out her dress of choice while leaving Cali to finish her bath in peace.
There was a brief break in the rain clouds so I decided to take Feyd Rautha to the gardens before we went to the evening meal together. Beyond the garden was the rocky seashore and Feyd seemed transfixed on the water that lay beyond that.
“Let's take a closer look.”
I boldly grab his hand tugging him along near the ragged rocks edge. There was a rocky beach about five feet below.
“What is Giedi Prime like? What can I expect?”
“Nothing like this. In fact it’s the opposite of this. No lush grass or tall standing trees, and certainly no body of water as enchanting as this.”
He sounds harsh in his delivery, but it doesn’t deter me.
“What of your family? Are they looking forward to our union?”
“They are.”
He doesn’t elaborate or even look my way. He simply stares out as the waves crash below us on the rocky shore. The mist from the seaspray damps my hair and I decide we should leave so we aren't soaked through while we eat.
Tonight's meal passed by without much incident unlike last nights and I’m thankful the day is over when I climb into my bed. Physically and mentally exhausted from the last two days.
That night my dreams were plagued by sand dunes, and the sound of a baby crying with all their strength. As I walked along the sand dune I found myself heavily with child and the crying was coming from within me, only I could hear my son cry out. Feyd appeared suddenly in my dream and my son's cries stopped abruptly as he kneeled before me speaking calmly to my large midsection. He even stroked me lovingly there on his knees. A kick from within my womb drags me out of my sleep and I shoot up out of my bed. It felt so strong. So real. This was no dream, this was a vision. The very first one since my childhood. A son? Why was this so familiar to me and yet so foreign. How did I know the life inside of me was male? I don't know how I know, but he was soothed by Feyd Rautha’s presence. The child in my womb recognized his fathers voice even now when he hasn’t yet been conceived.
In the weeks that followed Feyd Rautha pulled away from me. He would not engage in idle chit chat no matter how hard I tried to interact with him. His eyes were dead again even when looking at me, and some part of me didn’t like that. He was clearly just going through the motions of courting because it was requested but some part of me wanted us to know one another. Ever since the vision when I saw another side of him, I've longed to see more. He was tender in my vision, stroking my heavily pregnant womb gently and with great care. I wanted to see that side of him again, but who knew how long that would take. However, I resigned myself to the fact that I would indeed be marrying a stranger despite my best attempts. He had even gone so far as to avoid me during training. Only arriving while I still slept peacefully and leaving as soon as I appeared.
Taglist: @mamawiggers1980
#calista atreides#feyd rautha#harkonnen#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd smut#feyd rautha x atreides oc#feyd rautha x oc#calista's Dream#dune part 2#dune part two#dune fanfiction
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m re-reading the selection series and I feel like more people should read the spin-off with America and Maxon’s daughter cause the lessons are lessoning
She wants to be seen as serious and professional so she forbids herself from showing any feeling that might have her deemed ‘emotional’
She stays away from doing/liking feminine things cause it might make people take her less seriously
She doesn’t even consider romance as a possibility since it might make her facade crack and have people think she’s too weak to rule
And the series is her learning that she can be feminine and show her emotions AND be the most powerful person in the kingdom. She can have a crown AND find love
#I saw yet another post about a story about a#‘strong female character who needs no man’#and those stories are fun#especially since we didn’t get them for so long#but now it’s so overdone and I want to see this#I want to see more stories that allow women to be both#the selection#the selection series#america singer#maxon schreave
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Devastated that I can’t reblog that post about Gen having mother issues (which I agree with wholeheartedly) because it is written in a way that implies that he’s into Irene because he sees something mother-ish in her (cringe)
#esp when i love how he is changed – by circumstance and by will – in order to force them into mutually acknowledged peer-hood…#ofc. these mother issues influence his affects. but not in the sense that he’s looking for a Mother#there is something inherited and oedipal* (*actual meaning not tumblr meaning) in how either Gen or Irene do affection and vulnerability —#but if what QoA Gen wanted was someone who would dance on the roof with him and indulge his pranks and affect sternness to hide fondness—#he would have stayed in eddis with helen#irene tries to treat the real gen like a boy & it lasts less than an a day — she most always treats him like a man even when he’s like 15?#and she maims him ( << said in the voice of a person who loves coming of age stories)#Like I THINK. this could be discussed with some nuance. but the idea that gen sees something mother-ish in irene… just because she’s older?#Get a grip… i saw another child dancing between the rows of cabbages and i had never seen anything as beautiful or sad#it’s such a desire to be known – to be owned and to own too... sure...#but especially to known and be known#thinking about my other beloved ship túrin/nienor where i DO think their longing for their mother is a#(subliminal yet/and essential) element in their attraction to each other#inane post#queen's thief
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
seeing a post that was made after seeing another post and having the second post remind me of another, completely unrelated third post.... yeah.
#teddy's talk#that one was abt redemption arcs tho. the thing i'm thinking about now is flaws of the author vs flaws of the character#and how some people really need to realise the author's intent DOES matter#like there was this one post i saw abt a character where he misunderstood something another character was going through#in a story that has very clearly set up a narrative where patriarchy is a big problem#like. almost every single female character suffers under it. this is explicitly highlighted several times.#anyway the character misunderstood something another character went through bc he's a guy and despite being kind of outcast#still benefits from being a guy. and the other character had had specific problems *because of* the patriarchal hierarchy.#and he was like 'she hates me bc i'm privileged' which wasn't quite right.#and this person was like yeah the author doesn't quite get it ://#like!!!! no!!!! no that was exactly the point!!!! he's a good and sympathetic guy and the author was trying to show that even HE has trouble#understanding properly bc that's how this kind of stuff tends to work—people who benefit from oppressive systems don't...#fully realise just how bad it gets unless they actually Try to understand. and he's not quite there yet.#my point is. this was clearly supposed to be a character flaw. but this person got clearly upset bc they thought it was an author flaw#or when ppl talk about madoka and completely ignore the original intended message#but that's another can of worms
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
I hate the dismisal of online lgbt spaces as not as important as in real life or what goes on within the spaces as not that bad, because for me at least, I don't have anyone I know in my area that I can talk to about being lgbt, and I'm relatively scared of selectiviely outing myself to find more people, because i really wouldnt want it to get back to my parents somehow.
My point is, online spaces are very important as a point of connection for the many of us that have no one irl, and I hate how any serious method of discussion gets turned into discourse. like people saying there is a severe amount of lesbophobia, biophobia, transmisogyny and racism in the community are not picking fights. we're trying to make this space better because for some of us its all we have! so please, do better.
#aster.txt#kind of a vent more than anything because its frustrating and i'm getting both nostalgia for the past and derision for it#there were two people i did know in my HS that are lgbt but they both moved to canada for uni#one of them is a total sweetheart and I miss talking to her so much#like they were such a wonderful person to complain about our schools stupid rules#and how shitty gender roles are and how conservative indian parents suck#and last i saw shes transfem since they made a secret priv account with she/they pronouns and them wearing a dress as the first post#i hope she found people that they could connect to where ever she is now#the other is not so positive a story lol#she is the main reason why my self esteem issues went from not that good to very bad#like her mind games and the fact that she called me clingy as an attempt to get another friend to stop being around them was shitty#i isolated myself from other people for a long time becasue i thought i would just ruin things if i got too close and showed my personality#despite her doing that i didnt actually hate her until i found out what she did to a friend of mine#my friend was having family issues because her father had tyroid cancer and her “friends” including that person forced her to tell them#and that person had the gall to say that what she was going through wasn't that bad and she should stop making stuff about herself#after they forced her to open up#god i hated high school uni isnt any better but i'm glad its not high school#so many petty people because we're all teenagers going through our own shit and we're still figuring things out#i'm half thinking of just unfollowing a lot of them on instagram becasue they sucked but no i wont do that..yet
0 notes
Text
won't let you go (this time)
pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader
summary: back home for good after a semi-unsuccessful first year at university in a new city, you’re looking forward to getting back into the routines of your old life in the town you grew up in but the one person you’d been desperate to see doesn’t seem too pleased about your return :(
genre: angst.. ......... fluff, smut, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slow burn
warnings: minors dni, british in a way that's not vague (might be vague.. it's hard to tell when ur british), so so long, sad heeseung, long paragraphs..
word count: 36,007 .. (apparently, i'm in a competition with myself to see who can write the longest fic)
playlist: seasons wave to earth, understand keshi
author's note: writing this fic was like pulling teeth and then cooking pasta out of it.. bUT IT'S DONE !!! also one of these scenes is smth i reworked from a fic i posted to wattpad in 2021.. thanks @asahicore for the beta u rock ! and as always be lmk ur thoughts (positive/negative/anything) 🤍
fic taglist: @enhastolemyheart
Lee Heeseung had often imagined what it would be like when he saw you again.
Sometimes, he envisioned you standing on his doorstep, playing with the cuffs of your sweater. Other times he’d dream up a chance encounter at the local grocery shop, where you’d be distracted and bump the end of your trolley into his. He’d even pictured a sun-soaked vacation, a gorgeous white sand beach where the temperature would be inching past the thirties. You, laying out on a patterned towel, lost in the pages of a book, and your pretty face obscured by its cover. Yet, even with the sun in his eyes and his poor vision, he’d recognise you without a doubt.
Regardless of circumstance or setting, in all of his hazy daydreams, you’d look up at him with unbridled love in your eyes and say the words he wanted to hear all those months ago: I choose you.
Heeseung had always imagined that his heart might glow in his chest, through his shirt like something from Jane the Virgin, and you’d know you made the wrong decision.
But sometimes, typically when in an alcohol-fuelled state of despondence, these images would be rougher around the edges. Heeseung would be hot, with bleach-blond hair and thick dark brows—a walking, talking beacon of sexual energy when you’d see him. In his head, it would happen at a party or a club somewhere, and he’d be too busy talking to another girl to notice you, his arm hanging off of her, lust clear in his eyes. Somehow, even in sweatpants and an old hoodie of his, you’d still look as beautiful as always.
“Heeseung,” you’d say, completely crushed with tears welling up in your eyes under furrowed brows. “I choose you.”
Reluctantly, he’d draw his eyes away from the girl and notice you, finally, and a smile would spread on his lips, a mean one, condescending. He’d shrug, wrapping his arm tighter around the girl and say, “You’re too late.” He wouldn’t mean it, but he’d say it just to drive you crazy. Make you beg him to take you back for months until he felt you’d suffered enough—as much as he had.
These thoughts were few and far between and mainly followed by hot, guilty tears rolling down his cheeks because he knew it was his fault. After all, he was the one to let you go.
For now though, the little round table in Mark’s backyard seats four, and, in the arms of a balmy summer night, Heeseung chooses the seat closest to the fence. The garden light is still busted so in his seat of choice, furthest from the kitchen door, he’ll go completely unnoticed but still see anyone who might join him outside.
His phone is freezing when he takes it from his pocket and unsurprisingly holds no notifications beyond the outsiiiide text he’d gotten from Jake before the party started. Through Instagram stories, Heeseung watches the night play out from the perspective of people who are enjoying themselves while ignoring the voice in his head that tells him he could be one of those people if he tried.
Maybe he was a fool for believing that tonight would go differently and that the boys would keep their ‘bro’s night’ promise for longer than it took to cross the threshold—but it’s not like he blames them. Maybe he was a fool for believing he would find more company than his somewhat abandoned bottle of Peroni that watches him mockingly from the glass table.
He grimaces after taking a sip from it, remembering that he was only ever carrying it around so his friends wouldn’t feel the need to load him with shots. Now he’s not so sure that would’ve been a bad thing, seeing as he’s completely sober and aware of the tightness in his chest as he scrolls through the text thread he’s had pinned for years. Its end came abruptly; revived only by an ignored blue bubble saying: i heard you’re back home for the summer..
Seeing it now, he regrets hitting send even more than he did two weeks ago. Heeseung hates himself for believing the boys when they said it was a good thing that you opened the message right away. “Means she’s thinking of u 2 dude,” was Jake's message to the group chat (along with four bicep emojis and two red exclamation marks). Jay replied: i hope you guys can talk things out! And Sunghoon didn’t say anything.
All your conversations bring up memories that hurt more than the last but he has to take a break when he reaches a text you sent last January: i had so much fun tonight, hee, idk how to thank u enough :((( i hope ur not in too much trouble.. i love you i love you and i’ll love you forever !!!
He ended up getting grounded for three weeks and lost car privileges for months after staying out four hours past curfew, but he’d do it a million times over if it meant he’d get to see you as happy as you were that night on the two-hour drive back, running your fingertips over the Sharpie autograph of your favourite author on the book’s front page—“Heeseung?”
His jaw falls slack and his whole body stiffens. If you don’t count old videos in his camera roll, Heeseung hasn’t heard your voice in over a year. The back door slides shut and when he finally lifts his head, he wants to throw up. Even without the glow of the kitchen lights on your face, he’d still be able to make out the cute point of your nose, and the slight curve of your soft lips. Unfortunately, the breakup only seems to have made you even more beautiful and he hates himself for wishing you were having a hard time too.
“Hey,” you say. “Can I sit?”
Regaining his mobility, he moves his shoulders in a stiff shrug. The sound of your chair scraping the concrete makes him cringe and he hates that you chose the seat closest to him.
“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”
Heeseung scoffs, his brows furrowing defensively. “You didn’t think I’d be at my friend’s party?”
You set your jaw. “Okay.”
An unbearable silence follows, so heavy he can feel it sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down. There’s no way to know how much time has passed but he feels less tense when you start to hum, drumming your fingers against the table to the beat of whatever song the kitchen door is struggling to muffle. If he doesn’t think too hard about the lingering quiet, it feels like everything is okay between you two.
His heart races when you giggle. “You still do that?”
“Do what?”
You smile before mirroring his expression, puffing up your cheeks and exhaling dramatically a few times. Due to the heat, nothing comes of it but you laugh anyway. “You always liked when it was cold enough out to see your breath. I remember having to nudge you every night of summer to get you to stop.”
To Heeseung, there’s something sinister about the fact that you can so easily bring up a memory you share with him. About the fact that even after what happened, his cheeks heat up just from seeing you grin. He deflates, unable to look at you, finding interest in the label on his bottle instead. It’s slightly curled up at its edge, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before peeling it off completely—with some struggle, leaving a sticky patch in its wake. Under your loaded stare, he folds it a little to make a square before trying to craft a swan or a crane (you were the one who knew these things) from the sticker.
Your hands are just as soft as he remembers when your fingers touch his, though it shocks him so much he drops the label, immediately withdrawing his hands and, for lack of a better option, sitting on them. Even softer than your hands is your voice when you say, “I don’t want things to be so tense between us.”
It must be easy, he thinks. For you to say something like that after dumping him. Heeseung wants to laugh, to let his head fall back and cackle from sheer disbelief; you really must have some nerve. Instead, a bitterness, raging and sour, works in his chest, choking the laughter into silence. It pushes his lips into a scowl as he lifts his head to look at you. You’re shivering with your arms crossed over your chest and Heeseung softens. Without thinking, he shrugs off his flannel to drape it over your shoulders, almost regretting it when he fixes his tongue to scold you playfully like he used to. Still too hot for a jacket, right, baby? he wants to say. This is the last time I’m doing this for you, next time you’re on your own. Heeseung figures that somewhere, in another reality where you’re still together, a version of him says these things but continues to give you his flannels and jackets anyway.
He’d give anything to be that Heeseung instead.
Over the last year, he’s been replacing the clothes in his wardrobe. He noticed that during your time together you steadily wore every t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie he owned. Now, as you thank him with a sincere smile, he realises he’ll have to donate his new favourite shirt too.
“What’s in your pocket?” you ask, reaching in to find out. A bleak carton of cigarettes sits full in your hands as you look over at him with wide eyes. “You smoke now?”
“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Never.”
Back and forth between your hands, the box and its contents rustle. “Really? Because this—” You pause to pull a lighter from the same pocket. “—and this tell me something different.”
“Sunghoon’s quitting again,” he explains, with air quotes around the word quitting.
“Oh.” You let out a laugh, nodding fondly. “He’s on, like, five weeks or something by now, though, right? Surely you don’t still need to carry these around for him.”
His head tilts so quickly he hurts his neck. With knitted brows, he inspects you. Nothing about your expression seems like you’re trying to hurt him, in truth, you look like you’re being quite sincere; your eyes are wide, curious, and your lips are quirked up at the corners with an amusement he adores. “Six,” he corrects. “How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“You guys still talk?”
A shoulder-dropping sigh falls from your mouth as you put the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket, raking a hand through your hair. “You’re the only one who doesn’t talk to me anymore,” you say in a small voice.
The five of you stuck together in high school — where he and Jay first met you, Jake, and Sunghoon — and he knew it would be unreasonable for him to expect your shared friends, especially the youngest two whom you’d known longer, to turn on you. He also figured, given how close you’d grown to Jay, and his undying rationality, that his best friend would outright refuse to shun you on Heeseung’s behalf. Even though they didn’t need his permission, he told them that he didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick sides and that he was perfectly happy for them to keep talking to you. On one condition: that none of them tell him anything about you or your life without him unless you’re hurt—a condition they’ve clearly carried out more faithfully than Heeseung expected them to.
Bile rises in his throat thinking about all the things your friends have kept from him about your year away. His heart twists over mundane details like your class schedules and favourite things to eat for lunch, and his eyes sting with tears over the important stuff like new friends and, worst of all, new partners.
Heeseung jolts out of his chair, knocking the table so hard with his thighs that his bottle tips over. You’re quick to catch it. “My mum’s calling,” he blurts out, overwhelmed.
“Heeseung.”
“I really have to go.”
“Heeseung!” you call out, but he’s already back inside.
You don’t follow him.
But that was in June, and now it’s September.
While his friends complain about the chill of autumn, Heeseung’s just happy he can comfortably wear hoodies everywhere again. In a cool lecture hall, home to his Ethics and Responsibility class for the next few months, he relishes the feeling of soft cotton against his ears as he copies the course reading list into the first page of his notebook.
“Is someone sitting here?”
Heeseung’s stomach sinks to the floor. Reluctantly, he lifts his head, and through the gaps in his bangs, he sees you and the way your face falls when you see him, instantly looking around the room.
“Oh,” you say, eyes blown. “I’m sorry, I’ll just..” you trail off.
He scans the room, chewing his lip when he realises that, despite the lecturer not having arrived yet, the seat to his left, with his backpack on it, is the only empty one. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant as he takes his bag from the chair and puts it on the floor.
“Thanks,” you mumble, frowning a little as you sit down.
In the light of day, he really sees you and a lone butterfly, one he was sure had died with the rest last year, flutters lazily in his stomach—wings buzzing against the lining, tickling him. Even with messy hair and tired bags under your eyes, you’re just as beautiful as the first time he saw you. It’s unfair, he thinks. That you could be dealing with this and still manage to look presentable. Jealousy kills the butterfly, stirring a pit in his belly at the thought that you were able to break up with him and continue with life as normal on the other end of the country, making new friends and new memories as if nothing happened.
Even when Dr. Kim comes in and starts the class, Heeseung can’t take his eyes off of you. You haven’t lost any of your mannerisms, he notices when you stick your tongue out a little while typing notes as the lecturer says them, barely looking up from your laptop to see the slides.
At the end of the lecture, all he has to show for it is the reading list and a couple of bullet points that seemed important as he copied them from your screen. Side by side, you silently walk down the stairs to leave the room, and the sight of Sunghoon through the doorway pulls a relieved sigh from Heeseung’s chest.
Sunghoon’s brows raise seeing you together and he clears his throat when you’re close enough. “Hey, you two! My little study buddies,” he says in a strained voice. “First day back! First day for you, YN, what was that like?” He sounds like he’s reading from a script as he walks between you.
Heeseung lets you answer, listening to your voice as he walks behind you down the stairs. He wonders if things will be this way forever, briefly contemplating throwing himself over the bannister so he doesn’t have to find out. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it, talking excitedly with Sunghoon about the class, mentioning things Heeseung hadn’t even heard, despite having sat through the same hour-long introduction lecture as you. He trails behind the two of you all the way to the library, where Jay is sleeping with his chin on his arms and Jake is staring at the table of contents in his textbook. You cut yourself off, jogging over to the table they’re sitting at to wake Jay. As soon as you wrap your arms around him, he flinches, waking up with his brows pulled together.
“What are you doing?” Jay mumbles, trying to shake you off.
As Heeseung sits beside Jake, he skims over the front page of the textbook, trying to remember what tensile strength means. Sunghoon stands at the end of the table looking at his phone, and you sit next to Jay, pulling your seat a little closer and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. Heeseung looks away, trying to bury the unease building in his stomach.
Sunghoon breaks the silence. “Can we go get food?” And suddenly, you all stand up, filing out of the library towards the Tesco Express down the road.
Jay and Sunghoon take the lead, picking up their lunch without much thought before waiting in line at the self-checkout, while you, Jake, and Heeseung spend an ungodly amount of time weighing up options in front of the meal deals. Heeseung gets the same thing every time but looks at every single sandwich, drink, and snack option just in case before picking up his food.
“Just cheese is crazy, bro,” Jake says, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you?”
Heeseung shrugs. “It’s reliable.”
“It’s absurd.”
You hum between the two of them, tilting your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I think it’s cute.” Your shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug, almost as if you haven’t just paid Heeseung a compliment for the first time in a year and three months.
Jake’s eyebrows raise, a grin playing on his lips as he glances between the two of you when you step forward, pulling a just cheese sandwich from the shelf too. “Cute,” he repeats. “Sure.”
Outside, Jay and Sunghoon are sitting on a half-finished brick wall, and while normally, Heeseung would say something to interrupt Jay’s never-ending lecture series on making the most of your meal deal, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself or the small smile he’s struggling to keep off his face.
“Hoon, think about it,” he says, resting his giant can of Red Bull on the stepped brick next to him. “A meal deal costs £3. You get a sandwich, a drink, and a snack, all for £3. You, foolishly, bought a sandwich, a snack, and a bottle of water, you gave them money.”
“Yeah, man, anyone who shops anywhere gives money, that’s, like, an entry-level requirement.”
“But I’m taking money from Tesco, you get it?”
Jake sighs, taking a seat next to Sunghoon. “You’re technically right, but you still paid for your food under a promotion Tesco created. If you really wanted to take from Tesco, you should be stealing your lunch. Also, the sandwich he got was £2.85, and there’s more water in his bottle than Red Bull in your can, so I actually think Hoon got the better offer today.”
Beside Heeseung, you roll your eyes, wrestling with a packet of crisps while juggling everything in your hands. Seeing your struggle, he reaches over, taking hold of your drink and sandwich. “Thanks,” you mumble, smiling. You glance towards Jay and Sunghoon, then back at Heeseung. “Are they always like this?”
He nods with a slight frown. A tiny laugh comes through your nose as you nod too.
During the walk back to campus, as you split your sandwich with Sunghoon, Heeseung has an unsettling realisation. If he wants to get you back, he’ll have to start out being your friend. He’s not too sure what that will look like, seeing as the two of you were friends for six weeks — that he spent hopelessly in love with you — before he asked you out. All he knows is he wants to be the one you share your lunch and link arms with unthinkingly. While he assumes that your shared friend group and three out of four classes will naturally lead to friendship, things might go better if he makes an effort.
He doesn’t.
Not today at least. The second and last class of the day ends much like the first, with a heading in his notebook, and slowly reviving butterflies in his stomach every time your knee bumps into his under the desk. Again, neither of you says much as you leave the class to go meet Jay in the library. He’s awake this time, grinning at the girl across from him.
“They’re so cute!”
“They’re talking.”
“Yeah, in a cute way. Look at the smile on his face,” you say as if anyone could miss Jay’s grin or the way it widens when he notices you and Heeseung staring.
Yunjin immediately looks over, waving before getting out of her seat to come over. She greets Heeseung with a hug before flinging her arms around you, gushing about how it’s been so long. Heeseung feels his brow raise when you giggle and say, “We hung out two weeks ago.”
She loosens her hold on you, looking down into your eyes with a shocked look. “Yeah, two weeks too many. What are you doing later?”
It feels like Heeseung skipped a chapter and his stomach hurts when he realises he has—a whole year's worth of the contents of your life. Of course, Jay already introduced Yunjin to you, of course, you’re already friends.
Leaving you with Yunjin in the library, Heeseung and Jay walk back to their flat. They take the long route home, through the winding bike path and over the creaky footbridge by Sunghoon’s old apartment. Jay is eerily quiet, only responding in nods and hums—this silence means one of two things, he’s either too exhausted to speak or he’s saving his words to reprimand Heeseung at home.
Outside their flat, Jay hesitates, gripping the handle tightly before turning to Heeseung. In his eyes is a familiar look, the one he typically wears before telling someone off and Heeseung bites his tongue lest he pisses Jay off even more. A few times, Jay opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, exhaling a deep sigh as he rests his head against the door. “I want you to know I’m on your side, sort of,” he says. “If it’s too hard being around YN, we can always hang out together instead, just us.”
Jay’s key clicks in the lock and Heeseung watches, shocked. He didn’t expect that at all.
“It’s not like it’s hard, just weird, you know?” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, leaving his shoes by the door while Jay locks it before following him into the living room and sinking into the couch. “We have the same friends, so I can’t avoid her, but I don’t think I want to.”
“Like I said, we can just hang out on our own if we’re on campus.” Jay pauses for a beat, clearly pleased by whatever he’s thinking about as a smile spreads on his face. “It might do you some good being around her though, like, to see why none of us want to date her.”
The offer is generous and Heeseung spends a while considering it. But as Jay said, it probably would be a good thing to hang out with you if he wants to build the friendship he finds himself craving.
“It might also do you some good to, you know.. start looking nice again. It’s been a year, dude, and she’s back now, don’t you want her seeing what she’s missing out on?”
Heeseung cocks his head to the side, surprised and honestly a little offended. “Are you saying I’m ugly now?”
“No, I’m saying it probably wouldn’t hurt to put some essence in your hair, touch up your roots, and, you know, use deodorant.”
Reflexively, he grabs the pit of his hoodie, bringing it to his nose and sniffing furiously. The only thing he can smell is fresh detergent and he looks at Jay with a frown. “So you think I should change everything about myself basically.”
“I hate to be the one to say it..” Jay trails off, head falling back in contagious laughter. “Seriously though, if you want her back or, at least, want her to miss you, start putting some effort in.”
Heeseung’s eyes are wide as saucers. “She doesn’t miss me?”
“You spent the whole day together, why would she miss you?”
“So she doesn’t.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jay shrugs.
Outside, a cloud moves away from the sun, letting it shine right through the window and into Heeseung’s eyes. He squints a little, groaning before bringing his arm over his face to shield himself. Jay laughs and Heeseung flips him off. “You didn’t really say anything.”
“Are you crying?” Jay coos.
“Sure.”
“Too bad, I’m taking a nap. Club later?”
Heeseung grunts in response, considering taking a nap too.
A dramatic sigh tugs its way from Jay’s chest. “Look, it’s not my place to say, but she told me a few months ago she was miserable in first year, something about wanting to see some guy she dated in high school.”
“You knew she was coming back?” Heeseung practically jumps in his seat, sitting up straighter. “You knew I’d see her today and you let me leave the house looking like this?” It’s not like he looks bad in his oversized black hoodie and sweatpants but he might have taken the time to do more than run a hand through his hair this morning if he knew.
Jay holds his hands up defensively. “You said you didn’t want to hear anything about her unless she died. I was just doing what you told me to.”
“I think it goes without saying that that would’ve been a nice thing to know.”
“Noted.” Jay nods. “Club later?”
Despite saying no, Heeseung finds himself at the club anyway, having a friendly dance battle with Jay while you hype them up, filming blurry videos with your finger over the camera lens. Jake and Sunghoon came out too but went off to find girls.
Heeseung spent all of pres and the journey to the club worrying about being drunk around you. Or rather, worrying about being drunk around drunk you. Drunk you who typically gets clingy and oversentimental just looking at a bottle of vodka, or brings up old memories and uses pouty, gloss-coated lips to say things without thinking of the consequences. For better or for worse, you haven’t done any of that yet.
Between knocking back drinks and rivalling the club photographer, you find time to make a look of disgust every time a guy comes near you, immediately shaking your head and pressing yourself against Heeseung before mumbling an apology in his ear each time, even though he tells you it’s okay. Your admirers start to dwindle when he dances with you to a song you like, letting you hold his hand and pull him closer, all while wishing he’d stayed asleep on the couch.
It’s only when the fifth guy shows up with a stupid smirk on his face, that Heeseung speaks up. His arm finds your waist and he holds you close as he looks at the stranger. “Dude, leave her alone,” he says, angling his shoulder to him in an attempt to shield you. “She’s not interested.” The weight of his words is lost on him until the guy rolls his eyes, shrugging and mumbling whatever as he leaves.
He saw how uncomfortable you looked after being approached and hated how long it took for you to start enjoying yourself again, so in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. To look after you. But now, as he stands with his hand on your waist, his skin touching yours at the hem of your shirt, he’s starting to feel like he’s crossed a line. It’s the worst possible time to freeze in place but there’s nothing he can do about it, and Jay staring at him, with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, isn’t exactly helping.
With embarrassment burning his cheeks and neck, Heeseung finally looks down at you. You look almost as shocked as Jay for a split second before letting your hand rest on his chest, smiling. The moment feels endless until you lean up to his ear and Heeseung has to bend down a bit. “Thank you, Hee,” you say, still smiling when you pull back.
All he can do is nod, smiling too.
Over your head, he sees Jay grinning and the heat returns to his cheeks. As if suddenly aware of your position — your hands now resting on his shoulders, chests held together by your grip on each other — the smile falls from your face as you take a huge step back, bumping into Jay while Heeseung’s hand slips from your body.
“Let’s get more drinks!” you yell to Jay, slinging an arm over his shoulders to pull him away.
On his own, Heeseung dances to three whole songs, only stopping when Yoo Jimin wraps her arm around him, holding him in the world’s tightest hug. “Lee Heeseung, did I just see you all over a girl?” The interaction takes him by surprise, seeing as he hasn’t actually spoken to her since before summer. “Let’s go for drinks soon, to say congrats on finally moving on!”
This, of course, is when you and Jay finally return. Jimin notices before he does. “Be good to him,” she yells, smiling, and never letting go of Heeseung. “Bad breakup!”
You stand there, holding two drinks so tightly your hands start shaking, causing one to spill over your fingers. A strained smile spreads over your lips as you nod. “Right! I’ll try!”
As quickly as she appears, Jimin vanishes with a smile on her face, pleased with herself. You visibly relax, handing Heeseung his drink and swaying to the music again. Just like at high school parties, you let Jay sling his arm over your shoulders as you dance together. Back then, you’d dance with all of your friends while waiting for Heeseung to return, usually with a cup of water for you to drink, but tonight, with Heeseung standing there, it seems like he’s as good as dead according to you.
It’s around 2 a.m. when you and Jay decide you’ve had enough, with Jay struggling to keep his eyes open. After failing to locate Sunghoon and easily finding Jake with his cap on backwards and makeup all over his mouth and cheeks, the three of you let him know you’re going home.
As seems to be the unspoken rule amongst your friends, Jay walks between the two of you while trying to convince you both that if you had fun tonight, there’s no reason to regret having gone out. Even if it means you’ll be sitting in class holding your eyes open. Heeseung ignores him, conspiring out loud about Sunghoon’s whereabouts—getting lost on his way to the restroom or finding an ice rink out back.
For a while, you entertain him before sighing. “I saw in the chat, he said he’s out talking to a girl he saw wearing a band shirt—Nirvana.”
The notion is so surprising that Heeseung almost stops in his tracks. Jay voices his shock with a raised brow and an incredulous tone. “Hoon listens to Nirvana?”
“No, but she’s pretty. I had to send him a screenshot of their popular songs on Spotify when one of her friends came over looking for a lighter.”
At Jay’s request, you and Heeseung spend the rest of the walk back to your flat trying to name fifteen Nirvana songs. By the time you reach the lift in your building, you’ve successfully listed nine and the three of you stand inside while you look for your keys. On your doorstep, you pull Jay into a tight hug, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh as he pats you on the back and says, “You probably could.”
Pathetically, Heeseung hopes you’ll hug him too. With no hesitation, you do, arms locking around his neck, leaving him with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you whisper, lingering by his ear before burying your face in the base of his neck.
Heeseung holds his breath, counting to twelve before you lean away from him, your arms in place as you look up into his eyes. “I’m always going to look out for you,” he manages to say. He can already hear Jay teasing him about it when they’re alone, but the smile on your face is worth it.
In your doorway, you wave goodbye and they wait outside until they hear your lock clicking before heading home, where Jay doesn’t tease Heeseung at all.
Turns out, getting home at 3 a.m. when he has a class at 10 o’clock doesn’t fit in amongst any of his better ideas, but still, he gets out of bed and gets ready, heeding Jay’s advice and scheduling a hair appointment on his way to class.
As soon as he sits down, he gets a text from Jay: thinking of getting smth pierced later, come with?
Heeseung: what is smth.
Jay: cartilage probs
Heeseung: im getting my roots done at 5
Jay: okayyyyyyy good shit man !!! tmrw?
Heeseung: 👍👍👍
It shouldn’t surprise Heeseung that you look good, but the sight of you walking through the door in your zip-up hoodie and jeans almost knocks the wind out of him. You’re holding your notebook to your chest, stopping in the middle of the stairs and sighing when the white strap of your tote bag slips from your shoulder to the crook of your elbow. You apologise to the people behind you before rushing up the stairs to Heeseung’s row, putting your things down and slumping into the seat beside him. The room suddenly feels warmer when you take off your hoodie and next to you and your bare arms, his heart starts to race.
“Do you have, like, an interview or something?” you ask, doodling in the margin of your notebook, filling the space with pretty butterflies that make his heart race.
Heeseung, who hasn’t looked for a job in two years, panics. “No?”
“Oh.” You nod slowly, looking away from him. “A date? Maybe?” There’s something in your voice that makes him want to say yes and see your reaction, but the look on your face makes his stomach turn.
“No, ne—just no.”
“You can tell me if you’re going on a date.”
“Why would I go on a date?”
You shrug, gesturing to his outfit. Heeseung looks down at himself and the cream-coloured cardigan he’s wearing. “You just look nice, that’s all,” you mumble after a while. Suddenly, Jay’s Prada loafers squeezing his toes doesn’t seem so bad and Heeseung sits through the whole lecture with a smile on his face.
The leaves yellowed on October first, and unfortunately for Heeseung, the last two weeks didn’t play out how he hoped they would. Of course, he knew that you flinging your arms around him and confessing your love was probably a far stretch. But this is torture. You only talk to him when the rest of the boys are around, and even then, you only say things like, what time does class start? and do you have a pen I can borrow?
His nice outfits don’t let up, but his hair is so long these days that you don’t take any notice of the throbbing hole through his cartilage that Jay somehow convinced him to get. Or so Heeseung tells himself because his ears stick out as far as his shoulders.
Today marks the first time he’s sat in the library during the day for more than ten minutes, and it’s surprisingly busy. Most of his library trips take place in the early hours of the morning, playing his way through the Papa’s Gameria franchise on the computer next to Jake, who spends several minutes at a time staring at his fancy engineering software before clicking the mouse and staring again. So seeing the steady flow of students come in and out, setting up camp at their tables with headphones and thick binders, while groups of friends whisper amongst themselves, leaning back in their seats and gasping every now and then feels like a culture shock.
There’s about an hour until your class finishes, and he’s been sitting here for two hours already since his Music and Identity class ended, wondering if he’s making a mistake by waiting for you. Especially because he knows you’re not expecting him to. He’s at a table right by the library’s entrance, so you’ll see him on the way out and it can feel like a chance encounter. Uncharacteristically, he’s used this time quite wisely, deciding to go through the reading he was given on the role music plays in maintaining cultural identity among diaspora communities and making notes in the margins of his handout until your class is done.
Impatience starts to settle in after thirty minutes so he texts you to see to ask if your class is over yet. Immediately, your response lights up his screen: yeah about an hour ago but i stayed home lmao what’s up :)
Staring down at the message, he sighs, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he tries to come up with something to say. This goes on for a while until he realises what he’s doing and his heart clenches. How did you go from spending every waking moment texting each other to clutching at straws for a valid reason to talk?
At the very least, the smiley face you sent is doing wonders for his declining mood.
Heeseung settles on, “i just left office hours and wanted to know if anyone was still around haha,” before hiding his face with his hands.
oh nooooooo :( sorry dude, you reply. how’d it go?
In the six years he spent by your side, he’s never known you to use the word dude—at least not with him. By the looks of things, it seems like your time away was spent studying Jake’s texting patterns or a secret other thing that makes his head hurt when he thinks about it.
Sighing, Heeseung types back: good! had a couple questions after sem but it went well!
You react to the message with a heart but don’t reply. He doesn’t have enough time to think about what that might mean because Mark approaches the table, clutching the straps of his backpack with a grin on his face that makes Heeseung feel at ease, like a wide-eyed first year riddled with anxious excitement.
“You look good, man. You going somewhere nice later?” Mark asks, dapping him up.
Heeseung shakes his head. “Just home.”
“Nice.” Mark nods, gasping after a beat. “Did you hear? I made captain!”
“That’s major, dude, congrats! I knew you would.” If anyone deserves to be team captain, it’s Mark Lee. He was captain of the basketball team in high school and vetoed his spot to Heeseung when he graduated. Two years later, when Heeseung came to college, Mark had been enthusiastic about him joining the team too.
“I’ve been thinking that my first official act as captain should be getting you back on the team?” Mark’s voice tips up at the end, his brows raising hopefully.
The last time Heeseung was on the home court, he cried with the ball in his hands because he overheard someone in the crowd saying they didn’t think he could make the shot—they were right. He laughs, shaking his head. “Way too much pressure in uni basketball. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”
“I’m not giving up on you,” Mark says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I hear your birthday’s coming up, can I host?”
“Host what?”
Mark’s hands clap soundlessly as he laughs. “A party, obviously! Twenty’s a big one! I’ll text you the deets, alright?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like Heeseung has a choice because Mark’s already walking away, still laughing to himself.
In Heeseung’s eyes, there’s nothing better than knocking back (more than) a few bottles of soju with friends and singing your heart out in the four walls of a karaoke room. Worried about killing the mood, he enjoys from a distance, staying glued to the booth, ad-libbing for the boys and polishing off their drinks as discreetly as he can. The table is adorned with a collection of empty bottles and buckets of feasted-upon fried chicken that still envelop the room in a mouth-watering aroma, while a green strobe light pierces the air as Jake and Sunghoon wrap up their cover of Party Rock Anthem.
By the time Jay manages to convince Heeseung to sing something, he’s four bottles in and searching for the most heart-wrenching ballad he can find. Sofa by Crush has always been his favourite karaoke song. Even when it first came out and he was in a happy relationship; even at home, alone in the kitchen, using a broom handle as a makeshift microphone, singing until his voice went hoarse and tears stained his shirt.
It feels like fate when the song’s title flashes across the screen in big bold letters and he knows there’s no real way to ignore destiny, so he chooses it and stands up from his seat. Weighed down by alcohol and an aching heart, he stumbles to the front of the room to stand with his back to his friends. Clutching the mic until his knuckles turn white, he takes a deep breath, letting the intro wash over him before singing. He gets through the first half of the song before practically caving in on himself, too moved by the lyrics to stay on two feet. To Heeseung’s credit, he’s always had a beautiful voice, so he’s not exactly tanking in that respect, but if he was even a tiny bit more cognisant, he’d scrape himself up from his knees and finish the rest of the song in the same light-hearted way everyone else had.
The lights shift through red and blue, casting a pretty glow over the dim space and streaking purples and pinks all over the walls—aesthetically, the room is as moody as Heeseung feels. If he had eyes on the back of his head (or picked himself and his dignity from the floor) he might notice the way everyone else in the room is struck by his sadness, with all three boys sitting in solemn silence as a drunk Jay records the whole thing.
Tired of watching his friend fall apart, Sunghoon gets up from his seat, muttering dick at Jay for filming before taking the phone from his hands and cutting off the recording. He lifts Heeseung at the armpits like a baby and takes the mic. Clearing his throat, Sunghoon half-heartedly finishes the rest of the song while Heeseung cries into his shoulder. Their duet scores them 63 points and Jay spends the next few minutes texting. Heeseung appreciates Sunghoon’s efforts, crying more as his emotions oscillate from love for his friend to yearning for you, all while Jake attempts to lift the mood with a genuinely moving performance of Highway to Hell. From the way he’s air-drumming and bouncing his leg to the song, anyone could tell that Sunghoon is desperate to join in, but holding back for Heeseung’s sake. With a hiccup, Heeseung wipes his tears with his sleeve and throws himself out to the front, accompanying Jake with an air guitar. It’s only during the start of the second verse that Jay and Sunghoon join in, and a full-fledged rock band moment falls upon them as if gifted from heaven.
After another hour of singing and drinking, Heeseung and Jay race up their apartment building’s stairs. Panting heavily, with his heart beating in his throat, Heeseung’s knees ache when he reaches the top — though caught up in catching his breath and the sight of you sleeping against the doorframe — he can’t even celebrate his win.
“Huh,” Jay says when he joins him. “How’d she get here?”
Heeseung can only shrug in response.
Suddenly self-conscious in your presence, he stands up straighter, pushing some of his hair off his forehead. Jay moves from behind him, approaching you, but Heeseung’s too hung up on the way you hold your jacket tight around your body to do the same. He wants to though—wants to help you out, pick you up and hold you in his arms, kiss your forehead and lovingly scold you for staying out in the cold. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well.
Instead, he remains glued to the spot, watching Jay wake you up, only mobilising when you’re on your feet, stretching your arms above your head. To you, the sliver of skin peeking out where your shirt ends and your jeans begin is a fleeting detail, lost entirely under a veil of just-risen drowsiness. Yet, to Heeseung, it’s everything. It’s enough to make him want to beg you for a second chance right then and there. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well either.
You’re talking with Jay and there’s a crease in your brow when Heeseung reaches you. Your voices were too quiet to make sense of with the distance but now he hears you loud and clear. “You told me almost two hours ago that you guys were leaving soon,” you sigh, rubbing your neck.
Jay snorts, missing the keyhole a few times before catching it. “Should’ve just joined in, stupid.”
“It was boy’s night and you made it very clear that I don’t count. And when I asked what bar you guys were at, you just said doesn’t matter, leaving in ten, and, by the way, none of it was spelt correctly. It felt like you were using code.”
“Caesar Cipher, perhaps?”
“Pig Latin, more like,” you scoff, leaning against the wall.
A mischievous grin spreads over Jay’s lips and Heeseung already hates whatever he’s about to say. “Ixnay on the Eeseunghay.” Yeah, Heeseung hates it. He glances between the two of you, picking up on the smile you can’t hide as you roll your eyes.
Your gaze finds Heeseung’s and your lips curl into a frown as you look back at Jay. “Otgay ityay.” You nod firmly.
From context — and memories of numerous private conversations the two of you used to have in his presence — he figures it’s Pig Latin, a linguistic puzzle more intricate than any the English language has ever thrown at him.
After a beat, you nod towards the open door. “Get inside.”
You follow the boys in and lock the door when Jay hands you his keys. He quickly heads to his room, leaving Heeseung shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the living room, staring at you. Save for Jay’s bedroom, all of the lights are off. The only light shines through the open blinds, a vivid orange beam coming from a streetlight outside, casting a harsh shadow over the room. The terminator line is stark—a clear partition between Heeseung, who’s standing in the shade, and you, who stands in front of the window, backlit by the warm light. You’re glowing. Or, at least, the lighting makes it look like you are—outlining all your edges in soft orange.
Absently, he plays with the zipper on his jacket—unsure of what’s going on or why you’re here at all. It takes a while, but the words finally escape him. “What are you doing here?” Simultaneously, you ask if he’s okay.
Even in the dark, your smile warms the room. For you and Heeseung, speaking in unison like that isn’t anything new, so it’s not enough to rouse a reaction from him—nonetheless, he smiles too. Whether by way of drunk optimism or his own sudden acceptance, Heeseung’s starting to feel as though maybe just being by your side, making you smile, might be enough for him.
“Jay texted me, and I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were having a hard time.”
Heeseung nods slowly.
“Actually, he said—” You pause to check your phone. “—Jay said, worried but hyung he is m let down. I think he meant meltdown?”
“Hyung,” Heeseung repeats, tilting his head as if the word is foreign to him. A crease runs along his brow, Jay is way drunker than he let on.
“Huh,” you utter, tilting your head too. “I actually thought m let down would’ve gotten a bigger reaction out of you.”
A moment passes, and then another before Heeseung says, “You can sit if you want. I don’t know if you’re going to stay long or anything, but you can always sit here.”
You smile and he can hear it, watching you take your coat off before sitting on the couch. It’s a bit of a stretch from where you’re sitting but you reach over to turn on the lamp in the corner and Heeseung sits too, as far away as he can. You look comfortable, like you’re supposed to be there and the thought warms his heart.
“You didn’t have to come here. I’m happy you did but you didn’t have to,” he says after too long.
A frown tugs your lips down. “Of course, I did. I care about you, Heeseung, you know that.”
Now doesn’t seem like the time to argue, so he makes a mental note to mull over this later. “I know,” he lies, his voice nothing more than a mumble as he nods.
“Did you guys have fun?”
Deciding it best to pretend his Crush cover went well, he nods again, smiling as he thinks about the nice parts of boys’ night. With your encouragement, he talks happily for a while about their song choices and the way they all came together in the end. “I feel like we’d get on pretty well as an AC/DC tribute act.”
“Do you know what room you were in? There’s got to be a way for me to pull the security footage and see for myself.”
“I actually think Jimin works there, she might be able to hook you up.”
“Jimin?” you repeat in a different tone. The shift is so subtle that Heeseung barely picks up on it, never mind placing it or knowing what it might mean. If he were any more delusional, he might think you’re jealous, but the curiosity in your voice tells him to get out of his head.
“Yeah, this one girl in the year above,” he explains. “She transferred to humanities so we had a couple classes together last term.”
“Oh, cool.”
He really can’t work out your tone and it’s disconcerting. Maybe he should talk about Jimin some more. “She’s like mega smart, and really nice too. She was actually at the club that night! The girl I was talking to when you and Jay went to get drinks,” he says, suddenly remembering.
“Good for Jimin.”
“I think you’d like her.” He smiles. “You know, if you’re looking for friends or anything.”
You only nod, pressing your lips together and leaving Heeseung at a complete loss for words. He watches you chewing on the inside of your cheek, playing with the thread bracelet on your wrist. “I’ve always loved your voice,” you mumble, looking down.
“I know.. You used to beg me to stay up on the phone singing for you.” Heeseung presses his lips together after speaking, mentally locking them and throwing away the key.
You nod with a smile on your face that makes his stomach flutter. “You’re, like, the best guy ever.”
That makes sense. That Heeseung could be like, the best guy ever but not quite good enough to stay with. He mulls over your words and contemplates setting himself on fire. Standing up from the couch, he goes over to his room. From the doorway, he says, “You can share Jay’s bed, it’s too late to go home by yourself.”
Heeseung closes his door with plans to stay inside the whole night, but only manages an hour before he gets sick of the stale taste in his mouth. He leaves quietly, and in the light from outside, he sees you sleeping on the sofa with your hands tucked under your head. His heart sinks. Without much thought, he carries you to his room, tucks you in and runs away before doing something stupid like kissing your head to go and brush his teeth. Unlike you, he’s not afraid to wake Jay up, pushing the boy over to make room for himself on his bed, where he lays awake for hours trying to figure out what went wrong with you two until his head starts to hurt.
In the morning, Heeseung doesn’t see you before you leave, but he spends the better part of an hour with his ear pressed against Jay’s door, eavesdropping on your conversation. If you weren’t talking about him he might feel guilty about this, but you are, so..
“I just feel bad, you know? I don’t know how to fit into his life and I feel like I’m only making things harder for him by being here,” you say. “Harder for everyone.”
Heeseung grips the doorframe until his knuckles turn white. He’s spent too much time thinking about how to be your friend without actually trying to be, too caught up in his own feelings to see how he’s affecting everyone else. The corners of his lips droop at the thought.
“We’re happy to have you back, Heeseung too. He’s just.. hurting, you know? I’m not sure if you heard but he kind of got blindsided and dumped by his high school girlfriend,” Jay says.
You laugh drily and he pictures the way you roll your eyes. “Hey, uh, random Q, what do you know about Jimin?”
Jay’s quiet for a bit. Or he’s whispering. Heeseung presses his entire body to the door as if it’ll help. “Yoo Jimin?” he asks.
“Probably. Heeseung’s friend.”
“She’s cool,” he answers simply. “You’d like her.”
“So I keep hearing. What’s going on with them?”
“Nothing really. They met at some party last year, both pretty drunk, and somehow ended up in a random bedroom where she tried hooking up with him.” Jay’s words strike Heeseung like a jolt, his heart pounds and his stomach twists. It takes a lot for him and the knot in his stomach not to burst out of the room and clear things up. The main thing stopping him though, is that Jay’s telling the truth. “But he misread the whole thing and ended up detailing your entire relationship for two hours,” Jay adds after a while.
“And now?”
“Why do you care?” Jay’s tone is teasing but the question makes Heeseung spiral.
His mouth starts to dry up at the thought of you admitting that you don’t care, that you’re over him and just being nosy. Panic swells in his chest and he jumps away from the door as if it’s red hot, scrambling back under the covers of Jay’s bed and falling back asleep.
In the following two weeks, Heeseung finds himself mastering the art of avoidance. He fills his evenings with pick-up basketball games with Mark on random courts in the neighbourhood and rushes out of class before you have the chance to talk to him. Playing with Mark is fun, but he can’t ignore the regret festering within him, a persistent thorn in his side. Fortunately for him, Jay, whether knowingly or not, presents him with a potential turning point. He’s invited you and the boys over for pres before his party, instructing Heeseung to get his shit together and acknowledge your existence.
On the night before his birthday, the apartment echoes with your voice, yelling at Jake to get off the floor. Sunghoon’s cackles only get louder, filling the space. Behind his closed bedroom door, Heeseung catches a panicked glance of himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his bangs. He lingers in his room as long as he can, trying to put off seeing you.
Jay opens the door without knocking, a lazy grin on his face and a slight sway in his stance that tells Heeseung he’s drunk already. “What are you doing? We’re waiting.”
“I don’t know,” he admits.
Rolling his eyes, Jay lets out a tired groan. It’s an unspoken scolding that Heeseung heeds immediately, following him into the kitchen, where Jake is messily pouring shots on the counter. He doesn’t see you anywhere, but Sunghoon distracts him, cheering and wrapping his arms around him—also drunk already. “She’s in Jay’s room, Yunjin called,” he says. “Oh, yeah, happy almost birthday, man. Twenty is crazy.”
By the looks of things, Sunghoon’s on a mission to kill Heeseung. Twenty shots for his twentieth birthday doesn’t sound like as much fun as Sunghoon thinks it does, it sounds like a punishment or a death sentence. Heeseung — put off by the smell of vodka — manages four shots before tapping out, deciding that he’d quite like to remember tonight and wake up on his birthday without a headache.
Heeseung’s eyes widen when you show up in the doorway, a confusing sense of surprise washing over him. It’s not like he didn’t know you were here; he heard you earlier. It’s just that your sudden presence catches him off guard. His heart skips a beat and a sudden rush of nerves courses through him. He takes in your appearance, his eyes tracing every inch of you before meeting your eyes. As you run your hand through your hair, you smile at him, so pretty and genuine that he can’t help grinning back.
Your dress is beautiful, of course—black satin, he thinks, with pretty pink ribbons tied into perfect bows on the top, and you’re the only girl Heeseung’s ever wanted in his life.
A whispered whoa falls from his lips, which seem to rest in an ‘o’ as he stares at you. You’re looking away from him now, focused on the tequila puddle Jake’s left on the counter, grabbing some paper towels to mop it up. Jay snorts beside him, nudging his ribs hard. “You’ll catch flies, Heeseung. Come on—decorum, please.”
Heeseung clears his throat, running a hand through his hair and wiping his palms on his pants, but he doesn’t make any moves towards you.
“Do something,” Jay mumbles.
He nods in response, repeating do something, over and over in his head until he finally approaches you. “Hey,” he says, breathless. His heart hammers in his chest when you look up at him, beaming.
“Heeseung,” you say. “Happy almost birthday. How’re you feeling?”
Before he has a chance to respond, you wrap your arms around his waist, and like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arms fall around your shoulders, holding you close. It’s perfect. Some combination of your warm scent and alcohol causes the butterflies in his stomach to rage, fluttering so frantically he thinks he might be sick.
“Insane,” he admits.
He can hear you laughing, feeling your chuckles against his chest. “You know, what?” You lean away from him, arms still around his waist, eyes locked on his and a soft smile on your lips. “Me too.”
An odd weakness settles in his knees, a dizzying flutter alighting his entire body as he nods. Over his shoulder, Sunghoon calls for him, chanting, “More shots! More shots!” For a while, Heeseung ignores him, watching you until he feels his ears heating up at the top.
“I think I have to go,” he mumbles, eyes locked on your lips. They curl up into a crooked grin, and you use a hand to pat his chest.
“Good luck.”
Heeseung takes a deep breath when you let go of him, taking shaky steps towards his friend, who’s grinning widely enough to show his fangs. “Sorry to interrupt, I think you could use the help though,” Sunghoon says, holding out a shot glass to him.
He shakes his head at the shot, taking it from Sunghoon’s hand and placing it down on the table. “I need a minute.”
Sunghoon only shrugs, taking the drink himself, knocking it back with no visible reaction, and Heeseung thinks he must be a monster. “I really think you could fix things tonight,” he says afterwards, pouring another.
Instead of taking this in stride, Heeseung decides to pretend you don’t exist after hugging you—it’ll be easier that way. To him, this looks like staring at you in your pretty dress and snapping his neck in the opposite direction when you look over at him.
To appease Sunghoon, he takes another three shots and has to sit down, overwhelmed by the way his cheeks burn and how the kitchen starts to tilt around him. His mouth is oddly dry; a sensation that has nothing to do with you or the way you look in your dress. This time when you catch him staring, he smiles.
Even in his beyond-tipsy state, Jay manages to ensure everyone leaves the flat before requesting an Uber. Heeseung finds himself sitting cross-legged on the pavement, for some reason, scrolling through his camera roll.
“Car’s here, get up,” Jay eventually mumbles, nudging his back with the tip of his shoe.
With some stumbling, Heeseung stands up, dusts off his pants and heads to the car. Jay holds the door open for you, and as you slide across the backseat, your dress rides up. Heeseung screws his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, like resetting an etch-a-sketch. Jay’s hand claps his back as he instructs him to get in, which he does. Hesitantly, he slides into the middle seat, glancing to his right to see who’ll be joining you.
“You’ll thank me later!” Jay calls out, closing the door.
Before he even has a chance to shift over, your hand lands firmly on his knee, silently urging him to stay put. With a pounding heart, he complies. The back of his hand brushes against your thigh as he fastens his seatbelt, and the feeling of your soft skin against his leaves him breathless. He feels afloat when the car starts moving. A few minutes pass before you take your hand from his knee, mumbling an apology as you place it on your lap, idly playing with your fingers.
Mark lives about twenty minutes away, leaving Heeseung with something close to sixteen minutes to think of something to say. R&B from the early 2000s rumbles through the speakers in the car, vaguely explicit lyrics alluding to something he’s craving fill the space around the two of you, wrapped up in your warm vanilla scent and the fresh peppermint gum you’re chewing. To put it simply, there’s not a coherent thought in his head he could express that wouldn’t get him into trouble.
“I didn’t know you were on the basketball team,” you say after a while. “Well, I did know, but you know.”
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly because he has no idea what you’re talking about.
A beat passes before you speak again. “How was your day?”
The first thing on his mind is what falls from his lips. “You look beautiful,” Heeseung blurts out, trying to ignore the tinge of anxiety that’s irritating his stomach. “Your dress is.. It’s really pretty,” he adds, feeling as though he won’t lose anything by putting everything on the table.
“Thanks.” You smile. “You look beautiful too.”
Heeseung’s breath hitches in his throat and he looks down at his outfit in the dark. If Jay hadn’t interfered, he’d be wearing a hoodie and sweatpants right now, but he’s happy with the simple striped shirt and loose pants Jay suggested, even if it leaves him a little chilly. “It’s, uh, it’s actually my birthday party tonight,” he supplies uselessly.
You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. “I kind of just meant in general.”
“Me too.”
The car falls silent as he lets his head fall into the space between the headrests and closes his eyes. When you reach Mark’s house, he opens them and finds you staring with a smile. “I thought you fell asleep,” you say.
He shakes his head, sliding over the backseat and opening the door. He didn’t expect you to leave from the same side as him, but he likes the heat on his cheeks as he closes the door for you. Wordlessly, the two of you go through the gate and join Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon who are sitting cross-legged on the porch, giggling around a shared joint. He has no idea how they arrived before you did.
Heeseung isn’t sure how he loses you guys but it’s not until his third round of beer pong that he actually notices. Lee Jeno and his red eyes are a poor shot, barely managing to throw the ball without hitting Heeseung’s chest or dropping it before he gets to aim. He almost feels bad for the guy when he sinks another one of his cups, watching Jeno frown before pinching his nostrils shut and taking a big gulp.
Jay’s sudden presence startles him, though he’s quick to grin at his best friend. The smile isn’t returned. Instead, he leans up to Heeseung’s ear, yelling that YN’s crying before nudging his way out of the room. His heart sinks and he offers no explanation to Jeno, following Jay upstairs and into the bathroom where he finds you, sitting on the floor, crying into Sunghoon’s shirt while Jake watches with a frown, picking at his nails.
“What happened?”
Jake talks with a hushed tone while Sunghoon helps you up before leaving. “She didn’t say anything, she just asked us to go to the bathroom with her and started crying.” He opens his mouth to continue but Jay yanks him out of the room, closing the door.
“I’m not, like, upset or anything,” you say after a while, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to ruin tonight for you so I told Jake not to say anything, but obviously, he didn’t listen.”
“Jake did the right thing telling Jay, none of us want to see you upset.”
“I’m not upset.” You hit Heeseung’s chest with a weak fist, crying more. “Why does everyone think I’m upset?”
“It might be the tears,” he offers, feeling good about making you smile.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Are you using a new liner? Mascara? You still look good.”
You take a look in the mirror, resting your hands on the edge of the sink. “Yeah, I discovered waterproof makeup in first year.”
“Is it harder to take off?”
“Definitely, but it’s worth it, I think, for nights like this.”
“Yeah, right.” Heeseung nods, watching you carefully as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. It’s like being in high school, seeing you like this. Most of the parties you went to were spent in the bathroom, with Heeseung holding your hair back and trying to calm you down after throwing up. He misses all of it except the vomit. “Are you okay?”
Catching his gaze in the mirror, you nod but look down at your hands when he says your name. “It’s just a little harder being back than I thought it would be.”
“Oh.”
You sigh, playing with your hair as you sit down next to him. “Obviously it’s great seeing the guys all the time, seeing you all the time, but everything’s fucked and we act like strangers and it’s killing me not being able to just..” you trail off. Heeseung is clearly drunker than he feels because it looks like your eyes are stuck on his lips. After a beat you slide away from him, moving until your back hits the wall. A mixture of frustration and something else colours your face. “I just don’t like treating you like a stranger and I don’t know how to fix it.” Before he has a chance to think or to say anything you ask him for the time.
“It’s 12:23.”
“Happy birthday!” you say, smiling. “Am I the first to say it?”
“You’re always first.” Even last year, you sent a text at midnight, so Heeseung’s not sure why there’s a surprised look in your eyes or why it’s making him want to kiss you more than usual. “You don’t have to treat me like a stranger if you don’t want to,” he says carefully, trying to get you both back on track.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.”
His voice is soft when he says, “Honestly, neither do I.”
“I wish I never left.”
“Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” Despite the small smile on his face, he’s still trying to understand what reason you had.
An exhaled laugh comes from your nose and you nudge him. “Were you secretly trying to get rid of me?”
“You caught me,” he sighs, holding out his hands in defeat. “I had this whole elaborate plan. I was going to fake my death, but you saved me the trouble. Thanks for that.”
Both of you share a genuine laugh and the tension in the air eases up a bit. Heeseung’s eyes meet yours; a brief moment of silence follows. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry for leaving. I really wish things could’ve been different.”
It can’t be your intention to hurt him by saying that, but you do, leaving Heeseung feeling the full spectrum of his emotions. A pang of hurt, of longing—hurting himself even more as he thinks about the could-have-beens. He purses his lips, looking down at his shoes. “Me too.” Sick of the tension, of his feelings, he glances at you, sitting up a little straighter. “How about we start fresh? Clean slate?”
“Clean slate?” you echo, raising an inquisitive brow.
Heeseung nods, determined, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Heeseung.”
“YN,” you chuckle, taking his hand in yours.
He holds onto it, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Funny, you look just like my ex.”
Your eyes widen, amused. “Wow, Hee, you always know just what to say.”
The two of you sit quietly for a moment, but Heeseung’s just glad you’re not crying anymore. He feels lighter now, hopefully you do too. Standing up, he holds out a hand to help you get to your feet which you take, smiling up at him as you straighten out your dress.
“You know,” he says, clapping his hands together. “For a second there, I thought I’d need a manual on how to talk to you again, but I think we’re doing pretty well.”
Heeseung feels pleased with himself when you laugh, rolling your eyes and nudging his chest with your hand. “Shut up,” you say, light and playful.
“Are you ready to get back to the guys?”
You smile at him, nodding before quickly turning back to the mirror. “Do I look okay?”
It doesn’t make sense to Heeseung that a girl as beautiful as you could ever look just okay. Even with the slight swell to your glassy eyes, you’re the most perfect person he’s ever seen. But he can’t say that. So instead, he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth, tilting his head a bit and raising his hand in a horizontal gesture, his fingers wobbling as if balancing an imaginary scale. A non-committal sound escapes him, a soft eh before he laughs at the way your jaw drops.
You punch his arm. “Heeseung!”
“Come on, you know you look great,” he mumbles, looking away to hide the flush in his cheeks. The sound of your lips spreading into a smile makes his stomach flutter as he opens the door to find Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon sitting cross-legged in the hall in front of it.
“Birthday boy!” Jay yells, springing to his feet and flinging his arms around Heeseung.
“And YN!” Jake adds from his seat.
Heeseung hears you saying thanks to Jake before sitting next to him.
“So, did you two kiss and make up or what?” Jay’s attempt at whispering is futile and somehow Heeseung’s cheeks burn even more as he frees himself from his friend’s hold.
“Kiss, no. Make up, yes.”
“Playing the long game, I like it.” Jay grins, patting Heeseung on the back. “Sit down, let’s talk.”
Heeseung sits in the space next to Sunghoon, holding his legs awkwardly to his chest. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening and he feels like he’s not drunk enough anymore to fully relax into it, until you leave Jake’s side, crawling over to Heeseung and resting your head on his shoulder. In the dim hall, the boys shuffle around but it’s too dark to see what they’re doing—not that he cares much at this point, letting his head rest on top of yours and closing his eyes. It almost sounds quite pretty when they start singing Happy Birthday, and Jake has a tiny lunchbox cake in his hands when Heeseung opens his eyes. Its purple-frosted TWENT-HEE is disrupted by a half-smoked joint stuck in the centre which the flash on Sunghoon’s phone provides a makeshift flame for.
“Make a wish!” you squeal, clapping your hands.
It takes three attempts for Heeseung and Sunghoon to coordinate the timing between his exhale and Sunghoon turning the flash off, but the candle is blown out, and, right now. Heeseung has everything he’s ever wanted.
Almost.
Heeseung wakes up pressed against the wall with an arm wrapped around his waist. An embarrassing surge of excitement courses through him as he thinks about your conversation and puts his hand over yours. What he’s met with is less of the softness he’d anticipated, and more of the coarse skin and defined knuckles he’s come to recognise as Jake’s hand under the duvet. It only takes a look over his shoulder to make sense of why Heeseung’s nose is grazing his bedroom wall. Behind him is Jake, who’s being spooned by you, and behind you is Sunghoon who’s clinging onto your frame for dear life, even in his slumber. Evidently, Jay’s had a successful night and with his unwavering loyalty to Yunjin, it’s not hard to figure out what happened in the room across the hall.
With his eyes pressed shut, desperate to clutch some more sleep, he hears you mumbling. “Park Sunghoon, if you don’t wake up and let go of me, I’ll kill you,” you say with a tone that frightens Heeseung and sets off a flutter in his stomach. The yelp and thud that follow seem to wake Jake up and he crawls over you to get out of bed, stretching his arms out above his head and making no effort to step over Sunghoon on the floor. You roll over in the bed, wrapping an arm around Heeseung’s waist and pressing yourself into his side. “Happy birthday,” you say through a yawn before getting up.
He manages to mumble a thanks, butterflies running wild in his stomach and a flush creeping up his neck as he watches you leave the room, eyes stuck on the way your hips move in last night’s dress. He gets out of bed, sighing, untucking his shirt to cover the tightness in his pants before joining his friends in the kitchen.
Hungry but unmoving, you and the boys occupy the three seats at the small kitchen table, harping on about the different things as Jake whines, begging you to keep it down.
Heeseung’s first intense emotion as a sober twenty-year-old is betrayal. There are used dishes lying in the sink, plates, mugs, and pans — two of each — staring up at him, wafting the scent of a cooked breakfast, with no leftovers in sight, up to his nostrils. He sighs, wondering if it’s his responsibility as host, and eldest friend, to make more food for everyone, or if, as the birthday boy, he should sit around and wait for someone else to take action. Settling on the latter, he sights up on the countertop, sure to keep his back to you so he doesn’t have to see the low neckline of your dress.
Finally, Jay comes back, whistling an unfamiliar tune and twirling his keys on his finger when he reaches the kitchen. “Hello,” he says simply, leaning against the doorjamb as if he hadn’t single-handedly ruined Heeseung’s birthday.
Sunghoon rubs his eyes, looking in Jay’s direction. “So now, if I want a nice breakfast after a night out, do I have to fuck you?”
Jay’s cheeks flush as he looks at his feet. “I mean, I planned to cook for you guys when I got back.”
“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” he scoffs, slumping in his chair.
“I do, Jay. Cook for me,” you say, gesturing toward Jay’s general direction making grabby hands at him.
With a gentle smile, he crosses the room and pats your head. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything,” you mumble into his shirt.
Jay nods, going over to the fridge. He stands in front of it with his hands on his hips, completely still for almost two minutes and Heeseung only approaches him because he’s worried about the outside heat getting on all the food through the open door.
“What are you doing?” he asks, uttering his first sentence of the morning.
Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he leans towards Heeseung. “I, uh, finished the eggs, milk, and bacon.” A nervous look covers his face before he continues. “And we ate your Hello Kitty pancake mix,” he adds, mumbling like he doesn’t want to be heard.
Unfortunately, he is, and Heeseung’s mortified. “My Hello Kitty pancake mix?!” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “YN got that for me, we were supposed to make those together.” His voice is as whiny as his volume will allow, and he struggles not to stomp his feet.
“Oh, you were? How’d that work out?” Jay’s words are cutting.
“Okay, ouch.”
“Dude, it was expiring next week. Plus, Yunjin just looked so cute when she saw it—I had to.”
“What if I wanted to make them this week?”
“You’ve had the box for two years,” Jay reminds him. “Think of Yunjin.”
With a sigh, Heeseung actually does think of Yunjin. Although the girl he envisions is different from the one Jay wants him to imagine.
They met on the first day of university. She had a guitar strapped to her back, and a huge amp in hand when she approached him. Her eyes were wide with nervousness or excitement; Heeseung couldn’t tell which. Immediately, she extended her free hand for him to shake. “Yunjin,” she said.
“No.” He shook his head while pointing at himself. “Heeseung.” From the way she laughed at his stupid joke, he knew she was the next girl Jay would fall for.
Jay had a habit of falling in love with the first girl to do something nice for him on any given day. And then the next girl. But after hearing Yunjin talk about her gap year, spent learning guitar seriously, Heeseung had a feeling things were going to change for his friend. He was right.
The memory, along with the satisfaction of having figured those two out from the beginning, brings a warm smile to Heeseung’s face. “You owe me.”
“Yeah, whatever. I owe you,” Jay scoffs, though the slight furrow in his brow suggests genuine remorse. “Just so you know, they weren’t special or anything.. just pancakes, you know?”
Heeseung chuckles despite himself. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Maybe a little,” Jay shrugs. To his credit, it works.
At least until Heeseung’s stomach grumbles, a noisy reminder of why they’re standing there in the first place. He also learns the hard way that the fridge starts to beep when you leave it open too long. Jay laughs through his nose, closing the door with his elbow.
“What are we eating?”
Jay seems to think about this for a minute, tilting his head and suggesting McDonald’s.
If asked, Heeseung probably wouldn’t have said he pictured spending the morning of his twentieth birthday squished between Jake and Sunghoon in a sticky booth, but he’s here and can’t find anything to complain about as he inhales his breakfast. Too caught up in the way his hoodie drapes over you, he listens half-heartedly as you all quiz Jay on his night. It seems like he’s being pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing but the dreamy grin on his face is hard to miss.
Eventually, you all pile back into Jay’s car, with Heeseung sitting shotgun as a birthday gift, that he doesn’t get to fully enjoy because he falls asleep as soon as the car starts moving. He sinks into the front seat, a contented smile playing on his lips as the warmth of the sun and his full stomach lull him into a peaceful nap.
At home, he thanks Jay before crawling into bed where he replies to messages before letting his head fall into the pillow.
His eyes don’t even close all the way before you come into the room. “Can I nap in here?”
Heeseung nods, watching you get comfortable under his duvet. In a matter of seconds, you’re just an arm’s reach away, softly snoring with your back to him. Meanwhile, he spends four hours laying completely still, trying to convince himself that the heat radiating from your sleeping form doesn’t make him miss you more.
At around 3 p.m. when everyone wakes up, you and the boys hurry away for various mumbled reasons, leaving Heeseung home alone, trying to practise his surprised face for whenever you’re all back with cake and a gift.
You don’t return until Heeseung’s hair has started to dry after his shower, but you waste no time shuffling around the kitchen before coming back with a pretty cake and real candles with a real flame, singing for him again. With the way Jake’s rushing him, Heeseung can’t come up with a wish in time, so blows out the candles with a clear mind.
“Woo!” Jake cheers, clapping around a wrapped present that he immediately thrusts into Heeseung’s hands. “Open it!”
He barely gets to peel the first piece of tape before he jumps off the couch and kneels down next to him. “It’s LEGO! The Infinity Gauntlet, you know? And the best part is..” Jake pauses dramatically. “You get to put it together with your best friend, Jake! Right now!” His excitement is endearing even though he’s ruined the surprise. “The others can help too, I guess.”
You frown at him. “I paid for the kind lady at the LEGO store to gift wrap that for us.”
“Yeah, and she did great!” Jake grins. “Can I help you open it? Please, Heeseung, please. You’re taking forever.”
With a smile, Heeseung hands the box to Jake, letting him open it carefully before Sunghoon joins in, tearing the paper to shreds all while Jay records the whole moment like a proud father. All five of you are sitting on the floor now, covered in wrapping paper while Jake holds the LEGO set up like it’s his, blinking hard at the camera with a smile on his face, and it’s Heeseung’s favourite birthday yet.
my girl: who wants to take me on a date?
Heeseung knows he should probably change your contact name but the notification still makes his cheeks burn in a way he thinks he likes.
jake: heeseung probably
jake: idk tho
my girl: ok heeseung come to the museum with me for class
sunghoon: next time open with the museum thing holy shit.. i almost fucking volunteered
heeseung: when?
my girl: i would have rejected you hoon
my girl: whenever ur free !
Heeseung’s schedule always has a way of clearing up when it comes to you, and he skips pick-up with Mark to pick you up at your door that evening. You answer right when Heeseung knocks, sliding some rings onto your fingers with a smile on your face, saying, “Hello.”
“You..” Heeseung swallows, nodding his head. He’s doing his best not to check you out but he really can’t help it when your jeans seem to fit like they were made for you. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hey.”
He clears his throat, finally managing to unstick his gaze from your thighs and gestures in the direction of the stairs. “Shall we?”
At the train station, you don’t object when Heeseung pays for your ticket, he didn’t mean to, his finger just clicked through for two tickets instead of one. He’s happy when you don’t make a big deal about it, only smiling and thanking him when he hands you the ticket. He stands close behind you, protective, letting the peak-time commuters nudge past him instead of you as you wait in line for the only working ticket barrier. You go through first and Heeseung quietly follows, trying to keep his eyes off your ass and praying that the rest of the day goes by more comfortably than it’s started.
The train is packed too, so you stand by the doors and, again, Heeseung stands maybe a little closer than necessary, his arm above his head gripping the yellow handrail. “Why did you want to go to the museum anyway?” he asks, gulping when you look up at him.
“I’ve always liked museums.” You shrug, playing with the buttons on your cardigan.
“I know, it’s just.. You said earlier you wanted to go for one of your classes.”
“Right. It’s a requirement for one of them. Visualising Culture,” you explain, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly nervous, he doesn’t trust his voice to speak so he nods, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. “Museum and Exhibition Studies.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.” You nod and turn your head from him, looking through the window.
Your eyes are stuck on the trees outside, blurring into each other, and his eyes are stuck on the side of your face, staring shamelessly for the rest of the journey. A tinny voice announces the name of the station you’re approaching, and you nudge Heeseung gently, a silent signal that it’s time to leave. Silence seems to follow you out of the station and into the museum, but he tells himself he doesn’t mind.
For the last hour, you’ve been looking at artwork without taking note of anything or making comments, all while Heeseung observes you, wondering what you’re supposed to be doing for class. “What’s the point of this trip?” he finally asks.
Without backing away from the painting, you turn your head to look at him, raising a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Like, what’s your task?”
You chew on your lip for a bit before looking back at the painting. He can’t help but wonder if in all your time away you’ve been flexing some sort of elitist muscle, or if it’s come about as a result of your fancy exhibition studies class that you had to take a test to be accepted into. Finally, you lean away from the painting and use your phone to take a picture of the blurb before looking at him again.
“I wanted an excuse to get someone to come to the museum with me and I wanted it to be you.”
Your words are so cute and so honest that his heart warms in his chest, even as he ignores his sadness about the fact you felt like you needed an excuse to hang out. “You could have just asked me.”
Considering his words, you frown, tilting your head at him. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy, or it should be, it’s us,” he says unthinkingly. Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s, like, the whole point of having friends, right? To hang out with them?”
“Well.. yes. I just.. I don’t know.”
Somehow, this makes perfect sense to Heeseung who only nods his head, moving on from the frame when you do. It’s nice watching you admire the art, to watch the soft smile that develops as your eyes scan the canvas.
You like looking at the paintings when no one else is, to get up close and try spotting the brush strokes. You like imagining the artist and how they might have felt as they painted, and when the paint is thick, protruding from the canvas, when you can see streaks of yellow peeking through a sludgy green. You have a lot to say about the paintings and how they make you feel, and how they don’t make you feel, finding something you like in all of them.
After a while, you grab Heeseung’s hand and excitedly pull him through all the Ancient Egypt stuff, and he’s too happy that his fingers are locked with yours to worry about his aching feet anymore, and you’re so cute with your wide grin that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d like to sit down. He hates you a little when the two of you take turns writing your names in hieroglyphs, and you somehow manage to maintain your neat handwriting. But you make up for it by writing his name too, drawing a pretty butterfly at the end that makes his heart race.
You start rambling about shabtis and how people were typically buried with a few, depending on their wealth and status, but Tutankhamun was buried with something like four hundred, and some of them were even painted to look like him. “Look at how pretty this one is,” you say, grinning while holding your phone in his face with a picture of one. Your excitement peaks when you reach the big sarcophagus, and you let out a squeal when you open it and three kids run out, bursting into a fit of giggles. You’re excessively cute when you ask him to take a picture of you, and then make him take a video opening the front while you're ‘dead’ inside it. Which takes a few attempts because you’re laughing each time.
You tell him to delete those takes. He doesn’t.
Right when he’s expecting you to get out, you grab him by the wrist and pull him in with you, closing the front of it before letting go of him. Heeseung is certain he’s lived this exact moment before, but he was seventeen and you were giggling like crazy, feeling around in the dark for his shoulders to wrap your arms around before kissing him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or what you want him to do, and the feeling of your breath fanning his neck in the tight space isn’t helping.
Silent minutes pass by like hours until a kid pulls the sarcophagus open. The light is blinding but Heeseung steps out, relieved, almost thanking the kid for saving him. You’re fiddling with your necklace and struggling to meet his eyes. When you do though, you shoot him an easy grin, laughing to yourself about nothing.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Drinks maybe?” you ask after a while, playing with the zipper on your jacket.
Heeseung takes you to a restaurant where university students he’s only seen on Instagram walk around like they own the place. A tired-looking guy comes to take your orders before you even have a chance to take your coat off so Heeseung asks for a minute and the waiter leaves. There’s something in his demeanour though that makes it seem like you only have one full minute to make up your minds.
“What do you want to drink?” you ask, holding the drinks menu out to him.
Heeseung closes it, sitting it on the table. “Probably a beer.”
You laugh at this. “You don’t have to act all manly in front of me.” There’s a soft look in your eyes like you mean it.
“I actually like beer these days.”
Your brows raise and your jaw drops before you utter the word whoa.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
You shrug, collecting yourself. “You’re just.. different now.”
The very prospect of being different is shocking to Heeseung who prides himself on being pretty consistent with his behaviour. His brows knit together as he tilts his head. “Because I like beer?” he asks, scoffing slightly at the mere suggestion.
“I mean, that’s part of it.” To his dismay, this seems to be the end of your sentence. He gives you a little nod, hoping you read his mind and elaborate like he wants you to. “You bleached your hair, pierced your cartilage, what’s next? Are you going to tell me you have a tattoo?”
Heeseung feels his breath catch in his throat when you say the word tattoo but you don’t seem to notice. “It’s been a year,” he points out, folding the corner of his napkin, pressing his thumb against it with enough pressure to leave a defined fold and have it stick up a little when he lets go.
“I know, it’s just.. weird, you know?” Your voice is small when you speak, soft and quiet, barely anything above the noise around you both.
Heeseung nods. He does know.
“You’re weird too.”
“How?” There’s a defensive tone to your voice that makes him chuckle.
“You’ve always been weird.”
A dramatic frown curves your lips and the waiter is back before you can object. Leaning forward slightly, he orders for both of you, the sharing platter of fried chicken, your French Martini, and his controversial draught beer. He doesn’t miss the way you raise your brows when he orders the beer, as if you’d been waiting to catch him out or something. After the waiter leaves, Heeseung meets your gaze briefly, matching the gentle smile on your lips before looking away.
The drinks only take a few minutes and you thank the waiter before looking over at Heeseung, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you slide your cocktail over to him. “Do you want to try?”
He nods, lifting the glass and moving the straw out of the way to take a sip from the rim. Nodding his head, he hums in approval, eyes widening. “It’s good.”
You lean back in your seat, twirling the straw when he hands the drink back to you. “Yeah?” you ask, smiling triumphantly as if you made it yourself. “A normal person would’ve used the straw.”
Heeseung can’t help but roll his eyes, liking the way you laugh. “Are you acting out because I called you weird?”
“A little.”
The waiter places the platter at the centre of the table with a small smile, that you match, clearly hungrier than you’d been letting on as you lick your lips at the sight of the chicken. Heeseung’s stomach grumbles quietly as the scent hits his nose and he feels like he hasn’t eaten in days when a plate lands in front of each of you. A comfortable familiarity settles over him when he lets you pick first, and he knows you feel it too from the sweet smile you give him before eyeing the food. You take a while considering every wing, even though all of the pieces are scarily identical, before picking one and Heeseung follows, choosing with much less care than you, but enjoying it nonetheless.
Under your light-hearted scrutiny, he orders a cocktail the next time the waiter comes around. It’s much better than his beer, and so quickly, one cocktail turns into two until both you and Heeseung are four drinks in, laughing over nothing and putting in an effort not to slur your words together.
Time seems to pass at the same rate as your drinks, though neither of you seems to notice until you check the time on your phone and your mouth falls into a gasp. Heeseung does the same when you show him your screen, you only have ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute walk back to the station so you can catch the last train.
He gets up to settle the bill as quickly as humanly possible before you grab him by the hand and book it out of the restaurant. Though breathless, he knows he can’t let up, running as fast as his legs will carry him as he tugs you along behind him. Somehow you still have it in you to cackle every time either of you trips up.
Out of breath, you both slump into the first seats you find, sobering up a little after the run. He looks at you and feels his heart snag in his chest. “You okay?” he asks, huffing out a breath that pushes his bangs into the air.
“No,” you whine, pouting and resting your head on Heeseung’s shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours reaching his hand out to grab your own. He squeezes it gently, in a way he hopes is comforting. You lock your fingers with his before he can pull away and Heeseung’s heart starts pounding again.
He doesn’t realise you’ve fallen asleep until the train reaches your stop and you don’t react. He doesn’t want to wake you up, nor does he want to let go of your hand, but he knows he has to. Heeseung nudges you gently, rousing you from your sleep. “Let’s go,” he mumbles.
Stretching your arms above your head, you nod while yawning.
You take tired steps alongside him on the short walk back to your apartment, not saying anything until you reach your doorstep when you yawn once more, looking up at him. “I actually had fun today, thanks for hanging out with me.”
“Actually?” Heeseung raises a brow. “Did you think you wouldn’t?”
You shrug, chewing on your lip. “I thought it might be awkward.”
“It kind of was.”
“Maybe,” you admit with a nod. “It was a pretty successful first date though.” Your eyes are like saucers as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “Not in that way. I’m only saying ‘date’ because that’s what I said in the chat—I would’ve called it a date if Hoon came with me, you know? I didn’t see this as a date if that’s what you’re thinking. Because it wasn’t. And I didn’t.”
“Mhm,” Heeseung hums with a sceptical look on his face, finding amusement in watching you scramble to correct yourself. “First dates are always awkward, baby, don’t worry.” The endearment slips out before he can help it, his heart stopping in his chest until he sees you smiling.
“Well, yeah, but this wasn’t a date, baby.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you made me pay for your train ticket, I paid for dinner and drinks. As far as first dates go, I’ve been a perfect gentleman all night.”
“That you have.” You nod once, firmly. “I’m not going to pay you back or anything. And this is hardly our first date.”
Heeseung grins despite himself. “Is this your way of saying I can bill you for our other dates? Do you have savings?”
Your head falls back in laughter, the sound infectious as it falls from your lips. You sigh softly, straightening up after a beat and nudging his shoulder with your fist. “Stop making me laugh or I’ll do something stupid like kiss you.”
His heart races in his chest, caught between your laugh and the thought that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “I feel like if we pulled up a typical date timeline we’d be right on track for that, don’t you think?”
“Heeseung,” you mumble, face softening. It doesn’t seem like you’re finding this funny anymore. Your gaze locks on his lips — a hyper focus that makes him press them together nervously — before snapping up to meet his eyes. You gulp. “Goodnight, thank you for today.”
“Anytime.”
“Don’t say that or I’ll take you up on it.”
Heeseung shrugs. “You say that like I’d have a problem with it.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Never.”
A small laugh comes through your nose as you smile up at him. “I’ll see you, let me know when you get home.”
“Got it.”
Wordlessly, you open the door, crossing the threshold before saying goodnight again. Heeseung says it back, watching you shut the door and waiting for the lock to click before he leaves.
He’s never drinking with you again.
Heeseung feels like he’s settling into the role of your friend quite well. So well that he can spend time alone with you without the discomfort he felt in September. Maybe he’s taking liberties, bending the word friendship to suit him, but as you lie in his bed together, your head on his chest as you nap, he can’t bring himself to care too much. He knows he’ll get hurt by this at some point, but for now, he’s just happy to play with your hair and try his best to fall asleep too. You don’t stir when Jay opens the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him, tilting his head before closing the door quietly.
Sleep never reaches him, but he pretends to yawn, rubbing at his eyes when your alarm wakes you up, making a point to stretch his arms over his head and only respond to you in a lazy mumble when you speak. “Whose idea was it to nap between classes, again?”
“I think it was yours.”
“Damn,’ you mumble, yawning again before laying back down, head returning to his chest as if drawn by a magnet. “I think ten more minutes, fifteen, and then we wake up and go back.”
“Or we could skip?”
The suggestion makes you jolt upright, fully awake now. You let your eyes drag over his face, and maybe Heeseung’s being hopeful or straight-up imagining things, but your gaze lingers on his lips for more than a few seconds before you gulp and meet his eyes. “Lee Heeseung trying to skip class? I never thought I’d see the day.” A smile spreads over your lips, turning into a laugh as you throw your head back. “That was funny, Hee. Let’s go.’
Heeseung’s brows furrow, watching you stretch your arms out in front of you. Was it so hard to believe he would skip class if it meant spending more time with you? His lips settle into a pout. “I’m serious.”
“No, you’re scaring me. Come on, let’s go,” you say, making no attempts to get up.
To prove a point, Heeseung shifts under the covers, lying on his side with his back to you. “You go ahead, I’m staying.”
You sigh but don’t get out of bed, only lying down next to him and draping an arm over his waist. “Ten more minutes.” You press yourself against his back and he feels his heart racing. As quickly as he feels it, you stiffen behind him. “I’m not crossing a line, right? Holding you like this? It’s always been easier to sleep if you’re next to me,” you say into his shirt.
Remembering the way you would cuddle into his side during sleepovers, his heart aches, wondering if you had endured the same sleepless nights as him. Heeseung only lifts your arm to turn onto his back, pulling you onto his chest like you had been earlier. “Fifteen,” he says.
Seeing as neither of you bothered to set another alarm, you sleep through class, only waking up when it’s dark out and Jay comes back. “I bought dinner, come eat,” he says, leaving the door open on his way out.
Wordlessly, you both peel yourselves from bed, dragging your feet to the kitchen to wash your hands before joining Jay in the living room. Heeseung sits cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table while you and Jay sit on the couch. He’s not awake enough to fully register your conversation over the rustle of plastic takeout bags and his sudden overwhelming hunger, but you’re telling Jay to shut up, mumbling something and he lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest when Heeseung turns around to hand over your food.
With his elbows on the table, he takes a bite from his burger and has to suppress a moan. Most of your conversation with Jay goes over his head and he doesn’t realise how much time has gone by until you’re standing at the door pulling on your shoes. Given the way Jay’s lying on the couch, Heeseung assumes he’s on walking-you-home duty and grabs a jacket before stuffing his feet into Jay’s slides.
The conversation is light as you walk together, Heeseung making sure he’s on the edge of the pavement the whole time and letting you talk about your friends. The walk has become so natural now that he only realises you’re approaching home when you take out your key to open the door to your building.
“Do you want to meet before class tomorrow? To go over the slides we missed today?” you ask, with something behind your eyes that Heeseung sleepily interprets as hope.
He nods, smiling at you and waiting for you to lock the door before he leaves.
Jay’s awake when Heeseung gets back home; he can’t say he’s surprised. Heeseung only nods at Jay, who sits on the couch, but he knows his flatmate well enough to know there’s a conversation coming because the TV is off and his laptop is shut. Heeseung makes it all the way to his door before Jay says anything. “You’re in way over your head.”
Heeseung sighs, not in the mood. “Okay. Night,” he says, opening the door.
By the time November arrives and Jake’s birthday approaches, everything is back to normal again. Turning nineteen, Jake celebrates with a modest pub crawl that spirals into a three-day bender, leaving him bedridden for nearly a week due to dehydration and fear of a test he’d forgotten to study for.
In standard Jake fashion, he manages to bounce back and sits across from Jay at his favourite restaurant only six days after his actual birthday. Considering the state he was in, it’s a wonder he can stomach the smell of alcohol, let alone down four cocktails without a pause. Jay and Sunghoon exchange sighs, each supporting one of Jake’s sleeping arms on their shoulders to carry him home.
“Cover the bill and let me know the amount. I’ll transfer you in the morning,” Jay mumbles before they leave.
You shake your head when Heeseung asks if you want to go home as well. “Unless you want to,” you say, all of your words blending together. “If you want to go home, we can. I don’t want you sitting here bored or anything.”
Heeseung smiles. “I’m not bored, we can stay as long as you like.” You seem to take this to heart, nodding and flagging down a waiter to order more drinks. “Let’s maybe slow down a little though,” he suggests.
He pours you a glass of water and makes you drink the whole thing, withholding your alcohol until you’ve finished the cold tteokbokki in front of you. Gradually, you become more coherent, wiping your face with your hands and sitting up a little straighter. You thank him when he pours soju for you and take tiny sips from the glass here and there, telling Heeseung about some of the friends you made while you were away. There’s Yizhuo—sweet, funny, and down-to-earth. And Minjeong—a quiet girl who needed a while to warm up to new people. You tell him about meeting her for the first time, how unsure she seemed when Yizhuo introduced you two, but by the end of the night, she was falling asleep next to you in bed with her arms and legs tangled around you.
“Do you miss them?” It’s a stupid question, anyone could tell from the fond smile on your face that you do.
A beat passes while you think about it before shrugging. “Not as much as I missed being here.” If he wasn’t watching you, or looking you straight in the eye, he probably would’ve missed the longing in your gaze.
He’s never known you to be subtle after a drink, and Heeseung knows he needs to nip this conversation in the bud before either of you says something you can’t take back. “How are you getting on with your research task?” he asks, while at the same time you say, “I’m so happy to be back.”
A short laugh slips out of you, a hand falling to the table before wrapping around your glass. You bring it up to your face but don’t drink, only looking down into it as if it’ll tell you what to say. “Are you happy I’m back?”
“Sure,” Heeseung says noncommittally.
You sigh, sinking into your seat a little. “I loved you. I still love you,” you mumble. “Even after all that.”
He’s not sure what to make of this, of anything you’re saying. It’s not like you had a messy breakup or anything. At least, he wouldn’t describe his long-term girlfriend breaking up with him and asking if they could be friends after as messy. Even in heartbreak, Heeseung was a reasonable person, and any reasonable person would’ve said no. Like he did.
“I still.. You’re still the one for me.”
His stomach lurches violently. “Don’t say that.” He gets out of his seat quicker than he means to and leaves you at the table, tapping his foot as he waits in line by the bar to pay the bill, praying he’s right about the two of you sitting at table ten when the cashier asks. With a folded receipt in his pocket and too much to think about, he returns to the table, only putting on his coat and mumbling, “Let’s go.”
For some reason, you don’t seem to mirror his urgency, only finishing off the drink you had left in one go and sitting for a bit longer. He takes your jacket from the back of your chair and holds it open for you, helping you into it when you finally stand up. “Thanks,” you giggle.
Heeseung says nothing.
The silence and fresh air outside are sobering as he watches an Uber driver through the app, very slowly moving from two minutes away to one before arriving. Maybe if you hadn’t said what you said at the table, he might have warmed to the idea of a forty-minute walk alone with you, but you did say those things and even the thought of this fifteen-minute car ride is unbearable when John (4.9 stars) pulls up on the curb outside. You thank Heeseung quietly when he opens the door for you, and against his better judgement, he walks over to the other side of the car and sits in the middle seat like he used to.
Slow R&B murmurs through the speakers as the driver pulls off while Heeseung hums along. His thigh is pressed against yours but he does his best not to think about it, only chewing his lip when you rest your head on his shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours before regretting it.
He doesn’t move.
It feels a little bit like the driver is playing Heeseung’s playlist, as every song he knows and loves seems to come on one after the other, steeping him in an odd comfort in the backseat of this car.
Your hand falls onto his knee so clumsily he’s sure it’s a mistake, so sure you’ll move it back into your lap that he’s genuinely surprised when you don’t. Unsure what to do, he chooses not to acknowledge it, acting like you sitting so close to him, like the feeling that no time has passed, doesn’t make his heart clench. Slowly but surely, your hand inches up his thigh—a motion Heeseung stops as soon as he realises, his hand falling heavily over yours and pushing it back to his knee. He thinks about keeping it there, but when he feels his thumb stroking your skin, he moves his hand immediately. You’ve obviously gotten the wrong idea. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve actually gotten the right idea. You have. But it can’t happen like this. After a few minutes, you move your hand again, and like before, Heeseung pushes it back, keeping his hand over yours and reminding himself not to move his thumb.
You’re drunk. This will pass.
Finally, the driver parks outside your building, and Heeseung’s sure his “thank you so much” holds the world’s sincerity in it as he unbuckles his seatbelt and practically leaps out of the car. He opens your door and has to undo your belt for you, helping you out and thanking the driver again.
There’s a couple leaving the building when the two of you reach the door, and with your arms wrapped around his, he thanks them when they hold it open.
The lift takes forever to come and Heeseung pushes the up button five times before it arrives. He lets the girl in fleecy pyjamas with a takeout bag in her hand go in first before following, pressing the button reading 7 before relaxing a bit. Under the protection of a stranger, he knows you won’t do anything. The journey to your floor feels like hours as the lift drags its way up the shaft—why does nothing share his urgency?
You don’t say anything until the elevator door swooshes shut behind you. “I love you, Heeseung. You know I love you.” You’re saying everything he’s been wanting you to say for ages, but the words make his words sting.
“Do you know where your keys are?” he asks, though you still have a ways to go before you reach your door.
“My pocket,” you mumble.
Heeseung finds your keys, unlocks the door and helps you in. As much as he wants to leave, he knows if he does, you won’t take your makeup off or change, so he holds your hair back for you as you brush your teeth and wash your face in the sink quietly.
In your bedroom, you search through your drawers, pulling out something to wear. He turns his back to you and ends up face-to-face with an old photo of the two of you from school.
“You can look, Hee.”
Drawn to the picture, he doesn’t reply. The boys are in it too, but it feels like you two are the focus. Everyone’s smiling at the camera except Heeseung, who — with his arm around you — stares at the side of your face with a lopsided smile. Happiness radiates from his being, lighting his eyes and face.
“I want you to look.” The softness and desperation in your voice tug his heart.
“Come on ba—” Heeseung sighs. “Just get dressed, yeah?”
You don’t say anything but he can hear the rustle of your clothes as you change.
Jealousy blooms in his chest, looking at himself three years ago. Happy and full of love for you and your friends, for life. Everything was so easy then. His chest tightens and he has to close his eyes.
Heeseung feels you next to him, hears your jewellery falling into the clay holder on your dresser and opens his eyes, looking at you. You’re in a t-shirt he’s sure belongs to Jake and struggling with the clasp on your necklace. He knows you want him to help but he feels like he can’t move.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really do want to be with you,” you say when you finally get the necklace off. “And I know I’m too late, but I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t want to be with you.”
You’re so close the peppermint on your breath hits him like a wave. A distinct smell of citrus and summer, of Jake, comes from your body, mixed up with the scent of you in a way that makes him uneasy.
He gets a headache trying to make sense of your words, if it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with him, then what was it? Even back then, you didn’t elaborate, you just repeated his name and the words: it’s not your fault, over and over until they sounded made up. Heeseung can’t entertain this conversation, not now. Not when you’re drunk and looking up at him with longing in your eyes. “I think we need to get you to bed,” Heeseung mumbles, taking a step back. “I’ll get you some water.”
“But I’m here now and we can be together again.”
“You moving was never the problem. You know that wasn’t the problem.” A tear slips down your cheek and he softens immediately. “I wanted to go with you, I was going to go with you.”
You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, frowning. “This university was your dream. How could I let you give up your scholarship for me?”
“You were my dream,” he admits. “And it wasn’t your decision to make.”
“You would have made the wrong one.”
Heeseung scoffs. “Do you think breaking up was the right one?”
Your silence is brutally telling. You squeeze your eyes shut as if trying to magic yourself out of the conversation, but it only makes more tears fall. A realisation hits him like a truck: you’re thinking about it. A painful lump forms in his throat. How could you have anything to think about? How was breaking up with him, not the single worst decision you’ve ever made? He can’t believe you could have let go so easily if you loved him. Long distance wouldn’t have been easy, but surely if you loved him, you would have made it work. You would have tried. Heeseung wishes he hadn’t asked at all.
“I do,” you say finally, opening your eyes to look at him.
His heart is heavy in his chest. “Okay.”
“Heeseung.”
“What?”
A stomach-churning sob falls out of you. “I don’t know.”
Another silence weighs the room down and Heeseung knows what he needs to do. He sighs. “Let’s just.. I should go.”
You don’t put up a fight, you don’t say anything, only letting your shoulders droop before you sigh and lead Heeseung to the front door. He says goodbye as he puts his shoes on and all you do is watch as he leaves your apartment. He waits for you to close the door and lock it before walking away.
Heeseung walks all the way home and only cries when he closes his door, sliding down the back of it like something from a movie. With tears in his eyes, and his knees to his chest, he pulls out his phone to text you. I hope your hangover isn’t too bad, he types. Let’s only talk when we need to.
The two of you manage to hold this up, with you finding others to sit with during classes, and no one seeming to question Heeseung’s skipping plans or new close friendship with Mark’s group who he spends time with between classes instead. But as always, things have a funny way of going different to how Heeseung expected them to.
After three weeks of near radio silence, Jay barges into his room with his face scrunched up. “What are you doing?”
“Right now?” Heeseung asks, confused. Standing by the bed with the corner of his duvet in his hand, in nothing but his underwear, he thinks his plans look a little obvious. “I’m about to jerk off.”
Jay rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what I mean.”
“Evidently, I do not.”
“Why don’t you hang out with us anymore?” he asks, squinting at Heeseung.
“We’re hanging out right now.”
“Forgive me if I don’t count an impromptu circle jerk as hanging out.”
“I don’t.. want to do that.”
Jay clutches his chest. “I’m crushed.”
Heeseung studies his expression. Serious, an inch of concern pooling in his eyes. “We dated for six years, she dumped me, I turned into a shell of myself, but she moved back home and we’re all friends again, so I think things are looking up for me.”
A deep sigh leaves Jay as he sits on the bed. “What happened at the bar with YN three weeks ago when we all left?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What exactly counts as ordinary for you two?”
Heeseung’s still trying to figure that out. He shrugs. “Making the right decisions.”
“So you’re okay?”
“Never better.’
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know?” There’s a sincere look on Jay’s face as he leans back on his hands.
“Which is why I’m being honest.”
It doesn’t seem like Jay’s going to let this go, but to Heeseung’s surprise, he smiles. “Perfect,” he says, standing up from the bed and walking over to the mirror where he checks himself out. “Because she and the guys are going to be here in ten. Put some clothes on.”
He does just that, pulling some shorts over his hips and a shirt over his head before pulling the two bean bag chairs stacked next to the couch to sit in front of the TV, claiming one of them with his body by sinking into it. The cosy material is soft against his thighs and he wonders why they don’t use them more.
Ten minutes go by like seconds when Jay gets up to answer the door, laughing at something one of you says before leading you all into the living room. He’s watching some show Jay left on, greeting you and the boys with a wave before turning back to the TV. Behind him, the four of you laugh and talk on the couch but Heeesung’s too wrapped up in an argument on screen to join in. His attention only falters when he reaches for the open six-pack on the coffee table. It’s barely out of his reach, so he turns around to take a beer, trying to ignore the way his heart sinks in his chest seeing you and Jay cuddled up together. It’s friendly, he knows that. Jay’s with Yunjin and you’re.. He’s still not sure, but it hurts nonetheless. You’re bickering over a bowl of popcorn and he only laughs when you throw a handful at him.
The red speaker Sunghoon’s holding chimes three times when he turns it on, a Frank Ocean thudding out of it that drowns out the show he’s watching, leaving him to follow along with the subtitles instead. But he can’t focus.
Heeseung tries to settle his heartache, comforting himself with the thought of the two of you in another reality. One where it’s him instead of Jay. Or one where you come over and sit with him, curling up in his lap, pouting because Jay’s being mean. He pictures himself stroking your hair and kissing away your pout, holding you into his chest when Jake and Sunghoon start teasing you. In this reality, however, he watches you peel Jay’s shirt from his chest and dump a handful of popcorn in the gap, cackling to yourself at the clear frustration he doesn’t verbalise. Heeseung sighs, looking back at the TV and taking a sad sip of his sad beer.
After a while, you fall into the beanbag next to him, sprawling out over the whole thing and looking at him. “Hey, Heeseung.”
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry about that night.” Your voice is quiet, clearly apologetic if the way you don’t meet his eyes is anything to go by.
“Okay.” Heeseung nods and a beat passes. “I meant what I said, what I texted you.” It hurts to say but it’s for the best. He stands up out of the beanbag, making a show of stretching his arms and legs before sinking into the couch next to Jake. Over Jake’s slouched form, Jay shoots him a look, arching a brow. Heeseung only stages a chuckle, shrugging before looking at the TV again. He can’t make sense of anything on the screen.
Sunghoon emerges from Jay’s room with a grin on his face, asking when you’re going to eat. In standard fashion, the four of you stand around Jay in the kitchen, bothering him by telling him what to do like he’s a child as he puts frozen pizza and some garlic bread in the oven.
“The middle one’s the timer,” Jake says, pointing at the knobs above the oven door. “It’s there so you can set how long the food needs to cook for, and after you set it, it’ll go off so you know it’s ready.”
“But it’s all up to you and your discretion. You can open the door whenever you want to check on everything,” you coo, patting his shoulder.
If Jay’s actually annoyed, nothing about his smile gives it away as he nods with a clenched fist, closing the door and sitting next to Heeseung on the countertop. Heeseung’s almost too busy focusing on the way his beer heats his stomach to notice the way you watch him with a small frown from barely an arm’s length away. Sunghoon picks up on your declining mood and thrusts an open bottle into your hand. “We like to drink with—” He’s cut off by Jay taking the bottle and setting it behind you on the counter, mumbling cut it out, dude, and tugging you out of the kitchen by the arm when he notices the tears in your eyes.
He hears Jay’s door close and nobody says anything until the timer goes off and Jay comes back alone, filling a plate with food and going back to his room.
“Thanks for dinner,” Jake says to the back of Jay’s head, offbeat and half smiling as he washes his hands in the sink.
Sitting at the table, he watches Jake and Sunghoon eat while pretending nothing’s wrong.
At the end of the night, when everyone’s gone home, Heeseung gets into bed, barely managing to pull the duvet up when there’s a knock at his door. “Yeah?” he calls out. Jay appears with his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says quickly.
Jay regards him with a frown. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Yeah.” He nods, and Heeseung prepares himself for a lecture. “I was going to say, I’m going home next week, for Christmas, so I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
The holidays go by in a soju and tteokguk-filled blur, with Heeseung choosing to stay at home until the day of his first class of the second semester so he doesn’t have to be around you. He tells himself it’s for the good of your friend group, as he watches you all make plans in the group chat through notification bubbles, so he doesn’t leave a read receipt.
The commute is more jarring than he realised. What had been a twenty-minute drive turns into an hour-long journey, including a thirty-minute walk to the train station ‘near’ house, fifteen minutes on the train into the city centre, and another fifteen minutes on foot to campus. He’s drenched in sweat despite the below-zero temperature and has to make a stop to the bathroom to sort himself out.
He arrives early at least, finding the room where his Ethnography: Theory and Practice 2 class is set to start in fifteen minutes. The only indicator that he’s in the right place is the lecturer’s name and contact information written in the top corner of a whiteboard, and Heeseung picks the seat furthest from the door. It’s an elective class and, judging by the nine empty chairs next to him, not a very popular one. He’s relieved at least that he’ll be able to start off the semester without running into anyone he knows, least of all you. As seats start filling up and the lecturer arrives, he’s feeling unusually lucky.
So, of course, you show up, running a hand through your hair as you walk through the open door, apologising for being late even though there are still two minutes until the class is scheduled to begin. Of course, the only empty seat is the one next to him, which you sit in without looking at him, making an effort to angle your body away from him. Of course, the lecturer assigns a presentation for two weeks time, pairing the class with the person they’re sitting beside. Neither you nor Heeseung say a word to each other, but you raise your hand when prompted to pick a topic to cover. He can’t help his irritation at you for making the decision without asking him, but you look so nice in your hoodie with your hair tied up that his annoyance settles before it has a chance to bloom.
“YN YLN and Heeseung Lee, we’ll do music and cultural expression,” you say, picking the topic he wanted to do anyway.
When class is over, you’re quick to get out of your seat, pulling on your jacket and stuffing your laptop back into your bag before leaving so quickly that Heeseung has to leave his stuff behind to go after you. You don’t stop walking when he calls out your name, and too scared to make a scene, he overtakes you, leaving you with no option but to stop in front of him.
“We should go to the library, get the research and shit out of the way ASAP,” he suggests.
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, okay, I’m going to get my stuff.”
You follow him back to class, watching from the door as he puts his things in his bag before putting on his jacket. You don’t say anything on the walk to the library, when you get there, or when you browse the Cultural Studies section. Heeseung glances at you and you’re chewing on your lip, crouching a bit to read the spines of the books on the lower shelves. “Are you alright?” he asks with genuine concern.
You look up at him, nodding.
“Are you sure? Because you haven’t said anything in an hour.”
This makes you straighten up, your brows furrowing in an expression he can’t figure out. “Sorry, Heeseung,” you say, your voice weak. “I’m just trying to figure out if you think I need to talk right now.”
“Obviously, a paired project is a situation where we need to talk.”
You sigh, muttering oh, my God, before you look at him. “You know what, I’m going home. Let’s do this tomorrow.”
“We have class in twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll read the slides when I get in.”
Unsure what to say, he watches you walk away, deciding that he should just go home too.
At the flat he hasn’t seen in five weeks, Heeseung feels slightly out of place, going straight to his room and into bed, not even getting up when he hears Jay coming home. Jay opens the door without knocking, his mouth falling into an excited ‘o’ shape. “Hey, stranger,” he says. “I thought you weren’t coming back, so I started advertising your room on Gumtree.”
“Any offers?”
“No one as good as you.” Heeseung doesn’t have to look at Jay to know he’s smiling. “Move over,” he mumbles, lifting the duvet.
Lazily, he rolls over in bed, making room for Jay who makes himself comfortable under the covers.
“What are you doing, Heeseung?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“Talk to me, help me understand.” Jay sighs and Heeseung’s lips curl into a frown. “You’re my best friend,” Jay says quietly, with a tenderness that strikes him.
“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung repeats like an affirmation.
“So why won’t you talk to me?”
There’s a subtle hurt in Jay’s voice that upsets Heeseung, who shifts around to lie on his back. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that YN hasn’t already.”
“She only told me that she fucked up.”
Hearing it from someone else’s mouth makes it sound drastic, especially considering he’s the one who left. Again. But he’s too bitter to say that out loud so he bites his tongue. “Seems to be the theme in our relationship.” The words taste rotten when he says them.
“Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you get to be a dick,” Jay says. “What happened?”
It takes some time but Heeseung explains everything, letting Jay ask questions and make comments until the end when he looks away, pressing his eyes shut and saying, “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think I get it. Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. Why can’t you just be together already?”
Everything sounds painfully simple when it’s put like that. But there’s too much between you both for it to go that way. It’s not like he didn’t want to be with you when you confessed, it’s that he didn’t know how he could without knowing why you left him in the first place. Without knowing what he did that was so terrible you couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with him, never mind the same area code.
A beat passes before Heeseung speaks. “There was something wrong, and instead of trying to fix it, she just.. gave up. I would’ve done anything she asked me to. I could’ve changed, could’ve fixed things, but she didn’t even tell me.”
“Maybe she didn’t feel like she could. I don’t think she wanted to hurt you, Heeseung.”
“But she did.”
“Yeah,” Jay admits, sympathy lacing the word.
“How can I be with her knowing there’s some awful part of me she hates?”
“It’s not like that, not really.”
“What’s it like then?”
“I’m not sure it’s my place to say.”
Heeseung laughs, shaking his head. “Do you keep my secrets as dutifully as you keep hers?”
“Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know you have secrets.” Jay sounds exhausted as he speaks, and it’s the last sound to come from him until a few minutes pass and Heeseung hears him snoring.
You didn’t reply when Heeseung texted you asking to meet in the library before class, but you show up anyway, pulling out the seat across from him and dumping your bag on the table. “I don’t know if you saw the email, but the partner work is just for the presentation.”
“Cool.” he nods, relieved.
“I think after that, I’ll start hanging out with Yunjin instead, so you’re not uncomfortable.”
Heeseung frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not uncomfortable around you,” he says. “I just don’t.. get you. You dump me and move as far away as you can. Now you’re back and what? You love me again?”
You furrow your brows, inspecting him for a moment before you speak. “I don’t love you again, Heeseung. I’ve loved you this whole time.”
“So why didn’t you choose me? I just wanted you to choose me.” He’s too anxious to know the truth to worry about how desperate he must sound. Until he notices that the guys sitting at the other end of the tables are watching him, their brows arched sharply in a mixture of shock and curiosity. Heeseung runs a hand over his face, hoping the motion might wipe away the flush burning his cheeks.
“You wanted me to choose you over my future?”
“I could’ve been your future, part of it. I’d never ask you to choose me over university, you know I wouldn’t. I’m saying you could’ve had both.”
“It wasn’t as easy as that.”
“Why not?”
“Heeseung,” you say like it’s an answer.
“Just tell me why you didn’t want me. That’s all I want to know.”
The following silence makes him consider packing up abruptly and faking an emergency. He’s sure he could probably fake his death if he slumps in his chair slowly enough.
You sigh heavily, interrupting his train of thought—now, he’s wondering if he even wants to know. “Because you would’ve put me first,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “If I stayed here or moved away, I would’ve been your top priority and I couldn’t let you throw away everything you worked for, for me.”
“I loved you, of course, you were my top priority.” He can’t believe he even has to say it, can’t believe you might have thought you weren’t the single most important thing in his life.
“Heeseung, you were sacrificing your life for me. You missed your cousin’s engagement party to help me study for a history test, you deferred your scholarship entry by a year just so we could go to college at the same time. How could I keep letting you miss out on your life?”
“Deferring my entry wasn’t just for you,” he lies. “And it’s not like I missed the wedding.”
“But I think you would’ve if I stubbed my toe.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
You sigh again, shaking your head. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t keep living like that, you can’t just throw everything away. You’re such a hard worker, Heeseung, and I’d hate to see you waste that over some girl.”
“But you’re you. You weren’t just ‘some girl’ you were my girl.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s true. “We were in high school and I was studying constantly; it didn’t matter back then. And you were so far away, it’s not like I could feasibly drop everything and go to you every time something happened.”
“Heeseung.”
“You had a choice.”
“Heeseung.”
The way you’re saying his name reminds him of your breakup—the pink walls of your childhood bedroom and the pictures of the two of you stuck up all over them, in frames on your desk, and stickers on your light switch. How they seemed to close in around him as he put all of his energy into staying on two feet, instead of falling to the floor and begging you on hands and knees to stay with him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I’ve spent the last year and a half wondering what I did wrong, I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.” We could’ve tried, he wants to say. I could have changed and we could’ve tried.
“I didn’t want you to lose that. I felt really lucky that you loved me like that, and I didn’t want to rob someone else of it, you know. I thought maybe you’d find a balance with someone someday, but I didn’t think that person would be me.”
Heeseung has to put in an effort to stop his jaw from dropping. How could there ever be someone else? How could you ever think he could have someone else? There’s so much he wants to say, to ask, but he can tell by the way you press your lips together that you’re done with the conversation.
“It’s not too late.”
You tilt your head at him. “What?”
“In your room that night, you said you were too late,” he explains. “I love you.”
“Still?”
His heart shifts uncomfortably in his chest at the tone of your voice and the way your eyebrows shoot up. “Always,” he says.
A smile starts to curve your lips, but it slips before it has a chance to bloom, stifled happiness that you cover with your hands, hiding your face completely. “I don’t think we should talk about this here.” Your palms muffle the words but not their impact; you’re right and he knows it.
It’s been a year—the longest of his life, and the hard part is already over. He knows now and he’ll do anything he can to fix it. “Right.” Heeseung nods but you’re not looking at him. He’s going to fix it. For now, though, he says, “What’s our research topic again?” Despite having had Music and Cultural Expression typed into the search bar since before you arrived.
With Heeseung’s work ethic and your commitment to being the best, the presentation goes quite smoothly. You make no mistakes, and Heeseung, distracted by how pretty you look in professional attire, manages to stumble through the script he’d rehearsed. The two of you even win the first place prize — satisfaction that you got a perfect score — and celebrate with coffee afterwards.
Between the four walls of the campus café, you and Heeseung sip lattes that taste like temperature — still too hot to have a real flavour — and laugh with each other about something Jay said when you all hung out last night. Neither of you mentions your conversation from two weeks ago, deciding instead to fall into the patterns of your first term together: napping in his bed after class and coming up with excuses for alone time. He makes an effort to follow through with his commitments, even when you ask him to hang out, to show you that he’s different now. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t said anything about it, but Heeseung tells himself it’s a good thing while missing shots on the court with Mark, too hung up on you to focus on anything else. The only thing left is to figure out a way to be yours again and do everything he can to make sure he doesn’t lose you.
Over your shoulder, through the window, the sun slips below the horizon, casting long shadows around the café. He takes a deep breath when he looks at you, smiling down at your phone as you take a picture of your half-drunk latte and the milky swirls still peeking through your coffee. A tangible determination settles in his chest as evening’s first stars appear in the sky, he knows one thing for sure: he has to grab the chance to be yours again with both hands, and once it’s his, he won’t let go this time.
The café may be clearing out, but his heart is full of hope and for the time being, sitting with you as a friend is.. fine.
You’d often imagined what it would be like if you hadn’t broken up with Lee Heeseung.
Most of your first year was spent daydreaming about him in all of your usual hangouts. Sometimes, at drinks with your friends, you envisioned him showing up, a smile on his face as he apologised for being late. He’d slide into the booth next to you, wrap his arm around your shoulders and kiss your cheek. Other times you imagined him showing up to surprise you, sitting on a bench in the quad and grinning when he saw you leaving. He’d run up to you with open arms and a bouquet in his hand, wrapping you in a hug and whispering that he missed you too much to wait another day to see you. You would even fall asleep thinking about FaceTime calls that stayed on overnight or drunken texts after the club, misspelt I love yous and can’t wait to see yous filling your text thread.
You didn’t tell your new friends much about him, briefly mentioning a partner you’d watched some film with or an artist he liked if they came up, and most nights were spent begging Jay to send you Heeseung’s social media posts and tell you every detail of the day they had without you. Based on accounts from Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, it seemed like he was getting on well, a fact that — while hurtful — pushed you to try and do the same. After a month of avoiding your flatmates, you finally managed to connect with them, going to various social events around campus and rolling your eyes any time a drunk guy complimented you.
This is why it took you by surprise to see him at Mark Lee’s party in the summer—sitting alone in the garden, in sweatpants and a flannel, looking at his phone with a deep frown etched over his lips. When you think about it, it feels like so long has passed since then and it’s hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago.
Being back in Heeseung’s life has been more challenging than you thought it would be when you filled out your transfer application. Especially in the weeks since you finished your presentation together, since you suggested the library might not have been the right place for the conversation you were having and never followed up on.
Now doesn’t seem like the right time either—you’re sitting on the floor in Jake and Sunghoon’s living room with your back against the couch, sharing a blanket with Heeseung. Jay left about an hour ago to go to Yunjin’s, leaving the four of you to your own devices. You know you can’t bring it up with Jake and Sunghoon around, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities to over the last month.
When you finished your celebratory lattes, Heeseung walked you home. The sky was a perfect inky black, and it was cold enough to see your breath, just the way he liked, so cold he offered you his jacket to wear. He didn’t say anything about it, only shrugging it off and setting it gently over your shoulders, shocking you so much that you stopped walking. The scent of his cologne, dark and woody, was overwhelming as you slid your arms into the sleeves, zipping it up and after three paces without you, Heeseung turned his head with wide eyes. You could have said it then, you wanted to say it then, but you bit your tongue and thanked him instead. He smiled, gulping when you closed the gap, you should have kissed him, he was close enough, his lips just a tip-toe and tilted head away, but you hugged him instead.
After that, the two of you had all the time in the world together. Between your shared classes and going for meals alone. All the time you’d spend in his living room together, cosy on the couch when Jay would go to sleep. So many moments to talk, to get back together, but the words would die in your throat every time you thought them. It all seemed too cheesy or not cheesy enough, too dramatic or too casual, you couldn’t strike a balance and had no idea how to even find one.
Last night was probably the most jarring occasion. Yunjin and Chaewon had been trying to convince you to go the club all week but you just weren’t in the mood. They seemed happy enough when you suggested hosting pres—but now you think they’d been hoping you’d be so drunk you’d just agree to go out. Yunjin brought half a litre of vodka and Chaewon brought a soup flask with enough murky cocktail in it to feed a small family. Together, the three of you drank and gossiped around the small table in your living room, with Chaewon’s phone in a glass to amplify her playlist. After taking a whiff of whatever she brought, you and Yunjin decided — for everyone’s wellbeing — to hide her flask and take shots of vodka, finishing off the cider you had left in the fridge.
“Please come out,” Yunjin begged. “I’ll feel bad leaving you here, all pretty and drunk by yourself.”
“I’ll feel bad too!” Chaewon added, clasping her hands. “Not bad enough to stay with you, but I’ll probably have less fun.”
You shook your head. “I don’t even have an outfit.” The words were like music to their ears and you regretted them as soon as you said them. Both girls grabbed you by the hand, tugging you to your room and flinging open your wardrobe. Yunjin looked for a top and Chaewon for a skirt, though both of them gasped when they saw the dress you wore for Heeseung’s birthday. Chaewon pulled it from the rack, holding it out in front of her.
“We won’t pay for anything if you wear this,” she squealed before she and Yunjin started chanting: Free booze! Free booze!
You sighed, thinking of Heeseung and shook your head again. That dress, though beautiful, hadn’t been enough for him to lose all composure and skip the party in favour of fucking you into the mattress, and you didn’t love the idea of guys that weren’t him ogling you all night. “Anything but that dress.”
Yunjin and Chaewon seemed sad, but you were able to distract them by bringing out the disaster cocktail the oldest girl brewed earlier, pouring each of them half a glass and ordering an Uber to come and take them away. You promised them you’d go out next time, locking your pinkies with theirs and closing the door behind them.
Alone in your room, with nothing but thoughts of Heeseung to keep you company, you called him. He answered right away. You can’t remember exactly what you said but you remember the soft sigh he let out when you said it. You could practically see him tilting his head, weighing his options.
“I’m trying to get a paper finished, it’s due Monday,” he said finally.
“But it’s Thursday.”
“Yeah, and I want to have my weekend free. If you’re still up when I’m done, I’ll come over, okay?”
You nodded. “Okay.”
Heeseung hung up after that and you got out of bed to clean up, hoping the time would fly. It didn’t, but your flat was clean again so you pretended not to mind.
He called you after midnight. “Do you still want me to come over?” he asked, breathless.
“Please.” There was a knock on your door after you spoke and you mumbled hold on before going to check it. Warped by the peephole, you saw Heeseung standing there, holding his phone to his ear and playing with the zipper on his jacket. He hugged you when you opened the door, asking if you were okay. “Perfect,” you said, looking into his eyes.
His pretty face scrunched up and he pinched his nostrils shut with his fingers, turning his head. “Well, you smell like a distillery.”
Heeseung stood in the doorway of the bathroom while you brushed your teeth, grinning every time his eyes met yours in the mirror. Tell him now, you thought. You have to tell him now. Those thoughts nagged you as you gargled mouthwash, plagued you when you hugged him again and tortured you when he carried you to bed.
He stiffened when kissed his jaw. “You can’t do that,” he mumbled, setting you down under the duvet. “Not now.”
Then when? you wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” you said.
Heeseung sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just.. It’s okay.”
Neither of you spoke after that, you made room for him on the bed and he lay down next to you, let you rest your head on his chest and played with your hair until you fell asleep. He was gone when you woke up in the morning but he left a glass of water and some paracetamol on your end table, along with a note.
I had to go to class and you wouldn’t wake up :( We’ll talk about everything soon, we have to. See you at Jake and Sunghoon’s later?
— Your Hee.
If you hadn’t been drunk he might have been okay with the kiss, he might have looked down at you and kissed you properly. You might have talked last night, fixed things—you’ve never regretted drinking so much in your life.
Things are better tonight at least. You’ve been nursing the same can of cider since you arrived a few hours ago and Heeseung’s only had two sips of his beer, so hopefully, if you get some alone time, the two of you can finally talk. You’re still not sure what you should say, if you should apologise for waiting so long, for leaving in the first place. It seemed like a good idea at the time, applying elsewhere. You didn’t even think you’d get in but you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least take the chance. It seemed like a sign when the acceptance letter reached your inbox before the term had finished, an unconditional offer to a high-ranking university, you couldn’t pass it up. And knowing Heeseung as well as you did, you knew he’d do anything to be by your side when you needed him, you knew he’d drop everything to move with you if you let him. You’d owe him forever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of you.
You called Jay in tears after a month away, telling him you made a mistake, that you needed to come back and had already filled out a transfer application. He convinced you to at least stay until the end of term, to actually make friends with the girls you were living with and see how you felt. A week later, he, Jake and Sunghoon showed up on your doorstep with chocolate and booze, hoping your room was big enough for all of them to stay for the weekend, it wasn’t, not really, but for three nights, the four of you slept head to toe in your bed after eating your body weights in pizza and ice cream. There was no talk of Heeseung, even though you begged them, and by the time they left, you felt much better. At the end of your first year, you quietly submitted your transfer application and shared a tearful goodbye with Yizhuo and Minjeong before finally flying back home. The boys seemed happy to have you back, even if it meant sneaking around to hang out with you—A nudge pulls you out of your thoughts, Heeseung.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
When you look at him, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. His eyes are brimmed with concern, wide and beautiful, a deep brown you’ll never get sick of. His lips are curved into a soft pout, a crease running along his brow that you want to smooth out.
Heeseung relaxes a little when you nod, but he seems unconvinced. “You sure?”
You reach up to poke his cheek, grinning when he turns his head, trying to fight a smile. “I’m good,” you say, pressing a dimple into his cheek anyway.
He holds your finger in his hands, unclenching your fist and locking his fingers with yours. A wide grin stretches over your lips as you plead with your cheeks to stop burning. Jake’s hand interrupts the moment, falling from the couch, limp and curled into a fist that smacks the back of your head. He’s fast asleep, not stirring at all even when Heeseung laughs.
Unfortunately, you lose rock, paper, scissors and have to wake Jake up. He shifts a little on the couch when you shake him, whining at you to stop and scrunching up his face at you. Heeseung and Sunghoon eventually sigh, grabbing him by the arms and legs to carry him to bed.
Both boys return, laughing about something and Heeseung sits down next to you again while Sunghoon leans in the doorway, yawning. “You two can have my room,” he says, cutting his eyes at you. “No funny business though, I just changed my sheets.”
You chuckle nervously and Heeseung makes a show of hiding his face in the crook of your neck, much to Sunghoon’s visible dismay. He clutches the doorframe so hard you see his knuckles paling and uses his free hand to point a stern finger in your direction. “I mean it,” is the last thing he says before leaving.
“Sorry,” Heeseung mumbles when the door closes. “It’s just so funny teasing him.” He’s grinning when he lifts his head and runs a shaking hand through his hair. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me about your group project.”
A sigh curls out of you, dramatic and loud as you let your head fall back against the couch at the thought of it. You brought it up in passing on Monday after class and spent the rest of the week pretending it didn’t exist.
“Damn,” he mutters. “That bad?”
You don’t have many friends in your Archaeology class, but you always look forward to it — because you’re covering Ancient Egypt — and enjoy it. But this morning, you slept in, arriving late, to find your lecturer assigning groups for a project weighing 25% of your final grade. She put the groups together based on where people were sitting, which left you, standing in the doorway fighting for breath, being added to a group of boys you shared a seminar with last term. They never contributed, and rarely showed up, constantly sending messages in the class Whatsapp group to ask if anyone had the tutorial answers. The sinking feeling that your project was doomed before it began plagued you throughout the lecture and all the way to lunch with Yunjin afterwards. Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the story, you tell him in meticulous detail about your time with her that day. Thankfully, you’re sober so don’t admit that you spent a lot of the meal exchanging increasingly ridiculous ideas to get him back.
Heeseung is just as beautiful and good at listening as always, nodding his head and uhm-ing and ah-ing at all the right parts. Until his gaze changes for a split second into something so soft and so sweet that it leaves a mark on your heart. “I was pissed about it earlier, but now I’m here, with you, and I want you to be my boyfriend again,” you say, jaw hanging open as soon as the words come out.
His eyes widen, lips parting in shock. Then his brows furrow, pushing a crease into his forehead.
“I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry.” You start running damage control and pray that Jake or Sunghoon will wake up and come back. “I really didn’t mean to say that, especially not now when we haven’t talked about everything. But you looked at me, Heeseung. You really looked at me just now and I can’t pretend I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry, really, but it’s your fault I said that.”
Mortified, you cover your face with your hands. “Can you say something now?” you ask, mumbling into the heels of your palms.
All he says is your name and a pit forms in your stomach. “God, anything but that,” you groan.
Heeseung chuckles, which you think is a good thing. “Would it be better if I called you baby?”
“In what context?”
Holding your breath, you watch as he presses his lips together, humming as he tilts his head. “Term of endearment between a girlfriend and her boyfriend.”
You lift your head, separating your fingers to see him properly through the space and the pit in your stomach dissolves into something live, butterflies fluttering in a frenzy from the look on his face. The gentle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight flush on his cheeks all make your head spin.
“Really?”
Heeseung nods so hard his hair follows the movement. “Yes, baby.”
“Can we kiss now?”
“Maybe if you move your hands out of the way.”
“I don’t like maybe.”
“Definitely if you move your hands out of the way,” he corrects.
You can’t bring yourself to move, worried that the sudden motion might disrupt something, might knock you out of the moment. Heeseung laughs, so softly it sounds like an exhale, as he takes your wrists in his hands, tugging gently. With your face in full view, his eyes flit over your features for a beat before he cups your cheek in his hand, dragging his thumb over the soft skin of your lips.
You don’t even realise he’s leaning in until his lips touch yours. There’s a rush of something in your chest, an intense warmth surrounding your heart. His lips are softer than ever, gentle as he kisses you like you might break—you think you might. Nothing is better than this, better than having Heeseung’s lips on yours after all this time. You lean into him completely, pressing your body impossibly close to his and twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I love you,” he whispers, barely pulling away. “I love you so much.”
You can’t bring yourself to reply, emotions too close to the surface, tears too close to spilling. Instead, you smile into the kiss, somehow holding him closer and hoping he’ll understand. He pulls back, just enough to gaze into your eyes with a look of pure affection. He doesn’t press for words, a reassuring smile tugging his lips.
He understands, Heeseung always understands.
Sunghoon’s sheets are soft against your skin when you wake up, tickling your nose with the scent of detergent and Heeseung’s shampoo—fresh and light. Your hand finds its way into his hair, fingers curling around the strands as Heeseung watches you with a soft smile, eyes scanning your features, taking you in. He lets his hand rest on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin there and his eyes flick up to meet yours. You feel like a teenager, a giddy smile gracing your lips, giggles tumbling out at the tickly feeling of lovestruck butterflies rumbling in your stomach. Heeseung beams, nuzzling into the touch of your hand as his eyes flutter shut.
“If we’re going to work out this time—I want us to work out, but we need to talk,” you say after a beat.
Heeseung’s brows raise like he can’t believe what you’re saying, his lips pushing into a pout. “We are going to work out, of course we’re going to work out.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a deep hoarseness that’s too sexy for the cute way he’s chewing on his lip, doe-eyed and sweet as his eyes scan your face.
“I know, baby, I want that.” You nod, using your hand to push his hair out of his face. It’s so long now it’s starting to cover his eyes, the soft blond strands curling into his eyelashes. “But you have to say no to me, you know? I want you to have a life of your own, we both should.”
“No.”
“No?” You press your eyes shut, sighing. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m starting now.”
“I’m serious, Hee, this is serious.”
He pouts for a second before nodding. “I’m serious too. I can say no to you, I will say no to you.”
You can’t help your scepticism, raising your brow at him as you inspect his face. There’s nothing about his expression that suggests he’s not being serious, nothing in those huge eyes seeming insincere. But you know Heeseung, you’ve been with Heeseung, and you know better than anyone, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant spending time with you, so you have to ask. “So from now on, if I text you when you’re in class or out with friends, and I tell you I want to see you, what are you going to do?”
Heeseung sighs. “I’m going to text back and say that I’m.. busy.” His lips curl into a frown. “My heart will be super heavy though.”
“But you’ll do it? You won’t see me until you’re free?”
“I’ll do it, I won’t leave or anything.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah, baby, I promise.” When you smile at him, Heeseung leans in to seal his promise with a kiss, his lips meeting yours softly.
You flinch when the door opens and Heeseung chuckles against your lips, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Over his head, you see Sunghoon standing in the doorway, hair dripping water on the floor with a towel wrapped around his hips.
Sunghoon sighs, loud and dramatic, his head falling back. “I specifically said no funny business,” he mutters. “Quit looking at me.” He comes into the room and lifts the duvet over your heads.
Under the covers, Heeseung pulls away, poking his head out and laughing. “We’re just kissing.”
“Yeah, with your shirt off. Why is your shirt off?”
“She wanted to wear—”
Sunghoon cuts him off with a gasp, pulling the duvet back. “Wait, why are you kissing?”
“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”
The word makes your cheeks burn and you hide your face in Heeseung’s chest. His lips find the top of your head, kissing you as he wraps his arms around you.
Sunghoon groans at the sight. “I haven’t missed this at all,” he says. “Who else knows?”
“Just you so far.”
You can hear Sunghoon grinning when he drops the duvet back over your heads and shuffles around the room, getting ready for skating. Heeseung calls you cute and holds you closer. “I’ve missed you so much, missed this,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you.”
Dating Heeseung again is better than anything you could have imagined, even if it has only been two weeks. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and even the simple things he does make you smile so hard your face aches. Like when he picks up snacks for you after class or sends you pictures of sweet things he wrote about you in his old diary. Chaewon and Yunjin comment that you seem happier, that you’re glowing, and you can’t help the giggles that always escape and the flush that burns your cheeks when you mention your boyfriend, Heeseung.
Even under the pressure of taking on a group project by yourself, you find yourself fighting a grin in the library just thinking about him. Your class finished an hour ago and you’re doing research in the computer lab while waiting for him so you can go back home together. With a crease in your brow, you try to make sense of conflicting articles on the origin of the Great Pyramid of Giza, happy when your phone lights up with a text.
hee: we should go on a date tonight !!! how does the fair sound?
you: sounds good :D
hee: ❤️
As if sensing that plans have been made without him, Sunghoon sends a message to the group chat asking who wants to go to the Spring Fair in the city centre tonight.
you: hee and i are alr going :/
sunghoon: awesome i can meet u at hee’s in a few hours?
You really can’t find the heart to tell Sunghoon it’s a date so you decide not to say anything, only feeling worse when Jay replies.
jay: sounds good :D
hee: it’s a date dumbass, you’re not invited.
sunghoon: ok.. i can still go
jake: time?
With your date set and whatever else the boys are planning in the group chat, you manage to finish up your work in time for Heeseung to show up with a grin on his face as you pack up your notebook. Excitement stirs in your stomach when he locks his fingers with yours and you’ve never looked forward to the sticky heat of a night in spring as much as you are right now.
“How was class?” you ask, squeezing his hand.
Heeseung grins at you, swinging your hands between your bodies as you weave through tables to leave the library. “Turns out I focus really well when you’re not sitting with me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip.
“I can sit with other people if it’ll help you focus.”
“No!” he whines, loud enough to draw side eyes from the students around you before the tips of his ears burn red and he pulls you out of the library at lightspeed.
When you reach his flat, Jay’s sitting on the couch grinning at something on his phone, so distracted he doesn’t even realise you’ve arrived until you sit down next to him. He’s got a lot to say about his mock trial and tells you everything, all while you’re cuddled up to Heeseung, with your head on his shoulder.
You blink and the sun’s gone down, Jay isn’t around anymore and Heeseung’s arms are around your waist, holding you close. “Hey,” he says when you stir. “The boys left already, you just looked so cute sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you.”
There’s a wet patch on his sweater where your mouth was that you try to wipe away. It doesn’t budge. And a burning flush attacks your cheeks and neck when Heeseung uses his thumb to wipe some of the drool by your mouth. “So cute.” He chuckles. “Should we get going?”
You spend the whole journey to the city centre with your hand in Heeseung’s, trying to fight the butterflies in your stomach every time he smiles at you. It’s weird. To have been with him for so long, yet still feel giddy when he looks at you. This is new though, you suppose, to live away from home and see him whenever you want. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder and you can’t help the grin on your face at the thought of spending infinite nights like this, with him.
The Spring Fair is alive with laughter and squeals of delight that you can hear from around the corner. Winking lights spill onto the pavement in rapid succession, somehow showing the whole spectrum at once. Heeseung is bursting with excitement, running down the street with you in tow, desperately trying to keep up with his stride and regulate your breathing. His eyes are huge when you reach the gates, scanning the area for the churros he’s been talking about for the entire walk and he gasps when he sees the stall, pulling you along with him. You have to weave through the crowd, dipping and dodging tired locals and excited tourists as you call out apologies to everyone Heeseung bumps into. The first night is always packed like this, so full it’s hard to believe the fair runs for six whole weeks.
You share a heart-shaped churro and pose for the photos he wants to take, your heart swelling with affection as you pretend to be embarrassed when he buys matching character headbands for you both. Two years ago, Heeseung would’ve told you that headbands aren’t a good use of your money and bought them anyway, but today, he spent fifteen minutes trying on and taking photos with each character before finding the perfect pair. You can’t help but grin as he puts the headband on for you, a sense of excitement blooming inside you, so great it’s overwhelming.
Heeseung buys a blue raspberry slushy in an obnoxiously large reusable cup with two straws, and as he clutches his head with each brain freeze, chuckles pour out of you, only increasing when he pouts.
At every opportunity, the two of you take selfies, and the grin on his face in each one warms your heart. He posts his favourite to his story, showing you all the compliments he’s getting in his DMs, all aimed at you. He seems so proud and excited to be with you, and butterflies go mad in your stomach as he reads some of them out to you, agreeing with and adding to the messages.
“You’re so beautiful, baby. I think I might delete the picture,” he says, frowning as the story replies pour in.
The look on his face makes you laugh, struggling to talk but trying anyway. “But I love it.”
Heeseung puts his phone away, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, using his free hand to tip your chin towards him. He grins when you say it back, tracing his thumb along your jaw. An odd stillness hits you, in the midst of vibrant chaos. Flashes of multi-coloured LEDs dance in orange and purple strobes over his face and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are pretty and wide, flicking from your eyes to your mouth a few times as a flame starts to burn in your stomach, low and scorching.
“I love you,” you repeat, tip-toeing to close the gap.
You kiss him, slow and sweet to savour the sugary taste on his lips as they move against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss and the taste of syrupy artificial fruit, leaving you craving more, craving him. A pop goes out in the air and you flinch in Heeseung’s arms. He chuckles against your lips before he pulls away, looking up. Trails of pink and gold paint the sky above, vibrant sparks spreading everywhere as a few more go off. If you weren’t so busy trying to catch your breath, you might appreciate their beauty, but you are and the next pop only startles you too.
Heeseung looks down at you, his slightly swollen lips curving into a grin. “How are you so cute?” he coos. “And don’t most people want fireworks to go off when they kiss someone?”
“It’s probably a sensation thing, Heeseung.” You know it’s a sensation thing. The first time he kissed you, it felt like you were floating on air, as if Sunghoon’s basement, cold and dark, was the most romantic place on Earth. You were sweaty and nervous, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Heeseung while the boys were sleeping. He was the one to lean in and he kissed the tip of your nose by accident.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Come here.” His voice is so deep and raspy that it spurs the flame on, burning higher, hotter, until it’s the only thing you can think about. His hand finds your jaw again, pulling you towards him to kiss you. Of course, you can’t resist; he’s Heeseung.
The kiss is rife with neediness, whether from you or Heeseung you can’t tell, but you’re tugging at his hair and he’s clutching at your t-shirt, both of you struggling to get enough of the other. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and a heady sigh falls from his mouth into yours, brewing a storm in your mind, a thick fog obscuring everything but thoughts of him.
At the sound of a forced throat clearing, you break away from Heeseung, seeing an elderly lady with a steaming cup in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face. She extends an arm, gesturing behind you. When you follow the direction of her hand, you see a bench that you’re standing right in front of. Heeseung grabs your hand, mumbling an apology and tugging you as far away as possible. You struggle to stifle a laugh at the redness of his ears against his hair.
A huge ride swings and spins into the air, catching your attention, though Heeseung seems to be more interested in the way Jake stands by the entrance with a scowl on his face. Jake waves you over when he sees you, grinning and hugging you both like it’s been years since he saw you.
“Jay and Hoon are..” he trails off, using his arm to vaguely gesture towards the sky.
“Man,” Heeseung whispers, pointing a reverent finger to the sky, “R.I.P.”
Countless fireworks shoot up noisily, painting the dark sky, and Heeseung’s arms fall heavily around your shoulders, his body warm against your back. If not for the way Jake’s flinching next to you, covering his ears with his hands and ducking slightly at the bang of each one, it might feel like the two of you are alone in the moment. Alone despite the chatter, the laughter and squeals. Just you and Heeseung.
And Jake.
Heeseung is amazing at fair games, especially the ring toss. But a tired-looking man in a business suit wins the Hello Kitty plush you’d been eyeing for the snotty toddler wrapped around his leg, so you settle for the Kuromi plush instead. Heeseung says it’s cuter. You agree.
His voice is soft when he asks, “Maybe we can go on the Ferris wheel later?” This is a far cry from the boy of sixteen who fainted at an amusement park just from seeing the drop on the biggest ride there. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide, boring into you, holding the stars in his pupils with a grin across his blue-stained lips, and how could you say no to that face?
The platform by the Ferris wheel is sticky under your shoes, making you cringe with every step you take towards the front of the line. Heeseung’s grip on your hand is tighter than you think it’s ever been when he realises that you’re next to get on. This might be the most scared you’ve ever seen him, your poor boyfriend with his overpriced Kuromi headband shivering beside you.
You frown at the sight, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We don’t have to do this, Hee,” you say.
He tries to play it cool, shrugging with a nonchalance that doesn’t match the fear in his eyes. “I want to,” he assures, though his voice lacks conviction.
“Are you sure?” The way he flinches when the ride operator opens the gate gives you his answer, but Heeseung is firm in his words as he pulls you towards the cart, despite wincing when the operator locks you in. “Baby,” you whisper, touching his cheek. “It’s not too late to get out.”
In what appears to be a display of his bravery, he makes a show of rocking the carriage — only to be told off by the operator (who can’t be older than sixteen) — and cheering (with no conviction) about nothing in particular. You can’t help but laugh, the cart shaking slightly as you let your head fall back and you only laugh harder when Heeseung gasps because of it.
He flinches again when the ride starts moving, an unsettling creak sending you forward just enough to allow the next victims — according to Heeseung — to get on the ride. When the last of them board, the wheel sets off in a slow spin and he spends the entire first rotation with his eyes clamped shut, only opening them after a while when he thinks the ride is over.
The wheel creaks more than what you think is necessary and he only grows more and more outwardly uncomfortable, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and gripping the safety bar above your laps until his knuckles turn white.
“Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?” you coo, holding your left hand out to him.
He rolls his eyes but takes your hand in his, holding it between his palms. Seemingly at ease, Heeseung shifts slightly in his seat to close the tiny gap between you, pressing his knee into yours.
Even in the distance, the fair’s LED lights are beautiful, melting away into flashing bokeh before your eyes as the carriage inches higher and higher. You almost forget your company, leaning over the edge to get a better look, only for Heeseung to put his arm on your arm, mumbling, “Stop it.”
His skin is warm despite the slight chill that comes with your increasing altitude, and you wish the carriage was smaller—cramped even, forcing the two of you together so tightly that you have no choice but to become one. You sit in the quiet of the night, excitement on the fairground growing quieter as the wheel spins, agonisingly slow, until eventually it’s just the two of you—you and Heeseung: the only people in the moment.
The only people in the world.
“Why are we even on this thing?” you whisper, squeezing his hand.
Heeseung shrugs his shoulders as gently as he can manage so as not to rock the carriage. His eyes are big when he looks at you, holding your gaze intently. “I wanted to be romantic.”
Oh, Heeseung, you think, pressing your lips into a frown. He’s the sweetest person in the world and just the thought of it makes your stomach flutter. “You’re plenty romantic,” you say sincerely.
He scoffs. “Yeah, because pretending you didn’t exist for a year is romantic.”
“Yes! Very!” You chuckle, nodding your head.
Again, he rolls his eyes at you but he uses his hand to hold your face, pulling you in. His kiss tastes like candy floss and the blue raspberry slushy you shared earlier, lips soft, relaxed against your own. Your hand reaches for his thigh, meeting instead with the squished plushy between your bodies and you can’t help but laugh.
With your presentation out of the way, you and the guys are all sitting in Heeseung and Jay’s living room for the first night of Spring break. You’ve just about reached your limit, cuddling into Heeseung’s side with your eyes closed, sleepily listening to the conversation. It’s unintelligible, more laughter and wheezes than anything else.
You shift your way into Heeseung’s lap after a while, moving around to get comfortable. It only takes two movements for him to grab you by the waist, holding you still. You try again, and his lips catch the shell of your ear. “Relax, baby. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” you admit, moving around again until he sighs, relieved, you think. A wicked grin spreads over your lips when you feel him getting hard, grinding down on him a little and liking the warmth that spreads in your stomach from having him pressed against you.
“Stop it,” he whispers, kissing the spot behind your ear.
You heed the warning but can’t help the thoughts filling your mind, though you try to ignore them, laughing at something Sunghoon said about Jake’s ugly hat and shoes. Jake doesn’t find it as funny as the rest of you seem to.
Another hour passes by in the same way before the boys stumble into Jay’s room, calling out a slurred goodnight to you and Heeseung on the couch. You stand up first, holding out a hand for him to take and giggling when he presses a kiss to the back of it.
In his room, he stares at a spot on the wall as you close the door, a contemplative look on his face. “Are you okay?” you ask, but he doesn’t look at you, only nodding his head with a crease along his brow.
You kiss him, a featherlight touch of your lips against his. It’s soft for a while, sweet and sincere until he clutches your shirt like his life depends on it. Heeseung’s hands are all over you, stroking and squeezing every part of you he can reach. Overwhelming heat burns your skin under his touch. He inhales sharply through his nose when you reach for his waistband, tugging the drawstring free but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. He keeps kissing you, keeps trying and frowns when you pull away.
“You don’t want this?”
He tilts his head, looking down at you with concern flooding his wide eyes. “Do you think we’re going too fast?” His voice is quiet and he chews on his lip after speaking.
“We’ve been together for six years.”
“A month,” he corrects, looking at his feet.
As badly as you want him, you don’t want him doing anything he’s not ready for, so you wiggle your arm free from his grip, dropping it at your side. He lifts his head to look at you, brows knitted together, the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“It’s not that.” He shakes his head with wide eyes. “I just don’t want us doing anything you’ll regret.”
“I’m not going to regret this, I don’t regret anything we’ve done, Heeseung,” you say, holding his face in your hands.
He closes his eyes, nodding.
“Do you want to stop?”
“Never,” he whispers and the word has you falling to your knees.
It’s hard to see his exact expression in only the dim glow of the streetlights outside, but you can clearly see the way he’s watching you. The way his eyes are lidded as he chews on his bottom lip, watching you reach for the buckle on his belt. Heeseung threads his fingers through your hair, groaning, and for a few seconds, you’re hypnotised. Too wrapped up in tipsiness and lust to move your fingers, completely focused on the way his breath starts to pick up before you’ve even done anything. You’re starting to think it might be enough for him just to see you like this, on your knees for him, wide-eyed and eager.
Whether on purpose or not, Heeseung tugs on your hair gently, pulling you from your trance. His blunt fingernails scratch at the back of your head as you undo his belt, tugging his jeans down. He steps out of them as soon as he can, smiling when you toss them behind you. Too worked up to wait, you push your face against him. You take a minute to hold his covered cock between your lips, shuddering at the feeling of the damp spot at the top of it. Heeseung grunts, bucking his hips. He looks like sin when you lock eyes with him, licking a strip to the top of his waistband, sucking and nipping at the skin and coarse hair there.
“Quit teasing,” he says, still keeping control of his voice.
You blink up at him sweetly, shaking your head. “I’m not,” you mumble, pulling his underwear down.
Heeseung’s dick smacks his stomach with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing, and you sit back on your heels to admire him. Maybe it’s from time, or your unbearable desire, but he looks bigger, thicker, and much prettier than you remember. When you finally drag your eyes from his dick, you notice a mark on his hip, right above where his thigh starts. It’s a smudge of something dark, inky almost. You furrow your brows, licking the pad of your thumb to try and get rid of it. He practically flinches when you touch it, moving away from you. The increased distance between you and the low lighting only further obscures it—when you rub at the mark it doesn’t budge.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing,” he says, sitting down on the bed and covering it with his hand.
If it was anyone other than Heeseung, you might have thought it was a tattoo, but you can’t make sense of the thought so it slips your mind as soon as it occurs. You reach for the lamp on his bedside table, flicking it on, losing your breath at the sight of his skin glowing golden in the light, and the tip of his cock is a tempting, glossy red. You can’t help but take him in your hand, stroking him slowly.
“Tell me, baby.”
“It’s a bruise,” he manages through a gasp, licking his lips.
Your thumb swipes over his slit and he crumbles. “Heeseung.”
“Butterfly, it’s a butterfly.”
A fuzzy warmth starts to bloom in your chest, overwhelming you. “Lay down,” you say, voice as soft as it’s ever been.
Heeseung obliges, linking his fingers with yours when you move his hand from his thigh. Under the light, you can see it clearly, dark strokes of ink forming a pretty butterfly, tiny, and heart-achingly familiar.
“Is it..” You trail off, moving your lips around words that you can’t get out as tears sting your eyes. “Did I draw this?” Leaning over him, you get as close as you can, using your finger to trace the shape.
Sitting up on his elbows, he looks down at you with a worried look on his face as he nods. “Do you hate it?”
“I love it.. it’s perfect.” You let go of his hand, using the back of your fingers to wipe at your eyes.
Heeseung sits up, letting his hand cup your cheek and looking at you. He uses his thumb to wipe some of the tears you missed before leaning down and kissing you. His lips move slowly with yours, he’s being gentle, so gentle that you hear your heart thudding in your ears.
“Come sit,” he mumbles against your mouth, helping you up and guiding you into his lap, a whine falling out of him when you sit on his cock and you mumble an apology that you don’t mean.
“When did.. Why did you..”
His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “My first birthday I spent without you. I just wanted to have something for you.”
You’ve seen it and you’ve heard it from him, but you still can’t make sense of it. “But you’re.. you’re Heeseung. You’d never get a tattoo, you told me that.”
“I’ll probably never get another tattoo, it hurt like hell,” he says, frowning.
“You’re such a sweetheart.” You cradle his face in your hands, gazing into his eyes, your sweet Heeseung. So different yet so incredibly similar. “You’re, like, obsessed with me.”
There’s a loud adoration in his eyes that makes your stomach turn. “How could I not be?” His smile is wide even though his lips are smushed a little by the way you’re holding his face.
Heeseung tilts his chin towards you so you kiss him, the two of you passing moans and whines between your mouths as you grind on him, his hands gripping your waist under your shirt. He shudders under you, rutting his hips against yours with a groan. He’s harder than ever underneath you, his cock hot between your thighs, pressed up against your core in the most maddening way. It can’t be comfortable for him, the friction from your underwear but he seems like he’s enjoying it just as much as you, maybe more, you think, when he starts throbbing.
Conscious of the boys across the hall, you try your best to be quiet, though Heeseung doesn’t share your concern, his lips parting too wide to keep kissing you and his head falling back as he lets a whine out into the air. His nails dig into your skin, hips speeding up more than you can keep up with as he trembles, clearly so close to the edge that you moan at the sight of him all fucked out in front of you. You chew on your lip, watching his whole face scrunch up before falling to your shoulder, his cum leaking out all over your panties and the tops of your thighs. A grin covers your lips while your pussy aches from the heat of his release and the feeling of his staggered breath hitting your skin. When he finally sits up, sweat slicks the column of his neck and chest, a nervous look in his eyes that he can’t quite bring to meet yours.
“This is j—” Heeseung cuts you off by covering your mouth with his palm.
“I remember. You don’t have to say it, baby, I remember.”
“You were so cute that day,” you say when he moves his hand. Butterflies fill your stomach when you think about it, the first time you ever did anything with each other, with anyone. He was fifteen, with cute round glasses perched on the end of his nose and teeth too big for his mouth, finishing in his jeans with you in his lap.
“You don’t think I’m cute anymore?” he asks, frowning.
“You’re always cute.”
Heeseung grins at your words, so wide and sweet your heart races. He kisses you gently and slips his hand into your underwear, his finger trailing the length of your pussy slowly, groaning into your mouth at how wet you are. You whine into the kiss when he strokes your clit and gasp when he pushes a finger into you easily. Gradually, he adds more fingers, fucking you open on his knuckles and watching as you fall apart.
His lips move from yours, falling to your neck so he can kiss and suck the sensitive skin there. “You feel so good, baby. My sweet girl,” he mumbles, breath searing your skin. The words make you clench, your stomach fluttering relentlessly as he uses his thumb to press on your clit, the pressure enough to make you spiral. It’s all too much too fast and before long, you’re squirming and mewling in Heeseung’s arms, finishing all over his fingers.
Immediately, an excruciating flush burns every inch of your body as you hide your face in his neck to catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and he whispers sweet nothings into your hair while stroking your back.
Ever since that night in his room, all your senses feel heightened when Heeseung is around.
And it doesn’t help that you spend every waking moment with him. Whether in his flat or yours, you’re joined at the hip and it’s near impossible not to pounce on him. In your stomach blooms a heat you haven’t felt in years. An all-consuming flame that makes you hold your breath when he cuddles you; makes you look away when he strips before showering.
He’s taken a liking to shirtlessness, only seeming to remember that the garments exist when he has to leave the house—which isn’t often now that classes have ended. This sudden cotton allergy plagues you, burning the image of his ever-increasing muscle definition and the tattoo on his hip into your memory, so deeply they’re the only things you see when you close your eyes at night.
Even when Heeseung’s being romantic, cooking dinner for the two of you and almost burning his finger with a match while lighting a candle, you’re thinking about him fucking you. When he goes out with the boys and stumbles into your flat, drunk, with a crushed bouquet in his hands, you’re thinking about what might have happened if you’d gone out too. If he’d finger you in the back of a taxi or take you against the door when you got back.
Weeks go by like this until you finally reach your limit.
There’s nothing overtly sexual about the way Heeseung’s sitting. About the way his lashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks, or the way his hair sits in a sleepy mess on his forehead. But it’s Heeseung. So these things existing on him drive you crazy.
Given the lack of privacy in your family homes — by way of an open-door rule when visiting each other — you and Heeseung didn’t have many opportunities to have sex that didn’t involve being tangled around one another in the backseat of his car. And even those occasions were few and far between.
With the only three brain cells that seem to function around your shirtless boyfriend and your head on the doorjamb, you begin to scheme. It doesn’t have to be elaborate—just a way to get Heeseung to fuck you without you having to bring it up.
“What’s up, baby?” he asks, finally looking over at you. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, with a raspiness to it that makes your thoughts run wild. From head to toe, his eyes drag over your body, his tongue coming out to run over his lips.
Clearly, a very delicate, well-timed conversation is in order and the gears in your mind scrape against each other, turning egregiously as you try to figure out how to start the conversation. “I want you to fuck me,” you blurt out. Not the most delicate approach, but the way Heeseung’s eyes widen suggests you might be on the right track. “I didn’t mean to say that,” you admit sheepishly.
He chuckles deeply in a way you haven’t heard in years. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a challenge in his question, evident from his raised brow, the setting aside of his phone, and the way he sits up straight. The movement forces the duvet to slip a little, falling from above his belly button to his hips in one fell — effortlessly sexy — swoop.
In spite of this, you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. How could you be standing there, in nothing but his t-shirt, asking him to fuck you and he’s caught up on semantics? “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?” When you don’t say anything, Heeseung lifts the duvet from his body entirely, grinning when your gaze locks on his hips. His pyjama pants are sitting low enough to show off the waistband of his underwear, and they don’t do anything to hide the way his hard cock pushes against them.
Heeseung towers over you, overwhelming you and the space of the doorframe as his mouth quirks up at one corner. “You want it, baby?” he asks, his voice soft as he cups your face in his hand, using his thumb to trace your lips.
His face dips down to yours and you can’t resist reaching up to kiss him, whining at the contact as you move your lips in sync with his. The sounds he’s making are dizzying, deep groans you feel in your chest. His hand grips your waist, pulling you as close as possible so you can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against you.
You whimper when he pulls away, chasing his kiss, but Heeseung only chuckles. “Say the word and I’m yours,” he whispers, looking down at you with those big eyes.
“I’m not going to beg.”
He smiles sweetly, a soft curve of his lips summoning butterflies. “Suit yourself,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck and leaving the room.
Flustered, you follow him, flinging your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his back. “Okay, I’m going to beg.”
“I’m listening.”
“I need you,” you mumble into his skin.
“You have me.”
Even though his words and the way his lips audibly split into a grin make your heart race, you can’t help your frustration. “Heeseung,” you say, pleading with him.
He frees himself from your grip, turning around. When you look up at him, he’s watching you closely through lidded eyes, his lips parted in a soft pout that makes your heart melt. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close enough to feel him pressing against you. “I’m all yours, baby. What’s up?”
“Why are you torturing me?”
This makes him smile as he shakes his head. “I’m not.”
“Please.”
He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm. “Please what?”
“You know what I need and I can’t go any longer without it,” you mumble into his hand. Heeseung only raises a brow and you sigh. Somehow, your want for him is greater than your embarrassment so you sigh, looking him in the eye. “If you want to, please, please, fuck me, Heeseung. Any way you want, baby, just promise me you’ll do it. I need it, need you.”
A shit-eating grin takes over his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asks, frowning when you don’t reply. “Don’t get all moody, baby, talk to me.”
Heeseung picks you up, holding you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. Both of his hands are spread over your ass and you’re too embarrassed to say anything, chewing your lip and staring at the little mole on his forehead.
“Need me to fuck you ‘til you can talk again?” There’s a roughness to his voice that makes your cheeks flush, but you can’t help but laugh, head falling back in a fit of cackles.
“What are you talking about?”
His pretty lips come together in a pout before he speaks. “I don’t know.” He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning red as he carries you to his room, using his foot to close the door behind him. “I’m rusty.”
You shake your head before kissing his forehead. “You’re perfect.”
Heeseung sets you down on the bed gently, crawling over you. “I like seeing you in my shirts,” he says, clutching the fabric in his fists, tugging a little.
“Someone has to wear them.”
A breathy laugh falls from his lips. “What?” He tilts his head, leaning away from you to sit back on his heels. “You don’t like seeing me like this?”
It’s hard to find a balance between missing his warmth and looking at his body. Staring at the definition that marks his chest and stomach and the way his muscles stick out over his biceps, you can feel yourself leaking at the sight of him. Your eyes catch on his waistband, on the strip of hair that’s cut off by the start of the fabric before falling to the bulge in his pants.
“You’re looking at me like I’m your next meal,” he mumbles, leaning back over you with a deep flush on his cheeks and neck.
“I think I want you to be.”
“You think?”
You nod eagerly, anticipation swirling in your stomach.
“Anything I can do to make you certain?” Heeseung’s voice is thick with something you think could be enough to make you finish.
“Whatever you want,” you say, desperate.
He chews on his lip, considering you for a while before kissing your cheek. Once more, he sits up, tugging at your waist. “First, I want this shirt out of my way,” he says with a smile.
Immediately, you lean off the bed to let him take it off, tossing it behind him. “Anything else?”
Heeseung’s too busy staring to speak, taking you in hungrily with a jarring combination of lust and adoration behind his eyes. You thought you’d feel shy about him seeing you after so long, but you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life as he reaches down to lock his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “You’re so pretty,” he says against your skin.
There’s no stopping the flutter in your stomach or the smile that spreads over your lips. You tell him you love him and he says it back as he leans back down to kiss you slowly, his tongue licking into your mouth at an agonising pace, a line of saliva connecting you to him when he pulls away.
“I want to get my head between your legs,” he mumbles, letting his hand dip between your spread thighs. “So wet already?” he asks, dragging your slick up to your clit, rubbing it with a featherlight touch that leaves a whine slipping from your lips. “Will you let me?”
You nod.
Heeseung smiles and you match it before he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there for a minute. His breath and wet mouth are hot, burning a trail down to your collarbone and chest, where he gets distracted, pulling one of your nipples between his lips.
Your stomach twists at the sight of him, his pretty, pouty lips sucking and biting at your sensitive skin, the way he’s moaning against you, using his thick fingers to tug and pinch your other breast. It takes him a while to move on but you don’t complain, even when he presses tickly kisses to your stomach.
When he reaches your legs, he gets off the bed, kneels on the floor and hooks his arms around your thighs to pull you towards him. You feel exposed when he uses his thumbs to spread you, staring at your pussy with wide eyes, his lips parted a little until his head falls back with a groan.
“Missed this pussy. Been thinking about it so much, all the time. So beautiful, baby.” He manages to drag his gaze from between your legs to lock eyes with you. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” His lips touch your thighs, kissing the soft skin there, sucking marks into it and biting softly. The sting is subtle but it makes you clench, a movement that isn’t lost on him. “You’re so needy, huh? You want me that bad?” he asks, looking up with a tilted head.
You mumble the word ‘no’ and shake your head. “Need you.” The words come out of their own accord, nothing more than a desperate whine that makes Heeseung press his eyes shut. You watch as he shifts on the floor, leaning in and giving you the attention you deserve.
Heeseung’s nose grazes your slit and you gasp at the sudden contact, flinging your head back into the pillows when he licks a strip from there to your clit, giving it a quick peck.
You card your fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, going slow despite the way you’re trying to rut against his face. He kisses the spot above your clit, his tongue poking out to lick at the skin there, only hitting the bud a few times and the anticipation is enough to make you spiral.
Time stands still, all concept of it demolished when, finally, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit, running his tongue over it with a pressure that leaves you shaking against the sheets. Moans pour out of you like water from a faucet with nothing but pleasure and Heeseung’s sweet mouth crossing your mind.
It doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to stop, only coming up for air for a brief moment before sticking a finger into you and attaching his mouth to your clit, burying himself in your wetness. The stretch is minimal, barely registering in the waves of pleasure crashing over you, until he adds a second finger, thick and rigid as he works you open for him. By the time his third finger enters, you have to pull him away by his hair, struggling to find the words to say and settling on a whiny cry of his name.
“Hmm?” He looks up at you, face covered in slick that shines on his chin and nose, shoulders rising and falling heavily, but his fingers don’t let up, curling towards your belly button torturously slow.
“Want to cum with you inside.”
Heeseung’s eyes darken and he licks his lips. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh, and I don’t want you using a condom either, want you to fill me up.”
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m still on the pill and you’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”
Heeseung wastes no time standing up from the floor, watching hungrily as you sigh at the emptiness, moving up on the bed. He uses his fist to pump his cock slowly, sighing when he drags his thumb over his tip. A beat passes before he grins, boyish and handsome while crawling over you again. His face softens and his eyes burn into yours as he cups your cheek in his palm. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure, Heeseung, you’re all I want,” you whisper, pecking his lips.
“Me too.”
He uses his free hand to reach for his cock, rubbing his tip over your clit and chewing on his lip. He lets his cock split your folds, grinding his length against you, rubbing your cunt with a wet sound that fills the room. Heeseung straightens up and you moan when he spits into his palm, stroking himself before pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. You hold your breath, bracing for the stretch and crying out when he pushes in. His head falls forward with a sigh, his hair tickling your forehead.
“I missed you,” he groans when he bottoms out, his thumb running over your lips. A moan slips out of him when you open your mouth, running your thumb over the pad of his finger and sucking on it. “Missed these pretty lips, this pussy. Don’t know how I got on without it.” His words and the feeling of him inside after so long only make you dizzy, knowing that he wanted you like you wanted him. He watches you with parted lips, rocking his hips tenderly against yours.
“Faster, Hee,” you whisper. “Harder.”
Heeseung’s brows knit together and he slows to a pace that lets you feel single vein and inch of him as he bottoms out before pulling almost all the way out. “Can you take it?” he asks, a jarring tone to his voice that you think is a challenge.
You nod desperately. “Please.”
The word flips a switch for him and he speeds up, thrusting so hard, so deep that your back arches off the bed as his tip nudges your g-spot each time. Just when it all starts to feel too much, Heeseung lifts one of your legs, hitting deeper than he has before and tangling up a knot in your stomach.
“You’re so good, baby, so good for me.” His eyes are dark and lidded, full of all the love in the world as he gazes into yours, a tangible love that overwhelms you, eating you alive along with his praise.
Sweltering heat stretches through every part of your body at the drag of him inside, the push and pull of his cock along your stuttering walls. It’s enough to make you shiver and a cry of his name rips out of you when he starts rubbing your clit again, pushing the bud in slow circles that make you screw your eyes shut.
“That’s it. Cum for me, baby, make a mess,” he whispers and that’s as much as you can take.
Stars flash behind your closed eyes as every single part of your body sets alight, dazed by Heeseung’s whines and the feeling of being full, finally being full, until both ends of the knot tug and tug, leaving you with nothing but a hoarse moan that dies in your throat as your orgasm hits you like a truck.
A lewd squelch accompanies each of his thrusts as they get sloppier and sloppier, losing their rhythm and intensity. It seems like he’s right there with you though when he collapses on top of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck and his moans slipping out like music to your ears.
It’s hard not to fall apart under him, but you try your best, dragging your nails over the toned muscles of his back while telling him you love him over and over until he finishes. Both of you are trembling, fighting for breath and whining as Heeseung sloppily fucks you full of his cum. The sound is downright pornographic, loud and wet as your cum mixes with his for the first time in so long. An inexplicable intimacy so thick it hangs in the air, perching on your shoulders as he looks into your eyes.
Heeseung slows down after a while, stopping completely but not pulling out yet, keeping you full and aching around him. When he catches his breath, he gives you a dreamy smile, thanking you before pressing soft kisses to every part of your face he can reach.
You whine when he pulls out, missing him as soon as he’s gone. Despite your sensitivity, you want to beg him to come back, to slip back into you and stay forever, though Heeseung has other plans. He sits between your legs, dragging a lazy finger up your slit and watching with a smile as cum leaks out. You squirm against the sheets, pushing your head into the pillow when he uses two fingers to push it back in.
“Wish I could keep you full like this forever,” he mumbles absently, curling his fingers.
All you can do is sigh happily. Long minutes go by until he takes his fingers out of you, reaching behind him for his shirt to wipe you up before leaning down to your face, mumbling against your lips to come and shower with him.
You’ve never showered with Heeseung before and a voice in your head tells you to press your cheek against the tile and let him have you again, but you’re way too sleepy for that. The warmth of the water and his big hands roaming your body do nothing to help, only forcing your eyes to fall shut as you lean back against Heeseung’s chest, willing yourself to stay awake.
Once you’re all showered and clean, you only feel sleepier, standing on the plush bath mat in front of the steamed-up mirror. Droplets of water trickle down your skin and you can’t help but revel in the warmth of the room around you. Wrapped snugly in a soft, fluffy towel, you find yourself too tired to follow Heeseung out, slathering some of the expensive moisturiser Jay keeps in the bathroom over your skin. You peer into the mirror, though you don’t see much, and for a moment, it’s just you and the steady trickle of water from the showerhead. The bathroom smells like Heeseung’s minty shower gel and you miss him already, but you take your time anyway, savouring the moment and everything that came before it.
You find him in his room when you’re done, tucking the last corner of a fitted sheet around his mattress.
“You want to nap, baby?” he asks when he sees you, holding out a clean shirt for you to wear.
“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head and dropping the towel so he can put the shirt over your head.
“Let me just fix the pillowcases, yeah?”
You nod, slumping into his desk chair and watching the muscles in his back shift and flex as he moves around the room, dumping the dirty bedding into his laundry basket and slipping the clean linen over his pillows. He pulls the duvet back and pats the mattress, grinning when you shake your head and make grabby hands in his direction,
Heeseung stretches his arms above his head and comes over to you but you stop him before he can pick you up.
“I’m going grocery shopping with Yunjin later and I need a pound for the trolley, do you have any?” you ask through a yawn.
He scratches his chin, thinking about it. “If I do, they’re in my wallet,” he says, reaching for it on the desk and handing it to you before taking a seat on the end of his bed.
When you pull on the zipper to open the coin slot, you find a shiny pound coin and a folded piece of lined paper. You leave the coin where it is and hold the paper between two fingers for him to see. “What’s this?”
Immediately, he hides his face with his hands but you can still see the flush on his ears. You’re not sure what reaction you were expecting, but despite your curiosity, you won’t look at it if he doesn’t want you to. “Sorry, baby,” you say, putting it back. “Forget I asked.”
Heeseung sighs, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers. “You can look if you want, it’s nothing bad, just mildly humiliating.”
Nervous anticipation settles over your body and you can’t help but laugh a little, feeling your breath catch in your throat when you unfold the crumpled and creased paper. It’s blank. You arch a curious brow at Heeseung, who, though still slightly embarrassed, gestures for you to turn it over.
What meets your eyes on the other side leaves you stunned. There, inked in blue with delicate care yet bearing the natural imperfections of a hand-drawn butterfly, was a familiar image. It’s the very same butterfly you drew in your notebook on a spring date with him four years ago. Your fingers tremble as you trace the lines, your heart racing as you remember how he’d torn it from the page, eyes full of appreciation for the simple drawing.
Tears well up in your eyes when it dawns on you. It’s the very same butterfly he has tattooed on his hip, a permanent reminder of your love that endured separation and time.
Your voice is weak as you look up at him, quivering with emotion. “You kept it after all these years,” you whisper.
Heeseung smiles, his eyes full of love. “I never let go of what matters to me.”
© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !
permanent taglist: @asahicore
#heeseung smut#enhypen smut#enha smut#enhypen scenarios#heeseung scenarios#heeseung x reader#lee heeseung smut#lee heeseung#lee heeseung x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen oneshots#heeseung oneshots#heeseung imagines#enhypen hard hours#fic.heeseung
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Ace awareness “how to be a better ally” advice of the week: “Aces are part of the queer community” only means as much as you *act* like it.
Recently the thing I notice the most is people talking about a queer adaption/reading in contrast to an ace/aroace one—it betrays the belief that only the romantic/sexual aspects would make it REALLY queer, so an ace one wouldn’t count. I had this post in draft form for half a day and *five minutes ago* saw yet another instance of this.
I feel for stories specifically this language stems from the weird way ‘representation’ and ‘shipping’ get tangled up. (See: use of ‘queerbaiting’ for canonically queer characters that people want in a ship) It doesn’t make it any less alienating.
Ace stories and aro stories are queer stories. They’re worth telling and worth hearing and don’t need to be ‘upgraded’ to ‘actually queer.’ We don’t have to justify our place in the community with whatever element of attraction.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬
summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.
word count: 7.1k
author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!
This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.
Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.
You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.
It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.
The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.
Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.
Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.
Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.
He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.
And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.
“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.
“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”
“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”
You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.
“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.
He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.
You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.
You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.
Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.
“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.
“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.
When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.
His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.
The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.
Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y
ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.
He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.
“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”
Aaron stops for a moment.
“You should know better than to profile me.”
“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“
“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”
Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.
-
You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.
All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.
Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.
It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.
Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.
You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.
It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.
You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.
In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.
And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.
Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.
Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.
You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.
He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.
You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.
Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.
Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.
The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”
“It’s not coffee, remember-”
“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”
You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.
When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.
Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.
When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.
He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.
In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.
“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”
“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”
“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”
The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.
Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.
“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.
“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”
You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.
“I-I’m sorry, I-”
“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.
“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”
“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.
“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”
At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.
You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.
You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.
Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.
You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.
“Hotch?”
“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.
“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.
“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”
You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.
When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.
“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.
You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.
In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.
“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.
“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.
“What?”
“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”
The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.
“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”
“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.
“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”
You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.
It seems like those memories were a million years ago.
When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.
Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.
“How long have I been out?”
“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”
“Is there water?”
“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.
“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.
“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”
“Why don’t you? Go home?”
“I didn’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.
“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”
“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”
“I just think-”
“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.
“No.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”
“Don’t think like-”
“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”
You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.
“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.
“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”
“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer.
“I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.
The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.
How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.
You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.
“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”
“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.
“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”
“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.
When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.
At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.
When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.
“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.
In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.
“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”
“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!”
“You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”
“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.
“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”
“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”
“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”
“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”
“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”
“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”
Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.
“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.
“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.
and voila <3
#spent my sunday writing this while rewatching season 3#putting off prep for my grad school interview b/c this is so much better <3#hope everyone likes it#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotcher imagine#hotch#hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Officially announcing my new series: Careful.
A limited multi-chapter series with Spencer Reid and Fem Reader, featuring angst, smut, and the trope of exes to lovers where Spencer finds out that he is a father four years after you have given birth to his child.
'When you and Spencer broke up, he tried to forget about you. He pushed all of those feelings for you down - until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being hunted by a man who kills single mothers.'
The series will be approximately 40k long in total (spread across six chapters) and will be posted every Friday, starting on March 8th, 2024, and continuing until ending on April 12th, 2024.
THE FIRST CHAPTER IS NOW POSTED!!!
(I am making a posting schedule, and I am gonna try really, really hard to stick to it this time guys.)
The series is already finished in my drafts - it just needs to be edited before posting. However, comments and encouragement are highly appreciated and welcomed throughout this process. The fic will not have a taglist (taglists are not something I do) - if you enjoy the concept or the preview below and you want to know when future chapters are coming out, then you will simply have to follow me here and turn on notifications for this blog, or you can find me on AO3 and subscribe to me there to get emails when this series and it's future chapters are posted.
Below is a short preview of the fic - so if you want to get a better sense of what the fic is about, click through and read it, and hopefully, you will enjoy.
Preview Word Count: 1,800
Warnings: typical Criminal Minds episode warnings; mentions of murder/killing; the reader character is being targeted by a killer and doesn't know it yet; the reader has a young child (a four year old son); the reader is a cis woman who uses she/her pronouns and a has a vagina; emotional angst between Spencer and the reader; the reader and Spencer had a romantic relationship around season 1/season 2 and this is meant to take place around season 6(ish) but you can picture any later version of Spencer you want; the reason that the reader and Spencer broke up is purposefully vague here but it will be fully revealed in the full story; the reader purposefully kept the pregnancy/Spencer's child away from him; Spencer didn't know he had a child out there in the world; there is some smut in this - unprotected penetration (a flashback to how the baby got here); possibly something that could be labelled as a breeding kink; making love/intense passionate sex; I believe that's in for this short part.
...
The team found themselves buried in paper, looking through the preschool applications for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.
“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.
“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the home until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”
“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”
“Plus, most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”
The conversation was easily drowned out for Spencer when he saw it.
It should have been just another page among the sea in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut that brought back a flood of memories he thought that he had locked away forever.
It was you.
What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?
Spencer rushed to tear this paper out from the others in the stack in order to read it more carefully.
You had a son.
…
When you answered the knock on your door, you were entirely lost for words, your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him.
The last thing you were expecting was to find Spencer Reid on your doorstep.
Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion.
Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief.
Shock.
You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here?
“Y/N,”
He said your name in that honey-sweet way, and it brought you rocketing back to that awful night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over.
This brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions.
Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. Regret.
Like your brain was a spin-wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage.
And that was when you finally spoke.
“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom - immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and dropped out to fear. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say.
You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch, and you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
You screeched, your emotions carrying your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was emotion that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time.
“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You added on with a howl. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?”
You gave him another hard shove - perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, you weren’t even sure.
“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat.
“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out.
“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”
You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless.
He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception.
…
You hadn’t taken the news that you were potentially being hunted by a serial killer very well.
Although, strangely enough, that wasn’t even close to being the hot topic when JJ and Spencer got back in the car, watching you pull out of your driveway to attend to something you said was entirely urgent.
“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips.
“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply.
…
Eventually - you did sit down and talk things out with Spencer, calmly.
He had a lot of questions, and you tried your best to answer them.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” Spencer asked when it came to the forefront of his mind.
“Sure,” You sighed. “I think we have a few more minutes before you have to go.”
“When did you find out that you were pregnant?” He asked. “Was it - was it before? Or after?”
“After.” You told him. “It - it was about two weeks after. When I took one of those at home tests. And I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to see you again. So just - then and there, I decided that I was gonna raise the kid alone.”
“So - so do you know when-?” Spencer began, and you cut him off.
You already knew what he was going to say.
‘Do you know when he was conceived?’
“No.” You rushed to say.
But it was a lie. You knew.
You felt like you couldn’t tell him the truth about this. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do right now, with Spencer Reid sitting at your kitchen table, staring at you with his big, inquisitive, glossy eyes, licking his lips, with his firm jaw set tight in contemplation - you couldn’t afford to go reminiscing with him about the night your son had been conceived.
You had spent a lot of time during your pregnancy thinking. Doing the math. Trying to remember.
And you knew exactly when.
The night was so vivid in your mind.
…
He captured your lips in a smooth, knowing, passionate kiss - you didn’t hesitate to moan into his mouth, and Spencer echoed it right back. He had missed you so much during the day; even though he had seen you less than forty-eight hours before this, he felt decades of yearning in his heart.
When he felt the bare head of his cock bump up against your entrance, smearing your wetness over him, he moaned even harder against your mouth. He pulled away from the kiss with a huff, moving his hand to your hip then as he asked a very important question.
“Do you have a condom?”
It broached the front of his mind, then, that he hadn’t brought one with him.
“You don’t need one.” You breathed out in reply, combing your hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made his hips unconsciously buck forward.
When he felt more of that warm wetness smear across him, his cock just barely dipping into your heat - he didn’t entirely care to decipher the meaning behind your words. He simply trusted you.
“Please, Spencer.” You begged quietly. “I need you. Just you.”
(Later, when he was looking back on it, he would have guessed that you meant you were taking your oral birth control consistently. But looking back on it now - it was the only time within those last months of your relationship that the two of you didn’t use a condom. You were urging him on, and maybe, at the time - a baby truly was what you had in mind.)
He wasn’t one to deny you anyway. And he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself of this.
He reached down and used a hand around the base of his cock to help line himself up, and gently guided the length of his cock into you.
This was always his favorite part.
The gasp - the lilting moan you let out when his cock first slid into you, the way your thighs flexed around his hips - it was all so perfect. But it was even more perfect without the barrier of a condom in the way.
It was perfect. It was so easy; it all came so naturally between the two of you. It was a perfect rhythm between your bodies that came from knowing each other so well, feeling so at ease with each other.
It wasn’t just out of the visceral need to have him inside of you; it was the pure yearning to feel close to him, to have him as physically close as possible.
With you, so tight and beautiful around him - he didn’t last. He couldn’t.
“Y/N.” He warbled out your name, almost as a warning.
“It’s okay.” You breathed back. “Cum for me. Come on, please.”
Spencer couldn’t resist - not when you said ‘please’.
The sound that came from his chest could only be described as a cry, and any fleeting thought he might have had about pulling out left his brain in a millisecond when he felt your tightness fluttering around him, his hips unconsciously fucking deep into you, his body loving the feeling of being held tightly there while your cunt milked him for all he was worth.
He certainly didn’t miss the sweet moans you let out - the bright eyed awe you started up at him with as you felt his cum fill you up for the first time.
…
It was one of the last good memories you had with Spencer - one of the most perfect pictures you had of who he truly was before he came home from Georgia such a different person, and you had no clue why.
Spencer could instantly see the lie in your body language - how closed off you became, how quickly you rushed to cut off his words. Along with the intense heat reflected in your eyes. You were thinking about that night.
He thought he knew exactly which night you were thinking about, and he was going to call you out on it, make you admit in your own words how perfect that night was, even if the two of you were ruined now, a shadow of what you once were.
But he was disrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.
#sundrop writes#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#dad!spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you
862 notes
·
View notes
Text
No baby here
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Girlfriend!reader
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy
Summary: because of a mistake, Charles believes that you’re pregnant.
Next Part
Yourusername Instagram stories
She had told me she was going out with her sister, and when I asked where they were going, she wouldn't tell me exactly, just said they were having a girls' afternoon.
But when I saw that photo, I couldn't believe it.
At first, I was shocked that she posted it online before telling me, but then I started celebrating and was so excited that nothing could bring me down that day.
I bought all the things she likes to eat and also went to a baby clothing store to get some things.
I got home, and she wasn't there, so I figured she was in the shower, giving me time to organize the food on the counter and put the gifts in the box.
"Hi, love," I heard her say as she hugged me from behind. "Wow, what's the occasion?”
"None, I just wanted to surprise you," I turned to her, and she smiled, giving me a kiss.
"You're so sweet, you know that?" She gave me another peck and turned around as I put my hand on her belly, luckily unnoticed. "And what's in this little box?"
"It's a gift." She took it and gave it a shake.
"Can I open it?"
"Yeah." She smiled and opened the box.
"I don't get it," she said. "Are you pregnant?"
"What? No, you are."
"What?" She asked, turning around alarmed. "What are you talking about?"
"What do you mean, what am I talking about? I would have preferred you told me before posting it online, but..."
"Wait a minute." She interrupted me. "Told you what?"
"That you're pregnant."
"But I'm not pregnant."
"Then whose ultrasounds are those you posted on your stories?" Immediately, she widened her eyes and grabbed her phone, realizing there were thousands of messages on Instagram congratulating us, and various gossip profiles spreading the news.
“Oh my god.”
"What happened?"
"I didn't tell you where I was going today because I was accompanying my sister to her appointment because she's pregnant with Michael, and instead of sending the photos to my mom, I posted them." She said, embarrassed. "Oh God, I'm so stupid."
"Hey, it's okay." I tried to ease the situation.
"I'm so sorry, love." She said, and I hugged her.
"It's okay."
"Now I understand why you were so excited, and there are the baby clothes too." She said with a choked voice, and I wiped the tears from her eyes. "You were so sweet to prepare everything, and I disappointed you."
"Hey, you didn't disappoint me." I held her face. "It's not our baby, but it's a good thing. Let's be happy for your sister, and when our time comes, I'll be just as excited as I was today."
"Promise you're not upset?"
"I promise." She agreed, and I gave her a quick kiss. "Now let's eat because later we need to clarify things for everyone online and also give these clothes as a gift to your sister."
Bonus scene!
Yourusername instagram post
Liked by @charlesleclerc, @f1gossip, @yoursister and others 19370
Yourusername Hello guys, I posted some ultrasound photos on my stories a few hours ago, and I just wanted to say they're not mine.
Charlie and I aren't having a baby yet; the photos were of my sister, and I accidentally posted them instead of sending them to my mom.
Thank you all for the kind messages, and I apologize for the confusion.
Ps: my “baby bump” it’s actually a Burguer bump.
#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 x you#f1#f1 instagram au#charles leclerc#charles leclerc f1#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc au#charles leclerc lockscreens#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc wallpaper#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc icons#charles lecrelc#charles leclerc x oc#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc series
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Captain Save a Hoe - Tsu'tey x Avatar!Reader
i know, i know, the title...
summary: grumpy tsu’tey having to take care of a clumsy avatar!reader, and eventually warming up to her // tsu'tey being a captain-save-a-hoe for 1.7k words straight
wc: 1.7k
a/n: basically, i didn't know where to go with this, so i'm posting it like a blurb bc you guys told me to. there won't be a continuation to this, i just love grumpy tsu'tey, he's so hot
masterlist
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Watch your feet,” Tsu’tey throws an angry glance at you, as you stumble through the thick bushes, trying to catch up to him.
Tsu’tey didn’t like dreamwalkers, hell, he almost killed one a few years back, if he hadn’t been stopped. But Tsu’tey especially didn’t like the ones that were awkward and weak in their disguised bodies, asking stupid questions, and constantly getting themselves into trouble. So of course, he was angry when Jake ordered him to keep an eye on you.
“Tsu’tey,” you breathe out, “Please wait for me.”
Despite the strength that your new body possesses, you struggle to keep up with Tsu’tey, feeling like a helpless child in comparison. He walks fast, treating this like another mission that he desperately wants to get over with. Tsu’tey doesn’t really care that Jake welcomed you into the clan for the help you offered. Or that the maps you've made could save the Omaticaya from future attacks by the sky people. What are a few more attacks on him? Tsu’tey relished in destroying the massive flying ships, he could go against them without your help any day.
From the moment you embarked on your journey to the science facility to retrieve some of your equipment, it seemed like Tsu’tey’s luck had run out. As if for some reason Eywa had cursed him, making his journey with you longer and tiresome.
At first, he resented the idea of sharing his direhorse with you, since you hadn’t learned how to ride one yet. He also hated how you would cling to his middle, whenever he sped up, and restricted his movements. If only you had kept quiet, he could have tolerated you more, but instead, you occasionally tried to pry into his past.
“So, why don’t you have a mate?”
“She was killed by one of your demons.”
“Oh.”
Two hours in, Tsu’tey decided to stop by the river to give his horse a short break. As you crouched down by the water, examining the way it bubbled, Tsu’tey observed you in silence. He thought you were strange-looking, but not like Jake. To him, Jake was ugly. You had something intriguing about your appearance. Pretty, although Tsu’tey had a hard time getting used to it. But the compliment he wanted to grant you was immediately pushed to the back of his mind when he heard your frightened scream. You noticed an arachnoid crawling up your thigh and shrieked out of fear, violently shaking your leg to get it off. Spooked by your sudden outburst, the horse loudly neighed and fled through the air. Tsu’tey quickly jumped to his feet, but when he saw the reason for your shrieks, he felt his blood boil. In your defense, you had heard stories of poisonous arachnids of Pandora and you weren’t taking any chances.
So here you are, trudging along behind, with ears pressed flat against your skull. Tsu’tey had scolded you, blaming your weak spirit for the consequences. Since you were too far from the Hometree, and the horse was long gone, you had to continue the rest of the journey on foot. Which meant more hours spent with you.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional rustling of leaves. What Tsu’tey did not expect was for you to be so slow. He almost gave up on the plan, contemplating going back to the village and fetching another horse. He even entertained the thought of taming a palulukan in case of an attack. In the worst case, he'd end up dead and wouldn’t be forced to care for you for another minute.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
As the day wears on, and the sun starts to set, casting a warm orange glow on the surroundings, you decide to voice your concern.
“Do you think we’ll make it to the facility by night?”
Tsu’tey throws a glance at you over his shoulder, letting out a bitter chuckle. You grimace at his reaction.
“Got it,” you bite your lip.
He comes to a stop, and begins scanning the area around him. You wait for further clarification but he ignores you completely, then starts gathering twigs into a small cone.
“We will camp for the night,” he finally says, gesturing at you, “Gather some more, and stay here. I will be back soon.”
You discover that ‘soon’ meant different things to you and Tsu’tey. While you assumed he would be out hunting, the chilly air made you decide to start the fire and keep an eye on it, so it doesn’t die out. You hadn’t realized how tired you were, the warmth radiating from the small fire was making your eyelids droopy. You tried to resist sleep to prove to Tsu’tey that you were capable, but you couldn't hold out much longer, nestling on the ground.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Tsu’tey nudges you awake with a gentle touch, and you catch a whiff of a delicious aroma. As you open your eyes, you see him crouching in front of you, holding a piece of meat wrapped in leaves. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you eagerly take it from his hands and devour it. Tsu’tey can't help but chuckle, as he watches the satisfied grin spread across your face.
“Slow down,” he says softly, motioning for you to take a seat next to him, closer to the fire.
You watch him roast a smaller piece of meat and put it in his mouth. Instead of savoring the taste, Tsu’tey chews on it while continuing cutting up more pieces. You feel a little guilty that he prepares food for the both of you but doesn’t take a moment to enjoy it.
“Can I help?” you ask, moving closer to him.
He doesn’t answer, instead pointing to the knife on your belt. When you take it out, Tsu’tey pierces a piece of meat on the sharp tip, and motions for you to hold it over the fire. You follow his orders, watching the meat slowly cook as the aroma hits your nostrils and your stomach grumbles.
This must be the first time he sees you do something right. Tsu’tey nods approvingly as he watches you carefully turn the meat over the fire, your knife skillful in your hands. A comfortable silence hangs over you, as you both start eating.
“We will continue our journey early in the morning,” he breaks the silence, “We must move quickly and return back as fast as we can. ‘Don’t want to camp out in the forest for another night, it can be dangerous.”
You only nod, agreeing with his plan. It was rare for him to keep you informed anyway, so you weren’t going to doubt Tsu’tey.
“You don’t trust that I can help, do you?”
“I am not sure,” he admits, “But if Toruk Makto trusts you, I can give you a chance to prove yourself.”
“Your prejudice against me is ironic,” you scoff, “Jake was just like me once, before becoming Toruk Makto.”
“Not just like you,” Tsu’tey chuckles, shaking his head, “You are too weak.”
“I am smart,” you argue.
Tsu’tey hums in agreement. There is some truth to his words, you have shown weakness. Adapting to a completely new environment, getting used to another culture, suddenly being forced into hours of physical activity that you weren’t committed to. At times, it would get too much but the support of the clan was all the validation you needed to stay.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I’ll do anything to help your people,” you face him with new confidence, he hasn’t seen in you yet.
“You betray your own?” Tsu’tey frowns.
“I have no other choice. They are destroying everything because of greed,” you shake your head in disappointment. He nods.
“And your family? You left them too?”
“I don’t have one,” a bitter chuckle escapes from your lips, “They don’t claim me anymore. And I don’t claim them.”
“So they disowned you?”
“Pretty much,” you shrug, “They think that I am betraying them because I want to protect the life on Pandora.”
“It must take great strength to go against your family,” Tsu’tey compliments you.
You shy away from his softened gaze, warm feeling spreading in your chest from the kind words. It was tough to be one of the engineers who worked for RDA and had to betray them. But you couldn’t stand the idea of contributing to the destruction they were causing. It was why you first found Jake and warned him about the impending danger. And it was then when you first felt welcomed by the clan, cared for.
Now, you needed to sneak back into the facility and retrieve the equipment you left to track the future attacks. Tsu’tey was assigned to accompany you since it was dangerous to go alone. Even though most of the team at the facility shared similar opinions and wouldn't stop you, there was still a risk of encountering RDA guards. Getting caught would mean you could never return.
As the night wears on and the fire grows smaller and smaller, you and Tsu’tey continue to talk. You’re surprised by how he opens up to you, and how he doesn’t protest when you tell him about your past. Eventually, you feel your eyes growing heavy and your head nodding off to the side. Tsu’tey notices and stays up to keep an eye on you, making sure you’re safe while you sleep.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
When you wake up in the morning, you feel slightly restricted around your middle. You huff slightly, trying to move, as you realize that Tsu’tey is sleeping beside you, with his leg thrown over yours, and his arms wrapped around you. The closeness of his body sends a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
“Tsu’tey,” you nudge him, “Wake up.”
It doesn’t take much to rouse him. You guess that, as a warrior, he was trained to be sensitive to sounds around him. Tsu’tey grunts heavily before blinking a few times, adjusting his eyes to the light. When he realizes how close your face is to his, he almost recoils.
"For someone who seems to hate me, you're very protective," you tease him, patting his arms playfully.
“Mhm, couldn’t risk you rolling into the fire in your sleep,” he grumbles, freeing you from his grasp.
#tsu'tey x reader#tsu'tey smut#tsu'tey#avatar twotw#na'vi x reader#tsu'tey x y/n#tsu'tey x you#fics#tsu'tey fic#avatar 2#avatar 2009#avatar#avatar the way of water#avatar 2009 x reader#avatar 1#tsu'tey avatar#jake sully fanfiction#jake sully x reader#neytiri#avatar fanfiction#avatar smut#avatar au#avatar 2009 smut#tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan#tsu'tey fluff#tsu'tey angst#the way of water#avatar fluff#avatar angst#avatar fanfic
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 10: CHEERS
The finale!
Pawn Swan! This was another character who first appeared in Steve Wolfhard's post-finale loredump about the 1000+ world. I never expected to actually see him in the show.
Nuts how this is like the third time we've seen Simon's ass. I love how Shermy is just chilling and playing video games while GOLB lets this random old man take a turn at the wheel.
This establishing shot of Fionnaworld shows that it's very small. By the time it is restored at the end of the episode, this ominous white border is gone and there are more buildings, implying that it became a complete world.
I can't believe Gary was thirsting after Scarab in this situation.
There is a shop called Evergree Flowers; likely a reference to the episode Evergreen.
This shop window advertises that you can learn to kick bugs. Appropriately enough, Cake kicks Scarab through this shop window while in her Godzilla form.
The Betty statue has become GOLBetty.
It should be clear by this point that Casper and Nova are a parallel to Simon and Betty, with all of their decisions being made by Casper with little consideration for Nova due to their unbalanced power dynamic. This is why Simon realises that he should have been more considerate of Betty's dreams, rather than single-mindedly chasing the Enchiridion and the crown.
The credits confirm that genderswapped Ash is named Ashley. I wonder what happened to her after she fell into the void. Probably nothing good.
Poor Marshall never gets to finish his songs. Truly he is the genderswapped Marceline.
The name "GOLBetty" is now canon; Simon uses it in this scene.
I'm not sure what's happening to GOLBetty here. A loose thread to pick up if this story ever gets a continuation, perhaps.
Simon steps through several different universes, including all the ones we saw during this miniseries. I'm not sure what this world full of tiny bears is meant to be.
Some kind of industrial capitalist hell universe.
This is the Water Park Prank artstyle, implying that Water Park Prank takes place in a separate but canon universe. So Water Park Prank is now canonically canonical! (what a ridiculous phrase)
Some kind of Jake universe.
A universe featuring Magwood and his volcano lair, from the episode Evergreen.
The snail! It's not dead after all. And it's a great way of symbolising a return to regular Ooo, as is the reappearance of the smiley butterfly.
This was a strange selection of characters. I hope Jay hasn't left his younger siblings on their own if their dad is dead. At least baby Finn won't have to grow up in Vampworld, though part of me liked imagining what that would have been like.
Fionna mentions that his is her top fantasy. The other two of her top three fantasies were Cake being able to talk and a kingdom made of candy.
She gets a hammer, like she had in the dream sequence at the very beginning of the miniseries.
Kheirosiphon goes back to working in a teashop, just like he did on The Drift before he was imprisoned by Scarab. Also Marshall's outfit here is incredibly gay, it's great.
There is an ad here for a daddy issues themed comedy night. Sounds like Marceline's kind of place.
Prismo's face glitches for a second. Ominous.
Simon definitely needs to move out. This is probably an even more important realisation than coming to understand his influence over Betty.
In the credits of this episode, Simon is finally at peace.
And with that, the miniseries is over! Back to the long wait. Will this be it for Adventure Time? Or is there yet more to come...
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI
tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending
wc: 4.2K
For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.
The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.
In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.
You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.
That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.
The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.
“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.
The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.
Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.
Everybody would be there.
Tsukishima would be there.
You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.
You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?
Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.
“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.
You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.
“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.
“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.
“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”
Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.
Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.
Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.
Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.
“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”
Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.
“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”
Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.
“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.
“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.
“I read your book on the plane”.
Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”
“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.
Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.
“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.
“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.
Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.
“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”
“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”
Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.
“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.
Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”
Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.
An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.
Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.
Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.
You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure”.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.
You regret it not two minutes later.
Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.
It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.
You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.
“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.
A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.
You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.
Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.
The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.
“So, uh. How’ve you been?”
Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.
You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”
“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.
“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”
Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”
You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.
Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”
There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.
“You don’t read Volleyworld”.
“How would you know that?”
Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.
Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.
Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’
You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.
Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.
Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?
“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.
Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.
“You cried at The Land Before Time”.
“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”
Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.
In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.
“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.
“I remember”.
Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.
“Do you remember the song that was playing?”
“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”
There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.
You remember.
Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.
“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.
Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.
You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.
What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.
You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.
“Hey, Tsukki?”
He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.
“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.
Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.
The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.
He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.
“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.
You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.
“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.
“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.
“This okay?”
In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”
“Hm?”
“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.
You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.
“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.
“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.
“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.
“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.
You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.
“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.
You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.
His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.
Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”
“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.
It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.
This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.
Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.
For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.
But love doesn’t only exist in stories.
You remember that, now.
943 notes
·
View notes
Text
THIS IS NOT OUT OF THE BLUE ; YT22
yuki tsunoda x gasly!reader . . . in big brother fashion, pierre wants you to go on a date with yuki to convince him to move closer to milan. however, yuki already lives in milan, and pierre is still not putting the pieces together
amgf see this is what yuki brainrot gets you, i love this omg one of my best works yet, i might come back to this type of format because i am not writing pt2s anymore!!!!!! (lovingly ofc) just like always, enjoy 👍 @viennakarma it's done 🫡
yourusername
liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, and 12 others
yourusername i get why my brother likes him so much now. he's a fucking child! feels like another day spent with pierre.
view comments...
francisca.cgomes awww they're bonding look pierregasly
pierregasly you had me in the first half, wym a child he's older than you
yourusername doesn't seem like it, seeing how you act, understandable
charles_leclerc oh chérie, what is your brother up to?
yourusername he's up to no good as usual, but if he's constantly yapping to you then you must know what he's up to
charles_leclerc i'm more surprised that you agreed to this?
yourusername he threatened to throw me back to university for a master's degree this time FFS
charles_leclerc well, if it's a master's degree or a date... understandable
yourusername control him please, i can't be the victim of his antics no more
pierregasly he said he had fun!!!
pierregasly now go on another date with him 🫣
yourusername ???? what is actually wrong with you
pierregasly you're acting like you didn't have fun, you even posted it for the whole family to see
yourusername get off my back pierre, my account my rules
pierregasly yeah you constantly yapping to your 20 followers which half are our family members
yourusername i'm blocking you next
pierregasly try me bitch
yourusername oh i will, you are no longer welcome in my account, get out
yourusername uploaded a new story
[he's taking me somewhere... i hope i come out alive 😀]
pierregasly replied to your story
oh my gosh, is this progress?
apparently he's in milan, and now we're on the coast so... i guess
wym he's in milan?
he's here?
he's with me atm but yeah
i saw him earlier and he asked if i was free
did he say ask about me?
sorry pierre 😐
non no, it's fine
i'm a bit sad he didn't contact me but i'm glad you're together
francisca.cgomes replied to your story
a boat date 🥰
it's not a date...
we're just hanging out
uh huh... cool
that's it?
wym?
that's it? you're just letting me off the hook like that? no teasing about being yuki's future lover or smth?
you want me to tease you about it?
non, not really i was just thinking about it
you're thinking about being yuki's future lover?
shut up kika, you know i didn't mean it that way
yeah yeah, sure 😏
you're absolutely telling this to pierre huh?
you know, i'm on your side for this one
your secret's safe with me 😉
what secret?
oh yn, for someone older than me you're a bit out of it but it's okay you'll get it one day 😊
get what?
kika?
what are you talking about?
yukitsunoda511 replied to your story
wow, you don't trust me one bit
i thought we had something going on
yeah right, shut up yuki
am i your boyfriend?
🥺🥹😭
yes
good girl 😊
yourusername uploaded a new story
[it's him again... annoying asf]
yukitsunoda0511 replied to your story
why would you lie to your audience like that?
because it's way more fun this way
duh???
everyday i'm reminded that you are pierre's sister when you pull shit like this
excuse me?
are you calling my soft launching methods shit 😕
i'm just kidding
you totally aren't
you're right, i am not
it's just i didn't think he'd be that dense about it
i'm sure i told him we were dating
he's forgetful like that
don't start talking, you didn't even tell him about us
i did!
uh huh....
well, it's funny to me because look, he's so desperately trying to get us together because we're so perfect for each other (ikr) and if he would've just listened like a year ago he would've known about us already
i mean, even alex knows what's up and she's seen us like twice already
alex has seen us a couple of times, even kika but pierre...
he'll figure it out, it's like he's been waiting so long for us to date, i don't know when he'll realize it
let's pray for him
praying for pierre 🙏
yourusername
liked by yukitsunoda0511, charles_leclerc, and 13 others
yourusername road trip with 💋 + we met alex on her field trip, it's a win 😊
view comments...
alexandrasaintmleux it's nice to see you two ❤️ have fun on your road trip
yourusername ahhhh thank you, we'll see you soonest 😠
charles_leclerc come visit us next time ^^
pierregasly are you in monaco? hello? who is that person 🤨 where are you going? you said to update me? where are my updates?
yourusername i told you where we're going dumbass, check your messages be for fucking real
pierregasly oh you did send me updates
yourusername 🙄
pierregasly OWAH? YUKI IN THE LIKES? liked by yukitsunoda0511!!!!! we're winning today
yourusername what is actually wrong with you?
yourusername
liked by pierregasly, yukitsunoda0511, and 22 others
yourusername milan. my man.
view comments...
pierregasly can't believe i'm finding out through an instagram post and not IRL, fake sister 👎
yourusername is it our fault if you didn't listen?
pierregasly i was already shipping you in my head with yuki, i thought of it first
yourusername okay and? doesn't change the fact that we've been mentioning it for a long time already
yukitsunoda0511 i mean yn is right, i did tell you as well
pierregasly okay everyone is ganging up on pierre for not knowing blah blah blah
francisca.cgomes i mean babe, you are the only one who didn't catch up
alexandrasaintmleux it was clear as daylight, they're not only dating but they're clearly fucking you're so dumb in your own delusions to see
pierregasly okay wow, i'm going to ignore the last few texts but first it was my sister, next my teammate, then my girlfriend, next my friend's girlfriend okay charles i know you're with me here buddy defend me please 🙏
charles_leclerc do you want me to add more salt to the wound? because i agree with all of them...
yourusername see? this didn't just happen out of nowhere, it was already happening and you were just too invested to see the truth
yukitsunoda0511 i look good there, next time i'm posting 😊
yourusername noooo i want to gatekeep you 😠 no no non
yukitsunoda0511 okay, whatever you say goes 🫡
yukitsunoda0511 can i soft launch?
yourusername yes 🥰
#f1 smau#f1 fluff#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#yuki tsunoda smau#yuki tsunoda x reader#yuki tsunoda fluff#yuki tsunoda imagine
422 notes
·
View notes
Text
RUMORS - ( c.s )
REQUESTED**
summary: you and chris have known each other for a long time, and you’ve always had an inescapable crush on him. when you all go to tara’s party and fans see them together for the first time, speculation begins to circulate, and you begin to pull away in fear that he likes her as more than a friend
warnings: angsty in the beginning, fluffy in the end :) some swearing a kiss and that’s it really
bff!chris x fem!reader
a/n: i loved this concept and i hope i brought it to life well for the anon that requested <3 my inbox is always open for u guys #kisses
@fawnchives @l9vesick @mattinside @sturnioloco @sturniolossss @cupidsword @teapartyprincess4two @princessbetsy123-blog @cookiehaos @sturnlova @junnniiieee07 @vsangel-starbies @chrissystur
doom scrolling online is like a car crash that you can’t look away from; especially when it involves your friend and your long term crush. you’ve been laying in bed scouring the internet for the past hour, pouring over comments about and tara and chris.
ever since her last party, when fans actually saw them publicly interacting for the first time, the gossip has gotten out of control. people want them together, and you hate to admit that it makes you sick to your stomach.
hell, you’d been the one to introduce them, since tara had become your friend first. but you and chris go all the way back to childhood; you were best friends with him and his brothers in your early years of school, and then you moved to another town after your dad accepted a new position.
you kept in touch through social media and occasional texts after that, until you all found yourselves in LA fresh out of high school, alone in an unfamiliar city across the country.
their youtube channel had taken off, and you’d gained a large following after you’d finally been recognized for your photography due to some big-name collabs. you were all in the same vulnerable position, and because of this your friendship with the three of them started right back up where it left off.
the rest is history. it’s been two years now, and you’ve all grown exponentially, fully adjusted to LA and the recognition, comfortable with where you are in your lives professionally and personally.
you spend nearly every week with the triplets, doing anything and everything together. they’ve made the occasional homesickness bearable, been your rock through the hard times, and supported you like no one else.
but things are a little different with you and chris. he’s your best friend, the person you want to tell everything to first. it’s always been that way, really. you had feelings for him at 13, and now at 20 years old you love him even more.
but that doesn’t mean you have to love him being shipped with every female influencer on the planet.
it’s selfish, really, to want chris to yourself, considering his occupation and the fame that comes with it. tara is a good person and an even better friend, and you shouldn’t be angry over the idea of them dating.
still, it’s been consuming your mind ever since you saw the first post about the two of them a few days ago, and you’ve been checking social media every hour since.
you’re about to read through yet another comment section when your phone buzzes, a notification appearing at the top of the screen.
chris
can you pls answer me
i don’t like this silent treatment thing
your stomach flips. he’s been texting you things like this for the past few days, since you started distancing yourself after the party.
the whole night he had acted as if he was into tara; always making conversation, asking to dance, posting her on his story. even when you were right next to him, it still felt like he was miles away.
so of course it’s been upsetting you, and you figured rather than taking it out on either of them you would just remove yourself from the situation.
it seemed like the best option in the moment, but it still sucks. you hate not talking to him, not seeing his face or feeling his arms wrap around you in a familiar hug.
another text pings, snapping you out of your spiral once more.
chris
i don’t know what’s wrong but you’re scaring me
the message makes your eyes burn, and you blink away the tears. you don’t want him worrying about you, especially when it’s your own stupid feelings getting in the way of things being normal.
you sigh, tapping out a response and staring at it, debating back and forth whether you should actually press send. but he beats you to a response, and another string of texts come through.
chris
i can see you typing
i’m coming over
y/n
no don’t do that, everything is fine
chris
i don’t believe you
and i already left my house
it’s only a five minute walk to get from his place to yours, and you know he’s too stubborn to actually turn around, no matter how hard you plead. you’ve already broken out into a nervous sweat just thinking about the confrontation.
but at this point you owe it to him and yourself to be honest. you just hope you don’t get your heart broken in the process.
y/n
fine, doors unlocked
i’m in my room
a few minutes later you hear the front door slam open and closed, just to see chris peek his head around the corner of your room moments later. you’re still curled up in bed, too scared and tired to move, so he takes the liberty of coming to you.
“hey.” he says softly as he sits down.
“hi.” you mumble, wrapping your blanket against your chest tighter.
it’s not cold, but you’re so anxious that you’re shivering. chris notices and puts a hand on your covered knee, rubbing small circles against the joint. he looks so sweet, clad in his blue fresh love hoodie with his hair all curly from showering.
“what’s up? i haven’t heard from you all week, and nick was about ready to call the cops.” he tries to joke with a small grin.
you can’t bring yourself to match his energy, and your face remains grave as you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat.
“i’m alright, just tired.”
his face falls, and a slight frown replaces his smile. you know he’s not believing any of it for a second, and you’ve never been a very convincing liar.
“don’t do that, you’re obviously not alright. and i’m not trying to be pushy or anything, but i feel like you’re shutting me out.” chris replies quietly.
you shift a little bit so you can sit up properly, back resting against the headboard as you gaze at him. his hand remains on your thigh, a source of comfort while you try to pick your words wisely.
“i’m not trying to push you away, chris. i just…wanted to give you space.” you continue to dance around the truth.
he looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowed like you’re speaking another language. “that’s nice and all, but i don’t want it.”
“well maybe i do.” you shrug.
you’re lying through your teeth, but chris’s eyes go wide regardless. you’ve shocked him into silence, which rarely ever happens. he’s just staring at you, the gears in his mind turning as he tries to figure out what could possibly be wrong.
“are you serious? did i do something that i don’t know about?” chris asks, clearly exasperated.
he removes his hand from your leg, dropping it back in his lap. the small act alone makes your heart sink, and you feel the question crawling its way out of your mouth before you can help it.
“do you like tara?”
it hangs in the air, and you’ve stumped him once again. chris shakes his head, clearing his throat while his face reddens slightly.
“i can’t believe you’re even asking me that.” he sounds genuinely astonished.
“what? why?” it’s your turn to be baffled.
“because i feel like all i ever do is flirt with you. i mean seriously, it’s embarrassing for me at this point.” chris reaches to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.
your jaw drops, which makes you feel silly. throughout this whole relationship you felt like you were the one putting the moves on him, doing too much. you’d never once stopped to think about all of the little comments he would make.
“i, uh, guess i didn’t pick up on that.” you manage to reply.
you immediately wish you hadn’t, that you just kept your mouth shut. but he smiles widely at you, chuckling lightly.
“no shit.”
this makes you laugh too, and it feels good to experience at least a brief moment of normality between the two of you. things have felt tense for so long that you’d almost forgotten why you love being around chris in the first place.
you wait to calm down a bit before you decide to finally lay it all on the table. “i like you a lot, chris. and i don’t want to mess up the dynamic we have, because you mean the world to me. but i’d be lying to myself if i said i didn’t want to be with you.”
he’s still grinning, though you can tell he’s gone a little shy now hearing you admit your feelings. this moment is all he dreamed about for so long, and now it’s finally happening in a realm outside of his own brain.
“i want that too, and i’m a dumbass for taking this long to say it. so no, i’m not interested in tara like that. it’s always been you.” chris confesses, reaching to interlock your fingers.
you’ve held hands before on many occasions, but it’s different now in the best way. butterflies erupt in your stomach as he leans in, and you can smell the fading hints of minty body wash on his skin.
you tilt your head so your mouths finally meet, soft and slow as you both finally enjoy the kiss you’ve been yearning for for so long. he tastes sugary, like the lollipops he’s always got between his teeth, and you’re already addicted.
chris pulls away a minute later, his lips reddened and glistening from the contact. you giggle slightly from the unfamiliarity of the situation, glancing down at your linked hands.
“your lips are so soft.” he praises, still awestruck that he finally got to kiss the girl he’s loved since he was a preteen.
“take a girl out to dinner first, jeez.” you joke playfully.
chris rolls his eyes, but he smiles nonetheless. “i think i will, actually. you got any plans tomorrow?”
you tap your chin with your free hand like you’re contemplating your schedule. “i can probably squeeze you in.”
“you better. everyone else can get in line.”
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fluff#sturniolo fluff#sturniolo#sturniolo x reader
754 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
pixiemage
Pixiemage
nahasflow
Untitled
kxnko
[ ✧ ] ライラック
sleepy-gee
"cubitum eamus?"
bighardpush
🍡Amy🍡